When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 13

thirteen

. . .

Poppy

“Home Haven Holiday Hotline, this is—”

“Hannah,” I cut her off. “Why are you not answering your phone?”

Hannah gasped over the line. “Poppy, you know you can’t call the hotline!”

“At least I know you’ll pick up,” I said.

I switched to speakerphone as I drove home after another day of working on the cabin. The bookshelves were up and looked spectacular, if I did say so myself. The last time I had done anything like it was when I wallpapered my aunt’s laundry room, which was all angles.

Everything was also, at last, painted with Aaron’s help—and not just the living room. Somehow, the next day I had come to the cabin, all the paint I had previously ordered weeks ago had been delivered—or miraculously found on the property.

I didn’t quite believe that one, but I didn’t bother to ask questions.

I painted the walls. Aaron shocked me with how good his cut-ins were.

I insisted that for the bedrooms and shared bath, we should wait for the painters to come back since they were already rescheduled, but Aaron argued, “This is my cabin, homemaker. Are you honestly going to tell the paying customer he’s wrong to want to paint his own house? I promise I won’t make it look bad enough to show up on camera for your little promotion competition.”

I relented. At least he was using the correct paint colors and not the horrendous orange I’d left out in the garage that I most certainly hadn’t ordered. He was even following my directions for some reason even though I had been able to do a lot more work since my hand, though tender, was healing up nicely.

“You completely messed up my queue rate here, Poppy!” Hannah cried over the phone, stealing me away from my constant slew of thoughts of the cabin.

“I’m asking you to go out for drinks, Hannah.”

“Wait.” She paused her horrified rant. “What?”

“I’ll meet you at the bar you like that’s around the corner from Home Haven,” I said. “The one with all the frosted mirrors and cushioned bar seats that make me feel like I’m in an Art Deco painting with the tacky gold trim?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Poppy Owens? I’m a highly in-demand woman this time of year, you know.”

For once, it did sound like usually cool-as-a-cucumber-mint-mojito Hannah really did need a drink.

Maybe two.

And maybe I did too. “Something might’ve happened. I need girl talk.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there at eight.”

Running my fingers over the stem of the tall white wineglass in front of me two hours later, I nursed a single pour of pinot grigio while I waited for Hannah to arrive. There were only so many glares I could take in the quickly filling bar over the seat I was saving.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before Hannah dropped her purse into the seat and hopped up in front of me.

“Look at you, branching out. Is that an actual drink in your hand?” Hannah swiveled in her chair as if she could see better that way. Her lips parted in shock. “Oh dear. Have I rubbed off on you once and for all?”

I shook my head at her antics.

Compared to being with Aaron all week, quiet and rough around all the edges, Hannah was a hit of fresh air. Vibrant and sharp.

“I’m older than you.”

“Exactly. You go to a bar, and I am praising you over ordering a glass of white wine in winter. You need to be corrupted a little.”

“What’s wrong with white wine in winter?”

“Nothing if you don’t understand that white wine is chilled and automatically tastes better in the summer.”

“I think that’s personal taste,” I said.

She shook her head. “No. Pretty sure it’s universal understanding.”

I shook my head.

I couldn’t remember the last time Hannah had convinced me to go out with her. I was too busy, and to be honest, I usually sat at home in the evenings with my mom and Simon while they watched reruns before they declared how they were beat and went upstairs to bed for the evening.

Over the past two weeks, I hadn’t been home as often. From the late hours in the office, to spending all my work time and spare time at the cabin or eating dinner with Aaron from the few groceries he picked up or had delivered, the only time I had been home to catch up with my parents like I used to were in the brief moments after waking up in the morning. Even that was sparse so that I could attempt to beat traffic.

I hardly remembered the in-between.

Sleep. Drive. Work.

And it was all coming together, oddly enough. I didn’t mind it.

The person I was spending the most time with now was the man who, days ago, I’d insisted was my most insufferable enemy. The boy who didn’t know of my crush on him years ago and likely never would. But it felt nice. Perhaps it was meant to happen. Maybe I still had unfinished business with the man who might not have known me or remembered me.

But I remembered, all too well.

He wasn’t quite the same. But then again, neither was I.

So, we focused on what we could do to complete the cabin. This would be my final business with Aaron Hayes, and I couldn’t help the way I watched him work alongside me.

Because who would’ve thought?

Of course, the more time we spent together, the more I noticed how warm his eyes were. When they collided with mine, the way I remembered them years ago, I felt my breath catch in chest no matter what we were doing. I questioned whether it was time that maybe I hinted to him that we’d known each other before, years ago.

I blushed with the embarrassment of what would happen now, if he ever realized.

Hannah’s soft hazel eyes widened in apparent outrage.

“What?”

