When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 16

sixteen

. . .

Aaron

From what I knew of the homemaker, she was all business.

Only right now, I wasn’t so sure if that assessment was correct.

I watched from the archway to see what the usually uptight homemaker would do. Every step of the way, Poppy managed to surprise me. She had come into the house and got straight to business, pulling the previously irritated Liana off her tablet. Then, she’d corralled the two kids into the kitchen like it was some kind of parade.

Now, there was a mess everywhere. Icing was on faces. Powdered sugar sprinkled the floor like a freshly fallen layer of snow. Would she immediately jump into action with wet wipes and try to wipe it away?

Before I could jump in, not for the first time today, Poppy shocked me.

Poppy opened her mouth wide, as if in horror. But instead of a scream, she laughed.

The laugh was high-pitched and rang with the utmost delight. The sound was like wind chimes or the bells playing in the background of Christmas music, echoing through the empty house.

The three of them continued to work on their gingerbread houses. There was no time set for the activity. No one seemed to mind. The gingerbread houses were taking up most of the day, but if anything, the kids were all too pleased about it. Gavin stuffed another broken piece of cookie into his mouth, smearing white and cheery red and green icing over his face without realizing.

After a while, Liana pointed at her brother’s face.

“You look like Rudolph.” Liana giggled.

“No, I don’t! No, I don’t!” screamed Gavin across the table. “Rudolph has a red nose, stupid!”

I moved to step in even though I wasn’t sure what to do.

Poppy put a hand down between the gingerbread houses before we had a disaster on our hands. “Hey, be nice. Gavin is right. Rudolph does have a red nose. He’s clearly a rare Gavin reindeer.”

Liana laughed loudly. I hadn’t heard the sound yet today. I almost wanted to laugh myself.

Gavin’s cheeks turned red, though that could’ve been from all the sugar he had been eating. He stuffed another gumdrop into his mouth, and his teeth practically stuck together.

One thing led to the next until two dilapidated gingerbread houses were set up on the edge of the new rustic-style kitchen table, as Poppy described it, while she easily swept away most of the mess. Oz wandered back and forth through the kitchen in a loop, looking for crumbs.

Liana gasped as she looked out the window, leaving the cleaning to Poppy entirely. Gavin had made his way back to the couch, flopping there until Oz noticed the change. He trotted over to lick at the little boy’s fingers.

Gavin giggled until I waved off Oz.

“Get out of there,” I warned him.

All of them were already looking all too pleased with themselves.

“Can we go outside?”

I almost couldn’t believe the voice belonged to Liana. She was still at the window. Turning around, she pointed. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Poppy and me.

Poppy smiled, with a small nod before directing them to get their coats and to double-layer their socks. “Of course we can.”

Liana stumbled forward, catching herself over the snow. The piles of white sparkled under the last seconds of the sun setting behind the thick pine trees. She started to build a lumpy snowman. Somehow, she didn’t get frustrated when the second sphere fell from her hands. She picked it up and attempted to roll it on top of the other. She didn’t even complain when the snow started to seep through her knit gloves.

Poppy bit her bottom lip as she watched. It was as if she was internally trying to cheer my niece on from where we sat on the back patio. I’d been silent most of the day, a fourth wheel.

Unless you counted Oz. Then fifth.

I walked up next to Poppy as she sat on the edge of the stone wall where she must’ve brushed the snow off. When I scooted in next to her, she shifted a little to the side before looking at me. I handed a bottle to her and popped off the top. I didn’t have much in the fridge for the kids. But I did have beer.

She hesitated before she took it, but she didn’t immediately take a sip. I did before setting mine to the side. Rubbing my hands together, I blew hot air into my palms before tucking them as best as I could back into my coat. Poppy’s eyes flicked toward me at the movement.

I cleared my throat.

“Yes?” Poppy asked.

“You’re good with them,” I finally vocalized.

“Is that a compliment?” She raised her brows, though she continued to keep her gaze locked on Liana and Gavin playing.

I rolled my eyes.

“Excuse me if I don’t know how to take one from you,” she mumbled.

I narrowed my eyes. “Since when have I told you anything else?”

She shrugged, finally taking a sip of the beer I’d offered her. She cringed. “This tastes terrible.”

“Didn’t think I’d be hosting guests.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh as we watched the kids tumble around in their puffy winter gear. Ozzy raced after them, shoving Gavin down face-first into a mound of snow.

“Ooh,” both of us exclaimed at the same time.

Gavin popped back up, face red, and ran after the dog without pause.

Poppy was watching them with a smile, though her arms were crossed to keep in the warmth. Though she was wearing her coat, in this weather, it didn’t look particularly warm. “Maybe Oz isn’t one hundred percent ready yet to be a house dog?”

