She’d done a decent job of compartmentalizing her thoughts until now, the written part, when she needed to be the most clear-headed. But she couldn’t stop thinking about last night.
And once she was seated at a long table with her test paper in front of her, every question brought to mind Heath’s face, the sound of his voice, their shared laughter as they wrestled with French place names. That’s when it occurred to her: Everything she knew about wine to this point was inextricably intertwined with him.
By four p.m., it was all over. The judges shook her hand and said she should expect to hear something within a day or two.
She drove back to Clarkston, limp with exhaustion. Her limbs ached, her head throbbed.
In the past twenty-four hours, she had given all she had to give.
* * *
All day long, Heath thought about Poppy and her test.
He wouldn’t interrupt her, and yet he had so much more to say to her. To ask her.
How the test had gone, of course. But that wasn’t all.
In the hours after she left his house, a sickening realization washed over him.
Did she think he’d tried to sabotage her?
Had he? Did he get her drunk last night so she’d flunk her test?
No way, nohow. He would never intentionally set her up to fail, even if it benefited him.
But what if that was how it turned out? If she failed because she wasn’t at her best, who would blame her if she thought him the worst kind of creep?
Estimating that the test wouldn’t go later than five o’clock, he counted down the minutes, and then, at five sharp, punched in her number.
Would she even pick up, after this morning’s awkwardness?
After what he’d done, would she ever speak to him again?
With every unanswered ring, his heart sank lower in his chest.
When his call was transferred to voice mail, he didn’t bother leaving a message.
The next time she looked at her phone, she would see that he’d called. The question was, would she care?
* * *
Poppy staggered into the house to find her mom folding laundry in the living room, and collapsed onto a chair.
“I was getting concerned. It gets dark so early these days, and I knew you were on the road and you were probably tired, what with not coming home all night . . .”
For once in her life, Poppy was in no mood for chitchat. The look on her face when she lolled her head toward Mom must’ve made that clear, because she let her worried rant taper off unfinished.
“When will they let you know?”
“They said they’d text us tomorrow or the next day.”
“Saturday—your class reunion. Don’t you think you should reconsider going? It’s all anyone’s been talking about for months. I hear they’re expecting a high turnout. Even old Mr. Lu is driving over from where he retired in Hood River. He was always such a nice man. Not like that mean Ms. Baker.”
She should have known her mom wouldn’t be able to stop talking. Like mother, like daughter.
After last night, the very mention of partying made her head hurt even more. “Thanks for reminding me. The chance of running into her would be enough to keep me home even if I were thinking about going, which I’m not.”
“Are you sure? Saturday might be the last time you see your old friends for a while. What about Heath? Is he going?”
With a supreme effort, she hoisted herself out of the easy chair. “Not a chance. He doesn’t like crowds.”
That was why he built that showplace right next door to his old house. It was like leaving home without really leaving.
“Is that so bad?”
“No guts, no glory,” she muttered. She was so tired, she was talking gibberish.
“Now, I don’t know if I’d call that fair. What with Heath’s brewery being the talk of the town, I’d say he’s got lots of glory.”
“Heath has only ever done what comes naturally. He has a head for chemistry. So he made beer. Turned out he had a good business mind, too. Even though he was successful, he never had to stretch.”
“That sounds pretty harsh.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m babbling.”
Mom put her hands on her hips. “Did something happen between you two? Because that would be awful, to leave Clarkston on bad terms with your best—”
“Mom. I’m sorry, but I’m beat. I’m going to go lie down.”
“Do you want me to wake you up later so you can eat something?”
She felt her blood pressure rising. She didn’t want to be coddled. She wanted rest and to be left alone. And later, time to think, to sort things out. “If I’m hungry, I’ll get something myself.”
But as she lay in her bedroom surrounded by relics of her childhood, sleep evaded her.
Where had that cutting comment about Heath’s glory not being earned come from? What gave her the right to judge?
Then it came to her.
Whether or not she passed that test, she had left Portland that afternoon a different person. She had taken a chance, risked all or nothing. And it felt good. No matter what happened next, a new feeling filled her that she hadn’t been able to give a name to, until now.
That feeling was pride.
Chapter Eighteen
Heath tried calling Poppy again later that evening, but he still couldn’t reach her.
By the next morning, he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to set some things straight.
He drove to her house and rapped on her door.
Right now, she should be getting ready for her lunch shift. Her parents would already be at the café, serving breakfast. This was the best time to catch her alone.
Their eyes met on opposite sides of the storm door window. But she made no move to let him in.
Jackson, the Springers’ chocolate Lab, lifted his lip in an imitation of a snarl.
Inside the pockets of his jeans, Heath’s hands clenched and unclenched. He’d never been a violent man. But dog or no dog, if he had to, he’d rip that door off its hinges.
He counted his exhalations as they condensed into fog: one, two, three . . .
That’s it.
He rattled the handle. Locked.
Jackson barked a warning.
