Intoxicating

by Heather Heyford

  “Don’t worry.” He got up and draped his arm around her casually as he walked her to the door. “I’ll take care of you. HR-wise, you’re my biggest asset.”

  * * *

  The next weekend, when she and Cory walked past everyone shifting their feet in the long security lines to board the sleek little jet sitting on the tarmac, apprehension gave way to excitement.

  Inside, the plane reminded Poppy of a narrow living room. There were leather recliners that swiveled and a bar along one side.

  Cory helped her off with her jacket. Introductions were made. She jumped when the engines fired up. As they hurtled down the runway faster and faster, she clenched the armrests, held her breath, and watched the ground recede beneath her, leaving the gray-tinged snow and cold behind.

  That evening, she was wearing her new, light-as-air dress, sipping fine wine under a tropical sunset.

  Cory seemed to know everybody. One by one, he introduced her as his newest sommelier. Their reactions were puzzling. Half treated her like she was one of the servers passing coconut shrimp. The other half tried to impress her by dropping names of vintners they’d met or rare bottles they’d drunk.

  The next day she was lying on a lounge, soaking up the hot Mexican sun when Cory spread his towel next to hers.

  She tried not to look directly at her boss in his swim trunks.

  “Having fun?”

  “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  “This is only the beginning. Wait until your photo spread comes out in May. You’re going to be the center of attention everywhere you go. Do you realize that?”

  “To tell you the truth, since the shoot ended, I haven’t given it another thought.”

  “Well, you’d better be prepared, because you see this?” He gestured broadly, taking in the pool with its swim-up bar, the villa, and the ocean beyond. “This is just the beginning. Wait and see.

  “A few things I want to enlighten you on,” he said, slathering on a deliciously scented sunscreen. “Raoul, over there? Real estate broker. You know what they say: location, location, location. So be nice to him. Always good to have someone who knows where the openings are going to be before anyone else does, in case we want to expand. We need him on our side.”

  “Okay.” She had no reason not to be nice to him. To anyone, for that matter.

  “And Kelly?”

  “The one with the short dark hair who doesn’t smile?”

  The woman was the epitome of sophistication. Poppy fingered her own long locks absent-mindedly, wondering how she’d look with a pert bob or some chic layers. “I’ve waited on her.”

  “Super-smart attorney. We want to keep her well wined and dined. Taking care of her keeps the fees down and the response time short when something goes wrong.

  “Last one. Michael.”

  “The guy in the striped trunks on the diving board.” The previous evening sprang to mind, when Michael had held forth on the pool deck, talking loud and long to whoever would listen.

  “Cocktail expert at Piper’s Pub. You’ve heard of it?”

  She nodded.

  “I want him.”

  Confused, she looked over at Cory. His chest glistened with oil.

  “Booze is where our profit margin lies. We’ve got our wine list on track. Now I want a good cocktail man to help us refine our mixed drinks.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “You’re good at small talk. Talk to him. Can you swim? Swim up to him. Whatever it takes.”

  Michael did a cannonball and Poppy shrank at the resulting splash.

  And it occurred to her then that though she wasn’t in her usual server role, she was still at work.

  Two days later, the northbound plane dropped altitude suddenly, leaving Poppy’s stomach in her throat. She looked around, but everybody else was still chatting easily.

  “Folks,” said the pilot over the intercom, “if you’re looking out the window, down below you’ll see the tiny town of Clarkston. In case you’re standing at the bar, time to grab your seat and fasten those seat belts for our descent into the PDX. Local time is six thirty-seven. Temperature is forty degrees under overcast skies.”

  Clarkston. Sandy Houser’s baby shower! It was at two o’clock today. Poppy had promised Sandy and Kyle she’d go.

  The shower was coed, meaning everyone had been there, women and men. Including Heath.

