Intoxicating

by Heather Heyford

  When she reached Clarkston, she had a rogue urge to park on Main Street and enter the café through the front door instead of going through the kitchen like she always used to do. Now that she no longer worked there, she wanted to view Poppy’s from a different perspective, as a customer, not someone who had grown up there.

  The familiar cinnamon scent of Mom’s sticky buns warmed her heart.

  “Hey! Look who’s here!” Grinning from ear to ear, Big Pop came out from behind the counter and smothered her to his chest.

  She felt infinitely better already.

  Mom was waiting her turn. “Honey! I didn’t know you were coming! Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. Can’t I visit my parents on my day off?”

  “Well, sure,” she said, wringing her hands. “It’s just that . . . you came unannounced. We weren’t exactly ready for you.”

  “What’s there to get ready?”

  But before Mom could answer, all over the café, hands went up in greeting.

  It took her a full fifteen minutes to circulate the room, swapping news with everyone who demanded her attention. As she talked and listened, she looked around, comparing the appearance of her humble namesake café with the upscale establishment where she now worked.

  There was no comparison. While Anthony’s had dark paneled walls and mahogany tables clothed in white linen, the café had red vinyl booths and metal-legged tables topped with Formica.

  She glanced up at the chalkboard menu on the wall. Turkey BLTs hardly measured up to thirty-six-dollar-a-plate halibut cheeks.

  “So, what do you think about that?” The president of the Clarkston Savings Bank, a lanky, silver-haired man in jeans and neatly tucked flannel shirt, jerked his thumb in the direction of the picture window.

  Poppy hadn’t noticed the rectangular sign propped against the glass, facing outward. Some sixth sense made her stomach drop.

  Part of her didn’t want to take a closer look. But another, perverse part propelled her feet forward.

  Mom stepped in front of her. “Let’s sit down and talk first. It’s been so long since we had a little heart-to-heart.”

  “Let her go, Scarlett,” said her father. “She has to find out sometime.”

  Reluctantly, Mom stepped to the side.

  There, her worst fear was confirmed.

  She picked up the sign and carried it over to where her parents stood.

  “Why?”

  “Well, honey, we’re getting older, that’s why.” She twisted her dish towel. “There’s a lot we haven’t been able to do. Traveling, for instance. We’ve never been to the southwest, and you know we’ve always wanted to go.”

  “We got that big motor home just sitting out there in the drive. And now that I’m eligible for Social Security—”

  “And you’ve established yourself somewhere else,” Mom reminded her.

  “We just listed it this week. We thought we had plenty of time to tell you. But wouldn’t you know, we already got a bite.”

  “Might as well tell you all of it,” said Mom, looking up anxiously at Big Pop. “We put the house on the market, too.”

  Poppy steadied herself with a hand on a nearby table.

  “No sense in hanging on to it when we’re going to be living in the motor home.”

  The thought of her house and the café not being there was inconceivable. Those strong, steady roots were what had given her the strength to branch out.

  “You look a little shaky. Come sit down,” said Mom.

  Poppy did as she was told.

  “How are you? How’s your job?”

  How could Mom expect her to answer her inane questions, after the bombshell she’d just dropped?

  “Fine,” she said, in a daze.

  She continued to mouth pat answers to Mom’s queries, too stunned to do anything else.

  “Are you planning to go over to Heath’s while you’re here?”

  At the sound of his name, Poppy blinked. After the engagement party, she had determined that it was best for Heath if she stayed away. But now she needed him like never before.

  “Won’t do no good.” A grower from the market turned around and slung his elbow over the upholstered back of the booth. “He’s not home.”

  “Where is he?” Poppy heard herself ask.

  “Prob’ly still not done moving his dad over to Liz Greenburn’s place. They started yesterday. But you know his dad’s got a lot of stuff to move.”

  The two women eating sticky buns at the counter swung around as one. “Scott Sinclair is moving in with Liz Greenburn?” they asked in tandem.

  “That’s right,” said the man, reveling in being the bearer of juicy gossip.

  “The caterer?” Poppy interjected.

  “Yep. Nobody saw that coming. Almost twenty years Scott’s been alone. I hear he’d become somewhat of a recluse. Some say even a hoarder. Then Liz got ahold of him, turned him around right quick.”

  So many changes. What would Heath do without having to check on his dad every day? On the one hand, it was a blessing. But on the other . . . whom else did Heath have?

  She slid out of the booth.

  “Where are you going?” asked Mom.

  “To Heath’s.”

  “Have something to eat first.”

  “I—I couldn’t eat.”

  “Will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Not long after talking to Mona at the engagement party, Heath had called up his marketing manager and told him he would be accompanying him to the next Brewer’s Guild meeting.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’ve been begging you to do this for the past year, and it’s been like bangin’ my head against a wall. I gotta know. What changed your mind?”

  What was the final straw? Was it that a certain caterer had done what no one had been able to do in twenty years—capture his dad’s broken heart, lightening Heath’s load?

  Or that the love of Heath’s life had chosen fame and notoriety over him?