“I just asked you a question and you were looking off into la la land over there. Oh my god. Is this why you need girl talk?” She gasped. “You slept with your high school crush. I knew it! Ha.”

I attempted to shush her as I forced myself back out of my head. A few heads behind her at the bar were starting to glance in our direction.

“You didn’t know anything because I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now,” I said.

“My work wife has been corrupted.”

I had not been corrupted.

Hannah leaned over the bar to wave her hand and catch the eye of the person working. “Where’s this bartender? I need to get myself a drink, stat. Something that’s pink or comes with cherries, inspired by your bright red cheeks. Fill me in as I order. Tell me everything that’s happening with you right now.”

I resisted the urge to bring a hand up to the side of my face. “Nothing has been happening. Work, work, and more work have been going on. That’s it.”

Hannah ordered her cosmopolitan as soon as the bartender made his way toward us, giggling at how she was already strumming her fingers against the speckled black granite bar top before the martini glass was gently set in front of her with a clink.

She leaned in so as not to spill, slurping up a large gulp. She let out a sigh of contentment as the combo of cranberry and vodka hit her bloodstream.

Clearing her throat, she returned to stare at me with raised brows. “Now, tell me why I don’t believe you.”

“Because you’re bored, sitting in an office all day, and looking for drama?”

“Trust me, I’m not.” She sighed as if thinking of something else before rolling her eyes. “Try again.”

“But you’re always looking for drama,” I countered.

She reached for her martini glass, turning away from me.

“Hannah, do you need to tell me something?”

“It’s nothing. I have four other female roommates. There are random pots to stir, and I have drama coming out of my ears,” she said. “Right now, I want to hear about yours.”

I didn’t think that was it. I narrowed my eyes at her and waited for her to break in the silence. It always seemed to work.

Hannah couldn’t stand the silence after all. She needed to fill it. She liked conversation, music, and podcasts constantly. Oddly, she didn’t rise to the occasion. The only sound that came from around me was the bark of a laugh from the table in the corner and the clamor of glasses being pulled out of the dishwasher behind the bar, blowing up a billow of steam.

“Stop looking at me like that. I want to hear about this hot Army man you have riling you up. I thought you said you were beyond a—what did you call it? A little high school crush ?”

“I am.”

Or at least, I’d thought I was. Aaron wasn’t a high school crush anymore. And he wasn’t little.

And it was hard to stop thinking about the cabin when I wasn’t there. And him in it.

“Mmhmm.” Hannah took another sip of her drink, waiting for more details.

“Stop it. Anyway, it turns out that I was right. It was him sabotaging the whole project.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, totally unsurprised. “I still can’t believe it though. That kind of pot-stirring to mess up your scheduling takes a lot of energy.”

“Now, however, he’s helping.”

Her eyes widened. At least that shocked her as much as it had me. “Maybe you aren’t the only one with a little crush.”

“Neither of us has a crush. He is alone in the cabin. We are working together. Professionally,” I told her. “He’s been doing a decent job, and he takes direction well.”

“We like men who take direction well.”

“He’s been cooperative lately. And nice.” I stared at Hannah through lowered eyes, knowing what she was trying to insinuate—again. “We’re not sleeping together.”

She put her hand on her heart. “Poppy Owens! When did I ever say such a thing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“I would never.” She sounded like a shocked Southern aunt.

“Make that assumption?”

“Well”—she dropped the act and traced her finger around the rim of her drink—“it doesn’t mean you can’t maybe act with your instincts a little in the future.”

“He’s a client, Hannah.”

“Hidden away in the deep, dark woods, where he doesn’t leave so no one will ever have to know. I don’t know. Having that kind of secluded spot, decorated by you around the holidays, things could get spicy—and I’m not just talking about the cider.”

I shook my head again. “We are professional adults,” I repeated. “I’m sure having a romantic affair is the last thing on his mind right now when he’s already been through so much. Plus, he still doesn’t know who I am, which feels like …” A huge lie.

“Sounds like you’re starting to like him,” my friend murmured. “Or like him again.”

I was. That was a problem. When he wasn’t being a complete ass, he was starting to remind me of the boy I remembered liking more than anyone else over a decade ago. Or maybe this all was some strange workaholic Stockholm syndrome.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you.” Hannah cut through my thoughts once more. “You’re in control.”

It didn’t feel that way. Every time I went back to the cabin, I felt less in control. The place was getting done. I could almost see it coming together in time. But with Aaron there, I was slowly fraying like a velvet Christmas ribbon.

I wondered if I would ever feel fully in control and not like I wasn’t a second away from becoming my teenage self again, ready to self-combust with silly, unprofessional feelings for a man I still hardly knew as an adult, even if that was slowly changing now and he wasn’t such a complete pain in my side.

At least not all the time anymore.

