Poppy sighs. “You lack imagination.”
“That’s not what you said about my confit duck.”
“I’ll show you where you can shove your confit duck,” she mutters behind me.
I press my lips together so I won’t laugh. I wasn’t sure how Poppy would react to the story about Jessica, but her indignation was sweet. Surprising. I feel lighter, having shared it, despite my trepidation about seeing Owen again. “Didn’t you promise me your best behavior if I let you tag along?”
“I promised to be my charming self to help you seal the deal.” We climb a set of stairs to the entryway, squeezing into the tight space. She presses close to me to avoid the path of an incoming server. She smells like expensive sunscreen and floral perfume, a blend that, absurdly, makes me want to lick her skin. “I didn’t say anything about beinggood.”
I stroke my hand from her nape to the small of her back. Her little stutter of breath has me grinning.
“What are you doing?”
“I like this dress.” I bend my head, exploring the curve of her ear with my lips. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“You’d kick me out of the kitchen if I showed up like this.”
“True.” I tease her earlobe. I like the warm weight of her. The way she’s tilting her head to the side to allow me better access. If we were alone, I’d inch the thin dress straps down. As it is, it’s all I can think about. “It’s a liability in more ways than one.”
“Took you long enough, Hartman,” someone says.
Poppy and I break apart hastily. I stiffen as Owen approaches. The way his black hair flops over his eyes is familiar, but he has more tattoos than I remember, plus a row of piercings up one ear. His chef’s jacket—white, thank you—is crisp and orderly.
“Hey, Li.” I hold out my hand.
To my surprise, Owen doesn’t just take it; he thumps me on the back in a hearty embrace. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Poppy’s self-satisfied smile.
“Hey yourself.” He steps back, a flippant grin on his face. “I was wondering when you’d finally remember we’re in the same state.”
I grimace. “Yeah. It’s been too long.”
“You look good.”
The tips of my ears redden. “You too. Look, man, I’m...” I trail off, caught up in awkward guilt.
“I was sorry to hear about Sal.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“You hungry?” Owen asks, seemingly taking pity on me and my inability to hold an actual conversation. “We have some beautiful oysters in from Rhode Island.”
“We’d love that,” Poppy says quickly. She loops her arm through mine, tugging me forward as Owen walks to a high-top in a shaded corner of the deck. “Thank you so much. Jack has something to ask you, actually.”
“If it’s to get on another yacht, that’s not happening.” He sees my stricken expression and laughs. “Just jerking your chain, Hartman. That was ages ago.”
I clear my throat. “I know I didn’t handle it well.”
“She played you, not the other way around. I’d have quit too.” He grabs two menus, sliding them to us. “I wouldn’t have run away to California, maybe, but I get it.”
“It was the French Laundry.”
“Like I said, I get it.”
I clock the ring on his left hand. “Holy shit. Did you get married?”
“Oh, yeah.” Owen admires the ring for a moment. “Vegas elopement. You’re not the only one capable of being impulsive, Hartman.”
“You and Barry?”
