Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(8)

A place to believe.

So Poppy built that world for them-and for herself, too. No matter what else was happening in her life, she could guarantee that everything would work out in the end. At least, it did between the pages of her books. And this year in particular, her writing had been her main escape, as the juggernaut of her wedding barreled on towards "I do."

Until the day she looked at her own words and realized if she married Owen-if she settled for their life together-she would be giving up on everything she'd told her readers to fight for all these years.

"What did he do this time?"

Riley's voice cut through her thoughts, and Poppy looked up to find him setting a plate of delicious-looking food in front of her. "Sorry, what?" she asked, her mouth already watering.

"Cooper," he explained. "I just saw him go storming out with a face like thunder, although, that's just a normal Sunday for him."

Poppy pressed her lips together. "Just a small disagreement," she said lightly, and Riley snorted.

"Why am I not surprised? Don't take it personally," he added with a sympathetic smile. "I love the guy like a brother, but he can be a grumpy asshole when he sets his mind to it."

"I'll remember that. Thanks, and for the food," she said.

"My pleasure." Riley turned to go, but then Poppy remembered something.

"Wait. Did I put my foot in it earlier? We were catching up earlier, and I asked Cooper if he was married."

Riley looked uneasy. "You'll have to talk to him about that," he said, as some new customers came in. "I better go. Let me know if you need anything."

Poppy watched him walk away. It sounded like she had touched a nerve with Cooper without even meaning to, but even so, it didn't give him the right to tear her down like that. Maybe it wasn't personal for him, but it sure felt that way.

Enough letting Cooper Nicholson get under her skin, she decided, and reached for a crisp, thick-cut fry. For some reason, he'd been in her face since the moment she'd arrived, but that didn't mean she had to let him ruin her day. She was here for a reason, after all.



       
         
       
        

No drama. No conflict. Just the happily-ever-after her readers were waiting for.

Simple.

Right?





4





Any hope that Cooper had been joking, saying his crew usually started at six a.m., was shattered the next morning when Poppy woke to what sounded like a pneumatic drill boring straight through her skull. A peek out the window confirmed it: the construction site was a hive of activity. Even those earplugs weren't going to help her now.

Time for Plan B.

She took a shower, dressed in jeans and a pretty peasant blouse, and turned on the radio loud to try and drown out the racket next door. "One way, or another . . ." she sang along, as she unpacked the rest of her things in the antique bureau. Aunt June always had eclectic taste, and the old house was filled with trinkets and souvenirs from her travels-from the tribal masks in the staircase to the Australian didgeridoo leaning up against the hall. Downstairs, the beachy living room opened up to a big butter-yellow kitchen with windows out to the back porch. Poppy scavenged in the cupboards and found some instant coffee, which she poured into a polka-dot mug and took outside to sit on the back steps in the morning sun.

She breathed deeply, the sea air whipping her wet hair around her face. It really was beautiful out here: the ocean was glinting, blue and wide across the horizon, and the early-morning fog was already clearing to bright skies. Aunt June's garden was full of climbing roses, lavender, and grass, with a winding path all the way to the sand. If it weren't for the yells and banging breaking the calm, it would be a picture-perfect scene.

Almost pretty enough to make her forget everything she'd left behind in New York.

Poppy's heart sank. The guilt was still digging away, hard behind her ribcage. She could only imagine what Owen and his family were saying about her now, and she didn't blame them. Walking out on a wedding with only a few weeks to spare was unforgiveable, but what was she supposed to do?

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They'd met online two years ago, after such a long, lonely spell of bad first dates and lackluster fix-ups that Poppy had almost given up hope she would find someone. She was twenty-seven, spending every day writing great love affairs for her characters, and her weekends at new baby showers or engagement parties, watching those love stories come to life right in front of her. But at the end of the night, she always went home alone.

To the apartment she loved, in the life that she was proud of, sure-but it still filled her with that lonely ache when she looked around and wished she had someone there to share it with her. To snuggle up in bed with on a Saturday morning, and bicker with over the TV remote at night. She wanted holiday traditions, and pet names, and, one day, a family of her own. So when Owen sent a message through the latest online dating site-with actual punctuation, and no lewd photos attached-she was ready. True love might take a little effort, but she was willing to try.