“But …”

I looked at her as I reached for my glass of wine, taking another hesitant sip. I didn’t drink much, but it was nice, sitting and sipping as we chatted.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing for you to lean more into following your heart, would it?” asked Hannah. “It couldn’t hurt to let yourself focus a little on not working.”

“The promotion is coming up, Hannah. I need to focus on the project. You are supposed to be telling me to ignore men and to focus on me right now.”

“And normally, I would. But come on, Pops. I have faith in you. This project of yours? It’s going to be great, no matter what happens. You’re going to whip Alison’s ass.”

“I don’t want to whip her ass, Hannah. We are both good at our jobs and?—”

“Buuut”—she pulled me back on topic—“you don’t always let go. Live. Maybe you could have some fun. Step outside the routine a little more. I mean, you seem like your normal, on-edge self right now, constantly thinking about work, but you also seem … giddy.”

“Giddy?”

“Happy.”

“I’m always happy,” I challenged.

“Are you?” Hannah asked, forehead creasing.

Was I happy? And more than my affirmation app telling me so?

“I don’t want to step on your toes here, Poppy,” Hannah said. “But ever since I met you, when you were with Lincoln, who I know I shouldn’t speak of, I’ve seen you be focused and pleased and maybe even a little excited, but I’m not sure if I’ve seen you be casually happy. Being casually happy after all is a big deal. Not everyone gets to wake up and feel good. And I want that for you.”

“I want that for you too, Hannah.”

“Well, I am,” she said. “Most of the time anyway, I let myself be. Let yourself be too.”

If only it were that easy.

“I’m not trying to get him to fall in love with me, Hannah.”

“Whether that happens or not—fine, I’ll stop.” She shrugged, reaching for her drink. “Hannah from the Holiday Hotline is officially clocking out for the evening. Thoughtful responses are no longer guaranteed.”

For some reason, I didn’t think Hannah had to try that hard. Unless she put on the overly excitable party-girl face just as easily as the polished problem solver at work every day. All of us were pretending to be the perfect people we wanted to be until we ended up cracking under the weight of ourselves.

“Thank you for wanting me to be happy, Hannah,” I said softly.

“Eh, don’t get sappy.” She let her hand fall out to the side, effectively waving me off.

“I miss you and the office.”

“I miss you too. And I found out you’re the only one who ever cleans the microwave in the break room.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But seriously, once the holiday wraps up, you’ll be sick of me again,” said Hannah.

Soon, I’d be back in the office with her, post-cabin and post-Aaron. We’d be able to put this entire holiday month behind us. My favorite month once again felt completely draining.

And also, suddenly, it was already ending too soon. It was all moving along too fast—and not just because of the holiday deadline.

“I did get the wildest call the other day,” she said, changing the subject.

“Tell me.”

“There was a guy with a ham that ended up on the kitchen floor of some bachelor pad on the west side.”

I barked a laugh. “What did you tell him to do?”

“I told him to pour some cola over it and call it a day.” She lifted a shoulder in nonchalance.

“You did not.”

“I did. I’m pretty sure the poor guy would’ve believed me, no matter what I said, so it was the basics.”

“Our vegetarian preparing a ham.”

“Gotta do what I gotta do.” Her led lulled to the side as she recounted the call. “He seemed more than a little stressed out, getting ready for some kind of family get-together. He has three sisters, which I can imagine would be hell enough, especially since they’d already thought that he was completely going to flop the meal. Whenever he started to lose it, he’d do this chuckling laugh sort of thing. That’s when I knew I had to rein him back in off a culinary ledge.”

Sounded like a long call.

“It was a good thing that he found the hotline number,” I said.

“It was.”

“And then what happened?” I nudged her. “With the guy?”

“Oh. Nothing. He must’ve pulled it together,” she said simply. Though her voice sounded off.

I could tell she was keeping something to herself. But like earlier, before we got into my own issues, I knew better than to pry into Hannah’s cards, which she always kept just close enough to her sheer hot-pink blouse.

“Are you getting sick?” I asked instead.

“What?” Her brow furrowed before she must’ve realized what I was talking about. “Oh. Maybe? I swear my roommates come home with something new every other week, especially with the one working at the little heathen school of booger pickers.”

“Gross.”

“Another reason I don’t ever want children,” she said.

“What number is that on the list? Fourteen or eighty-two?” I teased.

She tapped her finger against her chin. “Somewhere in between, I think.”

“Maybe you’ll end up having a holiday romance, but not me.”

“With who?”

“Mystery ham guy?”

Hannah froze with her drink a breath from her lips.

“ Hannah .”

“No, definitely not.”

I waited for her to come clean about something, but clearly, my intense stare wasn’t working.

She shook her head over and over again until when I caught her reflection in the golden-hazed mirror behind the bar, she blurred. “Stop talking and drink your wine.”