  Maybe it was Mona Cruz, showing up at the point when he’d hit rock bottom, like some brewing angel of mercy.

  Or maybe it was all three of those things.

  “It’s not important,” said Heath, when really, nothing could be more important.

  “Whatever. I’m just glad you’re finally coming around.”

  “I’m only going to a meeting, not making any promises.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  Heath had no way of knowing that that day would prove to be life-changing. At that meeting of brewers, he would discover a like-minded group of bright men and women who were committed to the highest level of their craft. In short, he would finally find his tribe.

  The whole way home, he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about the ideas he’d heard and how he planned to put his personal spin on them.

  John would be ecstatic, and so would the rest of the team, when he told them that they were going to do it—that they were going to finally have their brewpub.

  Chapter Thirty

  Poppy slowed her Mini to a crawl when she passed Heath’s old house, the one he’d grown up in. In the front yard she saw a huge pile of junk. Furniture, old rugs, toys . . . more stuff than a ranch house that size could conceivably contain. The windows were bare of curtains. There was no sign of either Heath’s car or his dad’s.

  Picking up speed, she drove on several hundred yards until she came to Heath’s new place.

  Parked next to his car was another, unfamiliar one.

  Poppy pulled in behind Heath and got out. When she walked by the strange vehicle, the sight of a child’s booster seat in the back puzzled her.

  Who among their friends had a kid that age?

  She rang the doorbell once. Twice.

  Then she heard the faint sound of children’s voices coming from behind the house.

  She made her way aro
und to the path that led down to the creek.

  The scent of a lilac bush in bloom brought back a fond memory of a necklace Heath had given her the Saturday after she’d flunked yet another math test. Only with a backward glance did she notice that that little bush had grown along with her, until today it was as tall as she was.

  The voices grew louder. Were these kids from the strange car parked next to Heath’s? Some new people in the area? Or out-of-state visitors run amok? Tourists had been known to carry their picnic baskets right out into people’s vineyards, without asking permission.

  But there weren’t any vineyards out back here, just the woods and the Chehalem.

  Her old protectiveness toward Heath sprang to the forefront. He wouldn’t be happy when he found out his privacy had been invaded.

  Once she got to a certain spot, it wouldn’t be hard to see through the branches to the tree house and its surroundings. The oaks and maples wouldn’t fully leaf out until May.

  When she reached the clearing, she slowed her steps and peered below.

  Two of the Adirondack chairs had been moved side by side. Dappled sunlight played across the features of Heath and—

  Mona Cruz?

  Poppy blinked.

  At Heath’s feet lay his dozing dogs, their fur wet and matted from a dip in the creek.

  Two skinny young boys, one of them armed with a big stick, poked around in the brush.

  “Can we swing on this, Heath?” called the smaller of the two, pointing to where the frayed rope hung from a high branch over a deep pool.

  They must know him pretty well to be using his first name.

  “Not that one. It’s too old. Maybe this summer I’ll replace it, and then I’ll show you how we used to swing out.”

  How they used to swing out. Heath and Poppy and a very select group of others. This was their place. Or used to be.

  Seconds ticked by while Poppy struggled to make sense of what she was looking at.

  By the looks of things, he and Mona sure had a lot to talk about. Heath was going on with rare abandon.

  A minute passed, and still she couldn’t tear her eyes off the scene of tranquil domesticity. Heath sat forward on the edge of his seat, legs spread, elbows propped on his knees, geek tee rippling across flat abs when he raised his arms to make a point.

  Mona, wearing a short romper affair, slouched sideways facing him, a foot tucked beneath her.

  But Poppy could only make out what they said when Heath raised his voice to warn the smaller boy away from the bank, or Mona yelled at the older one to stop running with the stick.

  So, this was how Heath had chosen to occupy himself now that she had gone away and his dad had moved in with his girlfriend. And to think of all the time she’d wasted worrying about him! It hadn’t taken long for him to find solace. No wonder, though, with Mona moving in on him the minute the competition was out of sight. A guy like Heath didn’t have a chance.

  She was almost sick with jealousy. Thank God she had happened by when she did! If not, how long would it have been before she found out about them? When would Heath have told her?

  Not that she called him much anymore, a small inner voice reminded her.

  Well, those two could have each other!

  Once she’d made up her mind she wasn’t going down there to confront them, she became terrified that they would spot her spying on them.

  She began gingerly backing up the hill one step every time, praying that she wouldn’t snap a twig or fall and give herself away. But she didn’t get far before one of those wild-child boys came tearing up the path in her direction.

  The grade was steep, forcing him to slow down, bow his head, and use his tree limb as a walking stick.

  He was coming right at her. She could hear him panting with exertion.

  She looked frantically at Heath and Mona, but in their deep connection to each other, they were oblivious. What could she do? She couldn’t retreat now without drawing attention to herself. She was trapped.

  The boy halted when he saw her sandals in the center of the path, mere inches away. His eyes climbed up her body to meet hers.

  She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh!” she hissed, in a last-ditch attempt to remain hidden.