  Poppy’s head went back in her recliner. Misgivings flooded through her. She glanced at her newly bronzed arms and realized that as gorgeous as Mexico was, she would rather have spent the weekend catching up with old friends back home than sucking up to some obnoxious guy in hopes that he’d quit his current position and come to work for Cory. Worse, if Michael did come on board, she would be stuck with him on a regular basis.

  She peered out the window at the ground rushing toward them and held her breath as the plane bounced down jerkily, followed by a final roar as the engines reversed thrust.

  “Hard coming back to forty degrees, isn’t it?” asked Cory as they rolled their carry-ons across the tarmac.

  He had mistaken her subdued manner for not wanting to come back.

  She didn’t bother correcting him.

  Back in her quiet apartment, she opened her closet door to hang up her jacket. There, on the floor, sat the Housers’ baby gift.

  What was she going to say to Sandy? Sorry I was a no-show at your shower, but I was in Mexico with my boss? Or Sorry I missed your big event, but I was busy working on my tan?

  And speaking of being tan, she should feel relaxed after spending the weekend in the lap of luxury. Instead, she was drained from trying to draw out people she had nothing in common with, merely to serve her boss’s ulterior motives.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The winter rains didn’t come as often now.

  With every passing day, Poppy grew even more proficient at her job, more popular with the dining public.

  From the professional women who frequented Anthony’s, she observed how to dress well. She bought a few good pieces in subdued colors that she could wear over and over.

  Getting up at dawn to endure Dieter’s punishing workouts had become routine.

  She got six more inches lopped off her hair. Enough to release its natural wave, give it movement.

  It turned out she hadn’t had to do much prompting to get Michael to come to work for Cory’s. He was ready for a move. And yes, his obnoxious voice could be annoying. But he brought in even more business, and that was good for everyone.

  Though she’d only been away from home three months, sometimes it seemed like years. She still worked long hours, but she had learned to set boundaries. She no longer felt obligated to spend her one free night checking up on the competition.

  One day in early March while she was pulling the cork on a bottle of 2013 Dundee Hills, she felt her phone vibrate.

  She checked all her tables and, finding everyone content, went to the wait station and slipped it from her pocket to see a missed call from Junie Hart.

  A little flutter of panic set her heart racing. Poppy still wasn’t regular at checking social media, but she and Junie stayed in sporadic contact through the occasional text. Calling had gone out of fashion, it seemed. An actual phone call smacked of something out of the ordinary.

  She stepped behind a pillar and hit call back.

  “Junie? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is better than okay. I’m getting married!”

  “You’re engaged?!”

  To whom? Last she knew, Junie was still pining over a hot-looking ladies’ man from back East.

  “Manolo. He came back.”

  “You have a ring?”

  “I’m gazing at his grandmother’s diamond on my finger right now. I wanted you to hear it from me. And to invite you to my engagement party.”

  * * *

  Junie and Manolo’s engagement party was more than just a chance for Poppy to toast their happiness. She was still
embarrassed over having been a no-show at the Housers’ shower.

  And it wasn’t just the Housers. In such a small town, her disregard for their feelings wasn’t likely to have gone unnoticed. She needed to show everyone that her need to prove herself out in the big, wide world didn’t take the place of her manners. That she was still the same old Poppy.

  She spent her day off shopping for the perfect gift and card. Walking back to her car, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window of a clothing store. When had her favorite old jeans become so saggy in the seat? Maybe it was time for a new pair. While she was at it, she let herself be talked into a cute pair of shoes, on sale.

  On the night before the engagement party, she set her alarm to give herself plenty of time to get ready and make the drive to Clarkston the next morning. This time she was taking no chances.

  The thought of seeing all her oldest and dearest friends was so exciting she could hardly sleep. Especially Junie. If anyone deserved happiness, it was her, after losing first her brother, then her dad, and even her mom when she had moved away to be closer to her work.

  There was Sandy, too, with her baby soon coming due. Poppy couldn’t wait to see her growing belly.

  And of course, her parents. Her heart squeezed at the thought of seeing her mom’s smile again, and she couldn’t wait to be lifted off her feet in one of Big Pop’s giant bear hugs.

