Chapter 2
“Ow,” hissed Keval, rubbing his shin.
“I barely tapped you,” replied Heath.
“Next time, try using your words.”
“Next time, try not saying every word that comes into your head.”
“Can you believe Demi Barnes walked in here just when we were reading Poppy’s yearbook superlative?”
“After what she wrote, she’s got nerve setting foot in here at all,” muttered Heath.
“Nerve is something Demi has in spades. Did you hear her? ‘Heath, get your dad to loan us some potted trees,’” Keval mocked. “How’d she ever get that job in Senator Hollin’s office, with that kind of diplomacy? That’s what I’d like to know.” He shuddered. “What are we going to do?”
“Do?”
“About Poppy. You know how she is. She’ll never pass a written test without some major academic intervention.”
Secretly, Heath hadn’t exactly been devastated when he found out Poppy had lost her job at the wine shop. Not that he didn’t want her to be happy, but the idea of having her back at the café on a regular basis warmed him inside. No one else made his turkey BLT quite like she did: bacon fried crisp, light on the mayo. He had already started getting excited at the idea of her being present at all the town’s big annual events—the post–Memorial Day Hike, the Clarkston Splash in July, and the fall crush celebrations, just like back in the good old days—when Keval broke the news of her plans to leave again in three short months.
He looked up from where he’d been staring into his empty glass. “A waitress at rest tends to stay at rest unless an external force is applied to her. Newton’s First Law of Motion.”
“That is so nerd.”
“Nerd has such a negative connotation. I prefer intellectual badass.”
Keval rolled his eyes and glanced over at where Poppy waited on another table. He inclined his head toward Heath’s. “You know what I mean.”
Heath did know. If not for that hotshot restaurateur who had set his sights on his Poppy, right now the world would be falling back into apple-pie order. But he couldn’t exactly share that with Keval. Or with anyone, for that matter.
“Don’t make me say it,” Keval whispered.
“Say what?” Heath was lost in his fantasy of seeing Poppy’s friendly countenance every day again, instead of only glimpses now and then. Not that he couldn’t have found her if he’d needed to over the past few years. Her parents’ house was right down the road from his. At least there’d been that.
“I love Poppy to pieces. Who doesn’t? But let’s be real. The eel-whay’s inning-spay, but the amster-hay’s ead-day.”
“Pig Latin. Brilliant. Shoulda been a spy, like Sam.”
Keval’s eyes grew round. “Is it true what they say? Was Sam really a spy?”
Heath slapped his forehead. “And you think Poppy has a short attention span?”
Right before Sam Owens started the consortium, he’d been awarded a chest full of medals for his military service. When asked about he details, he was infuriatingly closemouthed. His reticence had turned speculation about his past into one of the town’s favorite ongoing pastimes.
“Why are you asking me?”
Keval sat back and folded his arms. “Heath Sinclair, that is a hedge if I ever heard one. You’re one of Sam’s best friends. I knew it. I always said—”
“Forget Sam. Back to Poppy. You’re right about her.”
“Then you admit it—she’s in way over her head.”
“No.” Heath instinctively rushed to Poppy’s defense. Fate had first thrown them together when they were barely tall enough for the carnival rides at the Yamhill County Fair. Over time, they’d grown as thick as the tangled roots on one of his dad’s overgrown perennials, and just as hard to separate. He knew her limitations better than anybody.
On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that Keval had a point. “Maybe. Poppy might not be well-read, but she’s not dumb. What I meant was, I agree she’s going to need help.”
He stopped short of volunteering himself. The truth was, he didn’t want Poppy to pass that test. He wanted her to stay right there in Clarkston.
Keval, on the other hand, was plenty smart, but he didn’t have the patience to spend hours tutoring Poppy. Heath felt safe bouncing the ball back to him. He gave Keval a penetrating look.
Keval glanced over his shoulder. “Are you looking at me?”
“Why not? Aren’t you the cybermayor of Clarkston?”
“Just because I do promo for a wine consortium doesn’t mean I know diddly-squat about wine. You were the one who held her hand all through school. With all due respect, if not for you, Poppy still wouldn’t have graduated. And now you’re in the beverage business. You’re a shoo-in.”
“I’m a brewer, not a winemaker.” Heath’s highly tuned olfactory senses worked as well for wine as for beer. But Keval didn’t have to know that.
“Shhh—here she comes.”
Poppy approached sporting her usual winning smile despite the incident with Demi minutes earlier.
Heath braced himself for her unique blend of orange blossom, jasmine, and sandalwood—a blend that never failed to stimulate a rush of cortisol and adrenaline in his blood.
“Anything else, guys? More water? Lemonade?”
“Aren’t you upset?” Keval blurted. “I can’t believe you just told Cruella de Clarkston that you already got the sommelier and the modeling jobs. What are you going to do if you don’t pass your test?”
So much for zipping it, thought Heath. “No one would know anything about this if you had so much as an atom of self-control.”
Keval’s mouth crinkled into a suitably sheepish expression. “The news was bound to come out sooner or later.”
Heath sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I’ll think of something,” Poppy replied. Her smile remained steadfast though her eyes sparkled wetly. Then her lips quivered as she gulped unshed tears. “Somehow.”