  There was a second’s pause before he threw back his head and opened his mouth so wide Poppy could see his uvula dangling in the back of his throat. Then he screamed a bloodcurdling, “Moooooom! Stranger danger!”

  * * *

  At the sound of Miguel’s shriek, Heath was on his feet in an instant. But he only stumbled a few steps forward before he saw Miguel face-to-face with—Poppy?

  He froze, confused. She was supposed to be in Portland.

  Meanwhile, Mona had downshifted into full mama-bear mode. She was already halfway to Miguel.

  “Poppy!” She doubled over with relief when she saw her, her hand to her chest. “Thank God. It’s only you.”

  She turned on her son. “What are you doing, screaming like that, scaring me out of my wits, eh? I should take that stick of yours and swat you with it.”

  Miguel frowned and pointed an accusing finger at Poppy. “She scared me!”

  “That’s Poppy Springer. She’s nothing to be scared of.”

  Mona grinned at Poppy. “I don’t know what came over him. What are you doing here?” She brushed a jet-black curl out of her eyes. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  Poppy jammed her fists on her hips, straightened to her full height, and peered down her nose at Mona. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me?” Mona tossed her head over to where Heath stood, watching warily. “Me and Heath are talking about business.”

  “Business?” Poppy raised a doubtful brow.

  Mona’s grin disappeared. “Yes,” she replied, thrusting out her impressive chest in self-defense. “Business. Is that a problem?”

  Mona had never been the type to back down from a fight.

  “What kind of business?” As she asked it, she looked over Mona’s head at Heath.

  Mona looked back at him, too. “You tell her,” she said. “I think it’s your place.

  “Manuel!” she yelled. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

  “Aw, Mom! Do we have to?”

  “I said, get over here. Time to go.”

  “You don’t have to—” Heath sputtered.

  “Yes, we do. You two have things to talk about,” Mona said, tossing Poppy a significant look.

  “We’ll touch base later,” Heath called.

  * * *

  Heath watched Mona herd her children up the path, leaving him and Poppy alone by the creek, just like in old times.

  “What the hell?” Poppy said with a flick of her hand. “What am I supposed to think when I come walking over the hill and I find you and Mona all cozied up here like two . . . lovebirds?”

  “Lovebirds? We were talking about beer.”

  “Ha! She said you were talking about business.”

  “We were. The beer business.”

  “I knew something was up the minute I saw you together.”

  “Nothing is up. But what if there was? I didn’t know I was tethered to you.”

  “Teth—?” She actually stomped her foot.

  “Tethered. You got a better word?”

  “We. Are. Not. Tethered. We aren’t—anything.” Poppy huffed, her jaw tense.

  “What about you? What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to see if there was anything between us. Anything salvageable. Guess I know the answer to that now.”

  She whirled around and headed back up the path.

  “Poppy, come back here. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  To his relief, she stopped and turned. “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. But even if there was something going on between Mona and me, who could blame me? You left me, remember?”

  “I didn’t leave you!” she said with a grimace. “I went to find myself! There’s a big difference!”

  “
Really?” Heath saw red. “And what’s that? You had everything.” He flung his arms wide. Spittle flew from his mouth as he went on. “You’re beloved in this town. What more could you want?”

  “Self-respect! That’s what! But how would you know about that? You never had to struggle with learning something as simple as the alphabet! You never flunked a whole grade! Nobody wrote trash about you in the yearbook!”

  She stomped a few steps and then turned around expectantly. “Well? I drove all the way down here to see you. Aren’t you even going to walk me to my car?”

  She made no sense. The woman drove him crazy.

  “Why should I? Like you said, we aren’t ‘anything.’”

  With a sniff, she stormed off at double time.

  Behind her back, he stared at the exaggerated sway of her ass, as elegant as a mathematical proof—succinct, surprising, and innovative.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Poppy’s Palette ad campaign was launching at the end of May. In preparation, the local press and a handful of restaurant industry publications interviewed her.

  A week before the launch, Cory called Poppy into his office.

  “I’m loving all this press,” he said, genuinely caught up in the excitement of the launch. “This is a big day for us. Six months in business, our very own Poppy in a major ad campaign. Things are good.”

  Poppy smiled under his praise. She had worked hard.

  “I’m raising your pay twenty-five percent.”

  Her mouth fell open. “That is . . . more than generous.”

  “You deserve it. Annnnd . . . I say it’s time for a celebration. I’m throwing a release party in your honor. I’ve made the arrangements myself. All the RSVPs are in.”

  “What?”

  “The week of Memorial Day will be slow. We’ll have it that Tuesday. Six o’clock, the private banquet room. All the top Palette execs will be there. The photographer. Then there’s Kelly, our attorney, Raoul, the Realtor, some bloggers. The mayor said he’d try to stop by, schedule permitting. And Simon Matthews will be in town.”

  Poppy had gone for drinks with Simon twice since her big fight with Heath, but nothing more. She had returned to Portland more determined than ever to make things work. What choice did she have? Heath had moved on. With the café closing at the end of the month and spring the ideal time for a house to be on the market, it would only be a matter of time before that was gone, too. There was nothing to go back to.