  And then there was Heath. Adorkable, sexy Heath, with the faint worry line between his brows and that wayward lock of hair he was always brushing out of his hazel eyes.

  The pause between phone calls had grown longer and longer. And when they did talk, they stuck to safe subjects like work and mutual friends, sidestepping their real feelings.

  She hugged Heath’s raggedy old dog, burying her nose in it. It still smelled faintly of him, though she feared the smell was fading and might one day be gone forever.

  In a few hours, she would see him again. Just imagining his familiar face . . . his reserved yet masculine manner . . . his rock-hard body beneath one of his science guy T-shirts made her insides go all gooey.

  She tossed and turned. And then the irony occurred to her: The last time she’d looked forward to something this much was the day she’d left Clarkston to move to Portland.

  * * *

  The next morning, despite leaving in plenty of time, Poppy ran into a traffic tie-up around Tigard. As the minutes wore on, she tapped the steering wheel impatiently. By the time traffic started to flow again, she was fifteen minutes behind schedule.

  When she finally reached Broken Hart Vineyards, all the parking spaces close to the building were taken. She parked far away in the grass, gathered up her presents—one for the engaged couple and the other, the belated Houser baby gift—and set out to navigate the uneven ground in her new heels.

  The tasting room was abuzz with people. Over the hum, Poppy discerned the voice of her mom in the vicinity of the bar. There she was, sitting next to Red. Poppy headed straight for her.

  Red looked up. Wordlessly, she touched Mom’s sleeve.

  Conversations fell apart as one Clarkstonian after another noted Mom’s stunned expression and turned to see what had her mouth agape.

  Behind the bar, Sam set down the bottle he’d been pouring from and grinned from ear to ear.

  Next to Mom, Big Pop appeared confused at the sight of his very own Poppy.

  As for Demi Barnes, talking to Jess over by the window—well. If looks could kill, Poppy should be dead.

  And then she spied a trim young man with one Western-style boot propped on the bar rail, his only companion a pilsner glass.

  A cascade of emotions washed over her, stopping her in the center of the tasting room.

  “Heath.”

  Heath nodded curtly. “Poppy,” he replied, in a voice as smooth as good chocolate.

  For one pregnant moment, nobody breathed.

  Then: “There’s my girl!” cried Mom, coming toward her with open arms.

  The room exhaled and conversation resumed, to Poppy’s great relief.

  “Your hair!” Mom exclaimed when she reached her, fingering a shortened lock.

  Poppy’s best girlfriends gave her mother rein to fawn over her daughter for a few moments before pouncing on her. “What have you done to yourself? You look so . . . grown up!”

  Next, Poppy wormed her way toward the bride-to-be.

  “I’m so happy you could come,” said Junie, embracing her.

  “Made Junie’s day when you said you could drive down,” added Manolo.

  Poppy handed Junie her gift. “It took me forever to pick this out. I hope you love it.”

  “It’s from you, isn’t it? I know I will,” she said, beaming.

  “And this one’s for you,” Poppy told Sandy Houser, standing off to the side, one hand resting atop her very round belly. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible that I let you down when I didn’t come to the shower.”

  “Pfft.” Glowing with the life burgeoning inside her, Sandy waved off her concern. “It’s nothing. We’re just glad to be seeing you now, on another happy occasion. So how’s big-city life? Tell me all about it.”

  “It’s going well.” Heath was close. She could feel his presence. Her eyes bounced around the room in search of him, landing instead on one old friend after another. For the most part, she had known them all her life: their strengths, their shortcomings, the unique quirks that made them who they were. “Except for missing all the people back home.”

  “I’ll fill you in. Just tell me what you want to know,” said Sandy.

  “Everything! Starting with Red and Sam.” She nodded to where they stood chatting. “Are they . . . you know. A thing?”

