“As long as you’ll give it back,” I murmur.
He crushes his mouth to mine. I loop my arms around his neck, jacket falling to the floor as I rise onto my toes to deepen the angle. His hand unravels my braid, sinking into my hair greedily; he bites my lip, tongue stroking mine when my mouth opens. His hard, angular body presses me against the countertop. I taste a little salt, either from my tears or his.
The kitchen timer dings.
We break apart, laughing, and then our foreheads are touching, hands roaming freely. The ferocity in his expression sends a shiver of delight down my spine.
“Say you’ll have me, Poppy,” he says, once he’s recovered enough to talk. “Put on the jacket, let me be your sous chef, and I’ll spend my life believing in you like you believe in me.”
“I love you too. So, so much. Yes, Jack. Yes.” I pepper his beard with kisses. I can’t stop touching him, reminding myself that this is real and not my imagination. Dozens of questions about the future whistle through my mind, but I ignore them all—for now—in favor of kissing him again. I can’t wait to get him alone later. I want to hear about his plans for Fable. I want to offer my own ideas, andbicker with him about all of it, and fall in love with him a little more each time I taste his food.
“You’re mine. I’m yours. Heard?”
He lifts me off the ground and spins me in a circle, and I whisper my answer into his ear like a vow.
Chapter 53
World’s Best
Jack
Thanksgiving goes off without a hitch.
Poppy’s ultimate talents might lie in the front of house, but she’s capable of commanding a kitchen now, and she gets dinner on the table, piping hot, right at four o’clock. My recent Thanksgivings were filled with work, offering to cover shifts so my coworkers could spend the holiday with their families—and so a busy night would help me forget I didn’t have a family of my own to spend the day with.
I’m not alone now, though. I’m at a table filled with everyone I care about. Poppy, of course, and the rest of her family. Gator, who reunited with me earlier by flinging himself into my lap, purring contentedly. Chester and Kiara, who insisted upon accompanying me to New York; they came in with Poppy’s family once Poppy and I finally got to cooking. Voices overlap as story after story is shared and perfectly done dishes (minus a little hiccup with Miso and Gator and the sweet potato casserole) are eaten. It’s new, but so easy and perfect that I know I’ll never be able to go back.
Poppy is still in her chef’s whites—well, pinks—holding court on the other side of the table. She’s deep in conversation with her sister and Kiara, but every so often she glances at me and winks. She’s terrible at winking. It’s more of an exaggerated blink than anything else. My heart clenches fiercely at this new detail of hers,something else to hoard on the long list of reasons why I love her. I jumped in to help bring the meal together under her direction, and I’m game to learn more about the rest of her family, but I won’t really calm down until I can get her alone to hash out the future.
That, and reacquaint myself with her beautiful body.
And afterthat, bring her back to Diamond Bay, where she belongs.
“Pop Rocks,” says Chester, ignoring the exasperated look I give him, “the weather here sucks. Hartman insisted on a walk from the train to gather his courage.”
“This is good for November, man.”
“It’s not even that cold,” Julia chimes in.
“It’s in the forties!” Chester protests.
“Exactly, not bad at all,” Poppy says, laughter in her voice. “I miss Diamond Bay, though.”
Kiara exchanges a glance with me. I nod at the silent question in her eyes.
“We better get you back to Fable quick,” she says.
“Oh my god.” Poppy jumps up from the table, nearly knocking over her chair. Her eyes are wide and shining. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“I did say that you make me want to be a happy man.”
She throws her arms around me from behind, practically crushing me against the chair back. “Shut up. Jack!”
“I thought I heard something about San Diego,” I say as she tries to kiss me.
“Screw San Diego.” She must remember that her father is only a few seats away, because she gives him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Dad.”
He just holds up his hands, smiling. “No offense taken.” With Poppy’s attention preoccupied, he nods at me. I know which way to take it: it’s Douglas Winfield’s approval. I’m sure we’ll have a longer conversation later, just the two of us, but this is good enough for now.
