And then, mercifully, she doesn’t press me on it.
It’s like she knows what I need—or rather, don’t need—in the moment.
Instead, she starts prattling on about her ideas for the Party in the Park Promenade. “Don’t you just love that name?” she asks. “Came up with it right on the spot. I think Willow was impressed with my vocabulary.” Then, when the radio plays a Jonas Brothers song, she launches into a rendition of the choreographed routine she and her sisters made up to the tune of “Love Bug.”
By the time we get back to the duplex and she hops out of the truck with a wave and a promise to see me soon, I can almost let myself forget about running into Tricia.
But then I walk into my dark house, and my fists clench at my sides.
It’s not that I’m still in love with Tricia. Because I’m not. But she always wins. Everyone in town has taken her side—or at least that’s how it feels. I should be used to it by now, but tonight it stings.
Why?
I toss my keys onto the counter and scrape my hands through my hair.
The answer comes to me in a flash.
Because I care about Poppy’s opinion of me, and it’s the first time in a long time I can say that I care about what someone else thinks. I don’t know what it is about her, but I feel pulled in her direction. Like she’s the moon to my tide.
I know, I know. I referred to her as the sun earlier, and now I’m comparing her to the moon. How am I supposed to categorize this woman? She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. All I know is I want to be her friend, and I don’t like the thought of her impression of me being skewed by the past.
9
Rumor Has It
Poppy
“So,how’sHolland?”Rosesettles into her chair across the table from me at Gateway Café, taking a long sip of her iced coffee and picking up a French fry.
“He’s good.” I loop my purse over the back of my seat and face her. “Tired, but energized, if that makes sense. It’s cool to see him doing what he was made to do.”
Holland and I were finally able to connect over a video call yesterday night after he finished his Sunday round. Not only did he make the cut and get to play the weekend, but he shot lower than anyone expected, made a nice chunk of change, and moved up the ranks.
Golf is a nebulous sport if you’re not into it, but basically Holland earned a tour card, which allows him to play in PGO Tour tournaments. The Professional Golf Organization is the big leagues. He’s got to keep playing well in order to keep his card, and each week’s golf outing counts.
That’s why he’s so busy. He’s focused on what’s in front of him, and I can’t fault him for that. I’ve been watching as much golf as I can so I can be as supportive as possible. Holland was happy to be able to talk through his game with me, and I was happy I could sort of understand what shots and holes he was referring to.
I’m not going to tell Rose that I feel absolutely zero romantic spark where Holland is concerned. It’s unfair of me to think that at this point. Sure, he might have only talked about his golf game, but he seemed genuinely happy to see me, and he was nibbling on the snacks I sent him in my care package, so I know he appreciated that. While he didn’t offer much by way of conversation outside of his game, he was very content to sit back and let me tell him all about Cashmere Cove and my first week in town.
All in all, we had a nice visit. I’m good with nice.
No, it’s not a desperate, pining-after-each-other kind of romance, but it’s steady, and it’s still new. We started dating a month before I moved here. Our whole relationship has been on the fly, but he’ll be back in town for his cousin’s wedding, which’ll be a great chance to reconnect.
“Don’t you sound like the most doting girlfriend around?” Rose wiggles her eyebrows at me before continuing. “What did he have to say about”—she glances over her shoulder before dropping her voice—“Mack and Tricia?”
I look toward the counter area. We spotted Mack when we walked in. He was dressed in a Mack Electric t-shirt, was wearing his usual black M-E baseball hat, and had a tool belt around his waist. He was fiddling with a light switch behind the bar and looked up and nodded at us but returned his focus to whatever he was working on without so much as a word.
It’s been a week since Mack took us to Romeo’s for pizza, and he and I had what Rose has coined the Tricia Incident.
He’s been like a ghost since then. He did come by the house to look at the drywall in the bathroom like he promised, but otherwise, we haven’t seen heads or tails of him. He’s been getting home late. I know this because, unlike Rose, who sleeps like the dead, I sleep like a zombie and am in a perpetual half-awake state. I always startle when his truck pulls in. That means I also hear when his truck rumbles away a little before six each morning.
“Holland brushed me off when I asked. He said Mack made his bed, and he’s content to lie in it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not really our business.”
Rose looks affronted. “Don’t be all high and mighty. I know you’re curious about why Tricia said someone should warn Holland about you spending time with Mack.”