Alarm came over Poppy’s face, then something like remorse—or was it pity? Whatever it was, she walked over and unlocked the door with a flick of her fingertip, leaving him to let himself in.
“Good dog,” Heath said, giving Jackson a pat. The dog licked his hand and walked off.
“How’d it go?” he asked without preamble.
“It was good,” she said tersely. “Your tutoring helped me a lot. I wanted to be sure to remember to tell you that.”
He nodded, grateful for the crumbs she’d tossed him. “Glad I could help.”
She wiped a sponge around the inside of a coffee cup, still obviously less than thrilled about him showing up unannounced.
“I tried calling you.”
“I know.”
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his three-day beard.
“When do you find out?”
“Today or tomorrow. They’ll text me.”
He nodded again. Really, I’m a stellar conversationalist.
She held up a dripping plate while he stood there still in his jacket like the uninvited guest that he was.
Poppy pulled off her yellow rubber gloves and edged toward the hallway leading to the back of the house. “I have to get dressed for work, so . . .”
“I messed up.”
She didn’t respond.
She wasn’t making this easy.
“We had a good time. I read more into it. I had this idiot notion that maybe now you . . .”
He hesitated. This was one of the hardest things he’d ever said.
He took her hands in his, drawing on her strength.
“. . . you’d change your mind about leaving.”
Whatever he’d said, it had br
oken through some icy barrier. Her expression softened. “Oh, Heath. You know why I have to leave. It has nothing to do with you. It’s about me finding out who I am. What I’m capable of.”
“Poppy,” he beseeched her. “I’m obsessed. I can’t work. I can’t eat. You’re all I think about. All I smell. You’re in my tree house. You’re in my living room.” He lowered his voice. “In my bed.”
She pulled her hands free, put them to her head, and shut her eyes. “Don’t . . .”
She paced as far as the small room would allow, then whirled toward him, her hand on her heart. “If anyone knows how hard I’ve worked to pass this test, it’s you. Do you really expect me to just give it all up because we made love one time?”
A muscle in Heath’s face twitched as if he’d been slapped. After a moment, he lifted his chin. “You’re right,” he said. “I’d never want to make you change for me.”
“Thank you. Thanks for understanding. But now I really have to get dressed, or I’m going to be late for work.”
“Just one more thing.”
Her shoulders sagged as she let out a held breath.
“Go to the reunion with me.”
“Heath, I—”
“Please.”
“You mean, like, together? As a couple?”
“As whatever you like. We don’t have to define it. Nobody but us knows anything’s changed between us.”
To his profound relief, she seemed to weigh the idea. “You were probably supposed to let them know you were coming a month ago.”
“Like Demi won’t let us in. It’s thanks to me she got her trees.”
“Demi,” she muttered. “I still don’t know if I passed my test.”
Her old insecurities were still with her. She was still scared Demi would call her out for being a loser.
“I knew it was a long shot.” He kicked the floor with the toe of his boot. “I just thought, since there’s a chance you might be heading out, you might want to see people for the last time . . .”
They stood there, the ticking of the Springers’ old-fashioned wall clock filling the awkward silence.
Toast popped up, making them both jump. But Poppy didn’t make a move.
Heath nodded toward the toaster. “Your toast’s going to get cold. Then the butter won’t melt, and you’ll have those hard lumps—”
“It’s not important.”
“Yeah.”
This was going nowhere.
The chivalrous thing to do was let her off the hook so she could stop struggling to think of the letdown line that sounded least like a kiss-off.
“I’ll let you get ready for work then.”
He turned and reached for the doorknob.
“Heath.”
He looked over his shoulder. Her face, contorted with emotion, was heartbreakingly beautiful. How had it taken him so long to see the woman she had become? If he searched the world over, he would never find another like her.
His pulse pounded like thunder, waiting to hear what she would say.
“I’ll go with you.”
Confetti falling, angels singing.
“You will?”
She smiled weakly. “I don’t know how I did yesterday. Maybe I passed, maybe I didn’t. But two things I’ll always have are, one, I gave that test everything in me. And two, I’ll never stop being grateful to you for your help.
“So, if you’re willing to brave a crowd for me, I guess I can handle a little razzing about being just a waitress.”
Chapter Nineteen
On the night of the reunion, Demi Barnes was taking tickets at the door. “Poppy? I almost didn’t recognize you without your little waitress uniform.” Demi’s stony glare expanded to include Heath. “You do know what RSVP means?” she added pointedly. “I can’t guarantee you a meal.”
The two of them peered past Demi into a room filled with people who all seemed to be talking at once.
A hand waved frantically. “Poppy!”
Poppy rose to her toes to try to see over the heads of the crowd. “It’s Mona Cruz!” she exclaimed, excitedly waving back in the vicinity of where Mona’s curly, dark head had last bobbed.
Heath hesitated. To him, that crowd meant hours of fumbled attempts at small talk.
“Not to late too change your mind,” Poppy said into his neck, low enough that Demi couldn’t hear.