  Sandy shrugged. “You see them around together. But there’s always a good reason. The fashion show, sometimes at parties. If there’s anything more to it than that, they aren’t telling. But you’ve heard Rory’s going out with Holly?”

  Poppy followed Sandy’s eyes over to where Rory had his arm around Holly, talking to a grower.

  Where is Heath? She prayed he hadn’t left before they had a chance to talk.

  “No!”

  “He took her to the Valentine’s Dance at the Radish Rose.”

  The Valentine’s Dance. Has that already come and gone?

  A frown caught Poppy’s eye from across the room, and her smile faded.

  Sandy glanced over her shoulder. “Ah. There’s someone who might need a Band-Aid and a happy face sticker.”

  “I better go talk to him.”

  She took a deep breath and wound her way through the crowd, returning waves and greetings but determined to reach her destination despite knowing she was in for a tongue-lashing when she got there.

  Along the way, bits of surprising news, items of gossip she was no longer privy to reached her ears. She felt oddly isolated. Left out.

  “Keval.”

  “Excuse me. Do we know each other?” Keval stiffened under her embrace.

  “You’re upset.”

  “Upset? Why should I be upset? Just because my dear friend disappeared and never texts?”

  “I know. I’ve been terrible.”

  “Yes, you have been. Speaking of which, how was Mexico?”

  Poppy looked around furtively. “I’d appreciate it if you keep that to yourself,” she said under her breath. “Sandy would be really hurt if she knew. I didn’t intentionally put a trip above Sandy and Kyle. I just forgot.”

  “Hmph.” Keval raised a brow and coolly examined his wine. “And your way of patching the code is to just show up in those shoes—which, by the way are everything—and be your old sunny self and all will be forgiven?”

  “You’re right. I should have called you more. I meant to. I think about you all the time. But I’m just so busy. I work late six nights a week, and then I have to get up early to work out three mornings . . .”

  He picked up a cube of Swiss from his plate and held it at shoulder height. “Piece of cheese to go with that whi
ne?” he asked, releasing it into Poppy’s hastily cupped hand. “Don’t worry. I forgive you.”

  Something caught his eye. “Oh. Junie’s mother is waving to me. I’ll be back.”

  Keval was right. There was no excuse for the way she’d been brushing off the people who still meant so much to her.

  Suddenly she reverted to that little girl who needed to be loved unconditionally, regardless of how bad her behavior had been. She looked around for Big Pop and one of his bear hugs and ran smack into Heath, who raised his glass out of the way just in time to avoid sloshing them both with beer.

  “Careful.”

  That voice. If she could only bottle it, take it with her to listen to every time she needed a fix.

  The brief touch of his fingers singed her upper arm.

  “Sorry.” How many apologies did that make in a single day?

  A dozen bystanders busied themselves trying to pretend they hadn’t witnessed their awkward exchange . . . weren’t keeping eyes peeled to see what happened next.

  Starved for the sight of him, Poppy let her eyes travel over Heath’s body while he rocked on his heels and gazed out Junie’s new picture window at the ridged hills that comprised Broken Hart Vineyards.

  The design on his tee combined the abbreviations for beryllium and erbium to spell out BeEr.

  She grasped at something—anything, to bridge the gap that had formed between them over the past months.

  “Nice shirt.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, somewhere. And I thought I was bad at small talk.”

  “Sorry.” There it is again.

  She tried a different tack. “How’s the new brewpub coming along?”

  “Huh? Oh.” He looked down. “I kind of chucked that idea.”

  “What? Why? You were so excited about it.”

  Before he could answer, Junie and Manolo stopped to talk with Mona Cruz, seated nearby. Manolo slid his arm possessively around Junie’s waist. Junie smiled and said something to Manolo, who returned her adoring gaze.

  “They look so happy,” mused Poppy. “Don’t they?”

  Pain flashed across Heath’s face. He tossed back what was left of his drink. “Need a refill. Nice seeing you.”

  A dull knife ripped through Poppy’s insides. Her nostrils stung with unshed tears.