Now, Poppy stepped out of the shower and swathed herself in a warm cotton robe. She could already smell the bacon sizzling, and her mouth began to water. She still felt like a zombie, but at least she was a clean zombie. Trust June to find a way to pull her out of bed.
When in doubt, bacon was usually the answer.
Downstairs, she found her aunt in the kitchen with the radio playing an oldies station, and a cup of coffee waiting for her at the table. "What time is it?" Poppy yawned. She'd been sleeping in fits and starts, writing too late, and crying in painful jags.
"After ten," June replied. "Now, do you want blueberries or peaches on your pancakes? No, don't answer that. You get both."
Poppy inhaled the scent of sweet vanilla batter and the salty bacon, and began to feel more human again. "Thank you," she said, giving her aunt a hug from behind. "I know I've been a mess. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about." June patted her. "I just wish I knew what turned the two of you around. You seemed so perfect together, what happened?"
Poppy swallowed. "I honestly don't know."
That was the part that killed her. An argument could be compromised. A problem could have a solution. But how do you compromise on someone walking away from you?
June patted her arm again. "Well, there's fresh syrup in the jug, and these are ready." She expertly flipped the pancakes onto a plate, and pushed Poppy to the table. "Eat," she ordered. "You've been wasting away. If you turned sideways, I could look straight past you!"
Poppy took a forkful of light, fluffy pancake and chewed. The warm berries burst on her tongue, and it was like a wake-up call to her senses. She took another forkful, and then another, and before she knew it, June was whisking her empty plate away for a second helping. "That's better," her aunt beamed, joining Poppy at the table. "Maybe we can go into town later, get a cup of coffee or stop by the store."
"I don't know . . ." Poppy wavered. There was a chance she'd run into Cooper in town, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was walk right past him, pretending that everything was OK.
But the thought of seeing him again was like a magnetic pull, no matter what. "OK," she said quickly. "Let go, after breakfast."
June helped herself to more fruit, and gave Poppy a smile. "Maybe it will all still work out," she offered, looking hopeful. "You never know."
Poppy sighed. "I don't think so. You didn't see him," she added. "The way he looked at me . . . He'd made his mind up. It was like we were already over and he'd just forgotten to tell me."
Poppy felt the grief well up in her chest again. It wasn't just a grief for everything she'd lost-the moments they'd shared-but for the possibilities that had suddenly been cut short.
The future she'd wanted with him, and dared to even dream.
All this time, she'd been clinging to hope, that shot in the dark at finding someone to connect with, who would see her heart and love her for it, and now that she'd had a glimpse of what that belonging felt like, it hurt even more to lose it all.
And she didn't even know why.
Poppy demolished another plate of pancakes to build her strength, then got dressed and headed into town. They shopped for groceries for dinner that night, before June got waylaid by a friend in the store. "I'll meet you at the coffee shop," Poppy told her, not wanting to interrupt, and left them to gossip alone. Outside, it was a warm, spring day, but Poppy felt a tremor of nerves, making her way across the square. She expected to look up any moment to see Cooper striding around the corner, or emerging from the hardware store. What was she supposed to say to him? How was she supposed to act now?
Maybe it was a good thing she hadn't made plans to stay for the summer. That vision of lazy beach days and long nights in his arms seemed a million miles away. Now, she just wanted to finish up her book and get back to the city, but looking around the square, with the small green park and wedding cake gazebo, she felt a pang. Sweetbriar somehow felt like home, after just a couple of months.
A home that had her ex just up the street, she reminded herself. Cooper had lived here all his life; it was no contest who was taking Sweetbriar in the breakup.
She remembered her earlier promise to Mackenzie, and detoured via the pottery workshop to pick up some mugs. The bell above the door rang out as she entered, and Mackenzie's voice called, flustered, from the back. "Be right there!"
Poppy browsed the cute ceramics, bracing herself for the onslaught of sympathy and questions, but when Mackenzie emerged-her curly hair flying out in every direction, and a smudge of paint on one cheek-she was all smiles.