He straightened up to his full height. “Nope,” he said, handing Demi his credit card. “We’re going all the way tonight. That is—”
Demi rolled her eyes. “Some things never change. Coatroom’s on your right. Extra charge for the leather wine gourds on the table to your left.”
Together, they moved forward. The restaurant had been transformed into a Roman garden. Gold and white fabric draped the walls, and flaming torches lit up the corners and tabletops.
With a hand on the small of her back, Heath guided Poppy around one of the potted saplings he had helped his dad deliver earlier that day.
Then they saw the surreal sight of their own images as they walked in projected onto a big screen at the far end of the room.
“Yas, Queen!” It was Keval, bowing to Poppy in pretend reverence, surrounded by a half dozen mutual friends. “Stop being so fabulous. Just stop.” He scrutinized her little black dress. “I can’t believe you came! Why didn’t you tell me? You could have sat at our table.”
“We can squeeze them in,” said Junie.
“Yeah, no problem,” said Sam with a hug for Poppy and a hearty pump of Heath’s hand. “Glad you could make it, man.”
“Look!” Rory pointed to the screen.
Heath was horrified to see a still photo of him in ninth grade wearing oversized lab goggles, pouring a solution into a construction paper cone that was taller than he was.
Here and there around the room, people pointed and laughed.
Heath prayed for a hole to open up and swallow him.
“What were you doing that day?” asked Rory.
“I was trying to see how high I could make a rocket fly using varying ratios of baking soda to vinegar.”
“I remember that! It went up about twenty-five feet before it crashed. That was so cool.”
“Could always count on you for one good explosion a week,” said Sam. “Ol’ Thompson thought it was her teaching that made chem so popular. It was because no one wanted to miss Heath’s experiments.”
Heath grinned. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
A server in a toga waltzed by holding a platter aloft. “Hot oatcakes with honey?”
“When in Rome,” quipped Red, helping herself. “Poppy, how’d you do on your test?”
Heath busied himself examining his oatcake.
“I’m waiting to find out any minute. They said I’d know by the end of today.”
Red squeezed Poppy’s arm. “That’s so exciting!” Her hand slid down to Poppy’s fingertips. “I see you still have all your nails. That’s a good sign.”
“Actually, I feel surprisingly calm.”
“As you should. No matter what happens, you made a plan, took a risk. That’s the place where personal growth comes from.”
Junie looked up at the new video on the screen and nudged Heath. “Remember that night?”
Homecoming. Heath and Rory were cracking up at some long-forgotten joke. Heath wasn’t going to go, but Poppy had nagged him until he finally caved.
“You always made sure I was included.”
In the press of people, no one saw Poppy link her little finger with his. The tiny gesture made his chest swell.
“Want something from the bar?”
“Not just now. You go ahead.”
“I think I’ll have a beer,” he said, extricating his finger with regret. “Be right back.”
* * *
Heath disappeared, and a curly-haired brunette in a gaily patterned dress that set off her generous curves took his place.
“Poppy?”
“Mona!”
“You reme
mbered me!”
How could she forget? Not many Clarkston High students had had a baby when they were still teenagers.
“Of course. How’s your little boy?”
“Manuel’s going into middle school next year, and Miguel’s nine.”
“That’s impossible!”
Mona laughed. “I love being a mom. Keeps you young. I’ve been following your quest to become a wine steward on social media. What’s the latest? Have you taken your test yet?”
“Just this week.” She held up crossed fingers. “On pins and needles waiting to hear how I did.”
“You must be going out of your mind! Talk about life-changing. Well, I’m rooting for you. I always knew you had it in you.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. What are you up to these days? Last I heard you were living in California.”
“I spent a few years trying to find myself. But you know what they say—there’s no place like home. I realized I wanted to raise my boys here. So I came back. Got my business degree online,” she boasted. “Took me six years, but now I’m home and looking for a job.”
“What do you want to do?”
She shrugged. “Nice thing about a business degree is that it’s flexible. I’d like to work around people. Thing is, not everyone is brave enough to take on a high school dropout.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something soon. You were always so—”
“Flirtatious?” Mona laughed.
“I was going to say personable.”
Mona laughed again. “You’re sweet.”
“Well, anyway. I’m sure I’ll be seeing—” But no. Poppy wouldn’t be seeing Mona around—not if she got the news she was hoping for. She wouldn’t be seeing much of anyone in this room, in this town, anymore.
Daryl Decaprio was tugging Mona toward the dance floor.
“You’ve still got it going on,” Poppy said in Mona’s ear.
“And you,” Mona pointed at Poppy, “were always more than just the prom queen.” She winked and was gone, Sam and Red following close on her heels.
Standing next to Poppy was Junie, watching the couples having fun with a wistful expression. A year ago, Sam had hired Manolo Santos to oversee the building of the new wine consortium. But once Manolo met Junie, he ended up spending as much time whipping her place into shape as he did on Sam’s project. When the fall crush started, her new tasting room and patio brought the tourists in droves. And then, like a brownie who helps with household tasks overnight and then vanishes at dawn, Manolo was gone.
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