“He’ll get used to it,” I mumbled.

“It’s not a bad place for a dog to get used to,” she said softly.

It wasn’t. If we stuck around. If I let Ozzy stick around even. I kept thinking about the party Barrett had said he was hosting when he got back from visiting family. He’d pick up Ozzy then. The thought of the dog not falling over himself in the snow or annoyingly trotting next to me like a shadow wherever I went in the house made me wonder if I wanted him to take him back.

But he wasn’t my dog.

“Why’d you come out here?” I asked Poppy. “I said you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” she said, as if that was obvious. “I already told you I wanted to.”

“And you just happen to have all the stuff?”

“The stuff?”

“For the gingerbread houses. I thought you said you’d pick that stuff up for the holiday.”

“And I think I told you the holiday already started,” she countered.

“At this point, you might as well just be done with the whole holiday experience,” I said.

“Who said I was done?” she asked, as if my questions were meant to be humorous.

“Seriously.”

She shrugged once more, as if everything she did was no big deal. There was still a bit of the day left, but she had filled most of it. And … at least the kids wouldn’t go running back to Sarah and tell her what a failure I was as an uncle.

A small weight I hadn’t known was there lifted off my shoulders.

“I told you I was planning,” she said. “I wanted to make sure everything went perfectly.”

“But I thought that you were making sure everything was ready for the job?” I repeated. “For when your boss or whoever comes to take photos.”

“The photos aren’t my job, Aaron. Not even a quarter of it.” Poppy sent a wave of her hand toward the kids. The holiday lights I’d haphazardly strung started to twinkle one by one, illuminating us in the snow. “This is.”

“You put a lot of time and effort in today.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to do all this already though.”

She met my eyes, her brows lowering a half inch, as if confused. “You can’t put a timeline on a perfect day. Things change. They’ll remember this day as much as the actual one. They’ll remember they had a great holiday season and got to spend it with their uncle.”

“I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who pulled it all together with the gingerbread houses with the frosting icicles and sugar windows …”

“You should stop that,” she said before I could add anything else.

“What?”

“The constant self-criticism.”

My brows creased as I turned to the kids, and then back to her. I was finding it hard to look anywhere else but at her.

Poppy’s eyes were soft and easy as she gave a small shake of her head. “I can’t imagine that you deserve it,” she whispered.

Then, maybe she didn’t know me as well as she thought she did yet.

This time though, there wasn’t as much anger in the thought.

Yet , I thought to myself.

I cleared my throat.

She shrugged. “And you could’ve done all this. It just takes some thought.”

“I would’ve ruined it.”

“Like I didn’t?” She giggled. “They’re kids. That’s what’s great about planning for them. They won’t remember whether they baked the cookies perfectly or if they came out with burned edges. They won’t remember that their mom dumped them here.”

No, the two kids wouldn’t remember how crazed I was when they first arrived or when they sat looking like they were being punished in my living room. They’d remember the way they laughed whenever the gingerbread house fell and they had to piece it back together with more icing, like an unshapely shack. They’d probably wouldn’t remember how the entire thing had looked so unlike the ideal holiday vision I had seen jotted down and displayed through the homemaker’s plans. They would, however, probably remember how clear it was that the perfect homemaker couldn’t bake, charring the gingerbread to a crisp.

I wondered if she could even cook anything besides boiled water.

I smirked, oddly pleased at finding some kind of flaw in this woman who had infiltrated my life over the past few weeks. Before, I thought maybe it was her stubbornness or that she was constantly cold and wearing cheery, ruffled socks. I thought it was how she dramatic nearly all the time, but especially when she was excited. Yet, every time I thought I found a flaw, I decided, in the end when the room was completed to her exact specifications or when she plopped down on the couch in the afternoon for a snack that she never cooked herself looking the picture of cozy, it wasn’t one.

I couldn’t find one flaw.

“At least there wasn’t another tragic ginger cookie roof collapse.”

She smiled. “There is that. I can’t say I had hoped it would have gone better. Can you?”

A truck pulled up into the driveway. Another delivery? I swore there wasn’t supposed to be one today.

“What’s going on there?”

Standing up, she brushed herself off. “Tree.”

“A what?”

“Well, I figured they couldn’t start celebrating without a tree.” Poppy shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you aren’t the only one who can pull some strings to make this house come together.”

I stared, walking after her. The kids noticed the delivery, too, and rushed back toward the house, where a man was pulling out a large pine from the back of his truck.

“How?”

She pursed her lips. “I have my ways, Aaron Hayes. Did you really underestimate me on this?”

I shouldn’t on anything. Ever again.

