“I guess we should actually order some food?” She asks, and I let out a laugh.
“Right. I completely forgot.”
We quickly put in a takeout order with Jack’s, Grady’s bar, and by the time it arrives, I’ve made Poppy come again more than once. It’s like I’m addicted to it, addicted toher.
Still, we manage to keep our hands off each other long enough to settle on the couch, seated on opposite ends with our takeout boxes, legs intertwined beneath her hand knitted blanket.
“This was your strategy all along, wasn’t it?” She squints her eyes at me, and I shrug, giving her a look of feigned innocence.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but she doesn’t have time to elaborate because her phone buzzes on the counter.
Once. Twice. Three times.
She places her takeout box on the coffee table as she gets up, but the moment she picks up her phone, her face drops.
“It’s Ethan,” she says. “I should call him, he’s kind of freaking out.”
Poppy wanders down the hall out of direct earshot, but I can still make out most of her words.
“It’s okay Ethan… everyone needs to take a day off sick occasionally. I’ll take care of the café for a few days… You’ve done more than enough for me over the last couple weeks… No, I’m serious. I appreciate you so much.”
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh.
Pop,I think.There goes our bubble.
And with it, is the glaring reminder that even though Poppy and I can pretend, and play house, reality will always be waiting for us at the end of it.
CHAPTER 40
POPPY
“One oat milkmatcha latte for my favourite customer.”
I slide the hot cup of green liquid towards Maryann. She smiles, a genuine smile, when she picks it up and thanks me before sauntering out of the store.
Ethan must have taken good care of her while I was gone, because he’s kept the Matcha Monster at bay. I look around now that I have a chance to, having cleared the morning rush line up. My heart swells being back here again, back in my element.
As much as I’ve loved getting to spend time with Jett, experiencing new and exciting things, I’ve missed the café. I’ve missed the comfort and safety of my own space where I can have full control of my environment to try and prevent a flare, and then to take care of myself when I inevitably do.
Still, as much as I’ve been glad to be home, there’s a pit in my stomach that grows larger with every passing minute that brings Jett and I closer to the end of our relationship. The reality that’s closing in on us.
I can’t leave the café, not again. Ethan says he enjoyed it,getting the experience of running the place without me, but it was unfair of me to ask that of him. And with only three of us here to oversee the plant shop and operate the café, it doesn’t leave room for situations like this, when one of us has to call in sick.
Not if I’m away, gallivanting around with my pro-skier husband.
The timer clipped to the top of my apron beeps a few times, reminding me that I have soup heating up for Ethan in the back.
I lift the lid off the pot and stir the steaming chicken noodle. It’s not the soup I was planning on making today for the special, but it’ll do, and this way I can send a bowl over to Ethan.
I’ll send Jaime over to his place to drop it off. He just lives down the street, and I can manage here on my own until then. He felt so badly about calling in sick today, knowing that I have a lot on my plate these days.
But something about the way he worded it has stuck with me, and it’s put me in a strange frame of mind today. He said something about things being stressful for me right now, which I won’t deny. With Jett getting ready for the World Cup, and our rushed wedding, there has been a weight on my shoulders. Still, Ethan doesn’t know about Jett and I, so I have to wonder what he was on about.
It’s been making me overthink all my interactions, and every customer that’s come into the café seemed like they were staring at me funny. In fact, I’m kind of thinking that might not have been my imagination.
I place the lid back on the pot, and turn the heat down on the stove, before heading back out to the café. There’s noone lined up to place an order, so I take the moment to grab the broom and weave my way through the tables, cleaning up some crumbs on the floor.
The bell chimes, and in comes Wren. Something on her face almost looks frantic, panicked. My best friend is almost always put together, but this morning her usually sleek dark hair is messy, held up in a clip that it looks like she threw in. Her makeup isn’t done yet, and her eyes are wide.
