She looks gorgeous, okay? Effortlessly elegant.
Dang it.
I don’t want to be thinking about how attractive Holland’s girlfriend is.
“You look fine,” I say, angling my body toward the truck. “We should go.”
“Right.” She nods, hops into the passenger seat, and gives my truck a once-over. “Thanks for the ride. Your parents live closer to the water, right? This place is so gorgeous.”
She chatters on as I make the quick drive through town. Cashmere Cove is split into an upper district and a lower district. The upper district is where many of the traditional neighborhoods are, like the one that houses my duplex as well as the day-to-day businesses like the Pick ‘n’ Save and a Walgreens. The lower district, all along the water, is comprised of the historic downtown strip, vacation rentals, area small businesses, and larger homes, including the house where I grew up.
“This whole town was snatched from the pages of a storybook.” Poppy’s head is almost hanging out the open window. “Look at these mansions! I can totally imagine who lives in that one!”
She points to a house with lavender siding and a black roof. “I bet it’s a single woman’s property. She’s wealthy and dignified. She’s made her millions in the perfume industry. And”—Poppy lifts a finger in the air as if a lightbulb went on in her brain—“there’s a man who has been begging her to marry him for the last twenty years. But she’s still in love with a young page she met in England when she was a teenager and worked as an underling at Jo Malone.”
“Jo Ma-who? What are you talking about?”
Poppy looks at me and laughs. “Sorry. I got caught up in the game.”
“Uh…” I’m at a bit of a loss. “Care to enlighten me?”
“An electrician joke. Nice.” She holds up a hand for a high-five, and when I just stare back at her, she slaps her own hand. “It’s a game I made it up for Rose and Noli, my sisters, when they were in high school. Our living circumstances were…not ideal. So we’d drive to ritzy neighborhoods, get out of our car, walk around, and imagine who lived in the houses.”
As I’m trying to wrap my brain around everything she’s said—and let’s face it, there has been a lot—she goes on. “So, am I close? Who lives there?”
“Ernest and Willow Dunlap. He comes from a long line of meat packers, and she’s one of our local librarians.”
Poppy bursts out laughing. “Not close, then.”
“No.”
I pull into my parents’ driveway, and Poppy gasps. “This is your family’s house?”
I glance up at the stately white siding and black shutters of the two-story house where I grew up. The green, striped lawn is meticulously kept, right down to the putting green my dad has been tending along the side yard ever since Holland showed true potential to be a legitimate golfer.
“Home sweet home.” I cut the ignition.
Poppy steps out of the truck and brushes down her dress. “Any advice?”
I walk around the front of the truck, and she’s staring at me with her big, baby-blue eyes.
“Nope.” Her shoulders sag, and it’s like I popped her birthday balloon. I don’t like the feeling, so I add, “My parents will love you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
She perks up and blows out a breath. “Okay. I can do this.”
I walk around the side yard, knowing on a gorgeous day like today my parents will have the backyard set up picnic-style for our weekly dinner.
My mom spots Poppy and me first.
“There they are!” she squeals and hurries over. “You must be Poppy.” She gives Poppy a brisk hug. “So lovely to meet you, dear.”
Poppy eases out of the hug. “Thank you so much for having me.”
My mom is looking her up and down with a delighted expression on her face. “Aren’t you cute as a button? I hope my Holland has been treating you well?”
Poppy blushes, and I look away.
Because it’s weird to think about my baby brother treating any woman in any way, but also because it’s always like a knife to the side when my mom refers to Holland as my Holland.
I’ve never been my Mack—or at least, I haven’t been for a long time—and that’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it. But sometimes it gets under my skin. Like a sliver. Or a bee sting.
Or a bee sting on top of a sliver.
“Come with me. I want to show you around.” My mom turns, linking her arm with Poppy's, only to pause and glance back to me. “Thanks for getting our Poppy here, Mack. The guys are inside.”
She turns Poppy in the direction of my cousin Piper and her fiancé, Ed, anxious to make introductions. Poppy tosses me a small smile over her shoulder, and she looks so relieved I can’t hold it against her that less than five minutes into knowing my mother she also has already earned a possessive pronoun.
I tell myself I don’t care. It’s my least favorite part of speech.
I wander inside to find two of my employees, whom my parents have adopted as surrogate children. Patrick Casterro and his wife, Mia, are standing around the island in my parents’ kitchen along with Lou Boggs. I greet the guys and give Mia a quick peck on the cheek.
“Your mom and dad are so kind to keep having us over,” Mia says as she grabs another carrot from the vegetable platter.
Since she and Patrick moved to town six months back, they have been Sunday dinner regulars. It’s kind of my mom and dad’s thing. They take in anyone new to Cashmere Cove and make sure they feel at home.
“They’d be offended if you didn’t come,” I assure her.
Mia smiles. “I’m going to head back out and mingle. You boys behave.”
She leaves through the screen door, and I make my way to the fridge for a beer. “You guys good?”
Patrick and Lou raise their drinks.
“So what’s the 411 on Cashmere Cove’s newest—and prettiest—residents?” Lou asks.
“Holland’s girlfriend and her sister,” Patrick helpfully adds, in case, you know, I missed Lou’s hooked thumb in the direction of where Poppy is standing, chatting with my mom and dad on the patio.
I pop the top on my beer. “What do you want to know?”
“Are they nice?” Patrick asks.
“Are they single?” Lou says at the same time.
Patrick slaps him on the back of the head. “Dude. Poppy is dating Holland.”
“Which is weird, right?” Lou asks, unfazed. “Like, she moves to town as he’s moving away? Doesn’t seem like the smartest way to set up a lasting relationship.”
“It’s unconventional,” I agree.
“But is she nice?” Patrick asks. “Do you think Mia would like her?”
Mia is a gem, but also very shy. I know Patrick worries about her making friends.
“I think so. She’s…”—I search for the right word and land on—“bubbly.”
“Bubbly?” Lou echoes. “Like champagne?”
I roll my eyes. “Not what I meant.”
“You’re going to have to spell it out, boss. Not all of us are poets.”
I ignore the poet comment. “Bubbly like she’s in good spirits…happy most of the time.”