I’ll figure it out, so the idea of losing Ethan isn’t the reason for the pit forming in my stomach. It’s that in the last few weeks, I’ve been able to go expand my world beyond these four walls, too. And now I’m not sure I want to go back to the way things have been. Working at the café six days a week and using my only day off for paperwork.
I love Thistle + Thorne, but I wantmore. And I don’t want to have to choose.
Ethan unties his apron and hangs it on the hook by the door that leads to the back prep area and walks around the front of the counter. He leans on it while I finish putting away the rest of the sanitized metal jugs.
“I’ll still be around for a little while, Poppy. This isn’t me handing in my resignation,” he says.
I offer him a soft smile and a nod that I understand. He places his palm on the counter to punctuate the conversation before leaving.
Not long after Ethan leaves, Wren shows up, and the bell tinkles as she opens the door.
We’ve had a weekend routine, up until a few weeks ago, where she comes to the café Saturday night after closing and we catch up over a glass of wine—non-alcoholic for me—and eat leftover pastries that didn’t sell.
“Hey there, Mrs. Jett Landry,” she greets me as she takes off her scarf and wool coat before hanging them on the coat rack next to the front door. She turns around to lock it and flip the sign on the door from open to closed.
“I’ll be right back with the wine,” I tell her as I disappear for a moment into my office and grab it and the two glasses I keep in the cupboard above the desk.
When I get back, Wren is sitting at our usual table, the small two-seater by the window. My heart squeezes.
Because even though I’ve been enjoying my time with Jett, I’ve also missed this. My normal routines, the little moments I used to look forward to each week. Catching up with my best friend.
I haven’t even seen her since the wedding. After Jett and I got engaged, everything moved so quickly, I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath.
Now that I have a moment to look up and take stock of everything… My life is almost unrecognizable. I keep thinking that after Jett wins the World Cup things will go back to normal, but now I’m not so sure I want them to.
Still, this moment of familiarity and comfort is a balm as I sit down across from Wren.
It seems like it was just yesterday that I sat with Wren at this very table when she came back into town, and she adamantly told me she would never get back with her ex. It’sbeen almost two years since then, and my eyes catch on the pair of rings on her finger as she picks up her wine glass and takes a long pull.
I fiddle with the pair of rings I now also wear on my left hand, the large diamond shimmering even in the low light in the café.
“So, have you officially secured the deed for the café yet?” Wren asks. It’s the first time since the wedding that we’ve had a moment in private to talk about it.
“I got an email from the lawyer. He’s putting together the paperwork now,” I tell her, absentmindedly spinning my rings around my finger.
“Poppy, that’s amazing.” Wren says.
I nod in agreement, but I can’t share in her optimism just yet, not until I’ve signed on the dotted line and everything is finalized.
In the moment of silence that falls between us, my attention is drawn to my phone, vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and my heart rolls forward at the name on the screen.
Jett has responded to my message asking about the event tomorrow, and my pulse quickens reading his response that he’ll miss having me at the end of his run.
I quickly type out my reply and set my phone on the table.
Wren is busy telling me all about her art, and how she has a waitlist of commissions lined up. So many that she’s had to close them to focus on her current projects. I’m so proud of her, and all the work she’s done to find her way back to herself, the bravery she had to do the thing she loved over what everyone else thought she should be doing.
I nod along, trying to focus on what she’s saying, but asliver of my attention is still on my phone, and when the screen lights up again, I can’t help but look at it.
JETT
Not the same. I’ve started to look forward to kissing you after my runs.
My whole face heats, because I’ve started to look forward to kissing Jett, too. And now that he’s agreed to teach me his ways in the bedroom… Kissing Jett has been an all-consuming thought. Just like the memory of having his head—his tongue—between my legs. Whatever he did was a thousand times better than what I tried to do with my fingers.
Wren must notice the flush creeping up my neck at whatever is on my phone screen, because she’s stopped talking, and her dark eyes pinning me.
“What?” I ask, taking another long sip of my wine to avoid looking at her.