“The decorations are in the hall closet,” she said, a minor direction I easily followed as we raced to head inside.

For the first time, I didn’t think any of us were unhappy to be at the cabin.

“Come on.” I motioned for Oz.

His head was cradled between his dark paws on the edge of my bed. I threw the fresh comforter back as I got it ready for the kids.

He grumbled at me.

I tried to make him get off the bed to start when he started to climb in with me most nights, but after so many days of working with Poppy the past week, I wasn’t willing to exert any more energy, fighting a battle with him. Now, he thought all the spaces were his.

I was surprised Poppy didn’t mind the dog staking his claim. Instead, she took out a lint roller from seemingly nowhere and started silently swiping away the fur Oz left behind every time he moved.

That was entertaining in and of itself.

By the time everyone was here for the holiday next week, everything would be in place, including the two, small guest rooms for my sister, her husband, and the kids to share. For now, I wasn’t letting the two of them on the couch.

Oz didn’t move.

“Come on, Oz. You can’t sleep here tonight,” I told him, bending down to look at him. “Time for bed. I know I’ve been nice, but the kids are sleeping here. You can’t.”

Breathing in, the dog let out a heavy huff. He still didn’t budge.

“Please don’t make him go, Uncle Aaron,” said Gavin, climbing up onto the bed. “I want to sleep with Ozzy. He likes me.”

Gavin slowly petted a long line from between the dog’s ears and down his back. Ozzy— damn him —leaned into the touch. His head was basically in the kid’s lap, wet tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

Dangerous, terrifying K9 indeed.

I knelt in front of the dog’s face. “You’d better be nice, and if you do anything wrong in here, you’re out. Got it?”

Oz stared back at me like I was the most absurd individual he’d ever laid eyes on. Sometimes, I was sure he could understand me beyond what a dog should.

“You’re out of here if you mess with my family,” I repeated.

My family.

I blinked a few times at the thought. I hadn’t really thought of it all until today. My sister and I were never what could be considered close. Today felt different. The cabin was quiet yet full as I took my time to tuck Gavin in under the thick duvet. Liana rubbed her eyes before climbing into bed next to her little brother.

“Please, Uncle Aaron?” Gavin asked again. “Can you let him stay for the night?”

“You tell him to get down if your sister wants him to or if there isn’t enough space. He has a bed on the floor he can use.”

“There’s enough room.”

I cocked my head at Gavin.

He sighed, much like the dog. “Fine.”

“Good. Good night.”

“Night, Uncle Aaron,” both kids called after me.

I listened to the kids whispering behind me inside the room before I walked out into the living room. Poppy tossed pillows off the couch before she extended them into a much more luxurious bed than I remembered couches ever being able to be turned into.

Honestly, when the couch had first arrived, I’d expected it to be something out of a fancy catalog that you’d never want to sit down on, let alone sleep on. Another surprise.

A second one? The way my eyes were attached to Poppy, who was wearing nothing but an oversize shirt that trailed down to her knees.

My shirt again.

“I’m sorry.” Poppy fluffed a wide bed pillow before setting it toward the back of the makeshift bed. “All I have is clothes for tomorrow. I have no idea where my sweatpants went, and I didn’t want to go searching in your room for anything if the kids were already down. This was on top of the wash bin.”

“It’s fine,” I said.

It had been my idea anyway that she stay the night again. The final shipment of furniture would be coming tomorrow, and she needed to be here. Not to mention, it was much later than she’d ever driven home back to the city before.

I didn’t want her on the road.

“I’ll still be sure to take extra-good care of your favorite sweatshirt.” She offered a small smile.

I shook my head. “Looks better on you anyway.”

She snorted, looking down at herself. “I doubt that.”

It was true. I shrugged.

“Are the kids asleep?”

“They’re winding down. Liana finished brushing her teeth.” I swung a hand back toward my bedroom. “The dog didn’t want to leave Gavin.”

A small smile curled at the corner of her lips. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, I worry about the dog being alone with them, but …”

“You don’t think Oz would do anything, do you?” Poppy asked.

“No, but he’s still a dog. He’s an animal.”

“But he loves those kids.”

“Still doesn’t mean he wouldn’t accidentally do something to the people he loves and who take care of him,” I said. She parted her lips, but I cleared my throat before she could speak up, jutting my chin toward the tree positioned in the corner by the fireplace. “You’re not going to leave the tree like that, are you?”

The tree was decorated as one would expect a tree decorated by overexcited kids would be. Ornaments were clumped in certain sections. Tinsel was thrown here, there, and everywhere.

She bit her lip. “Don’t tell them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Say the elves redecorated or something,” she said. “I figure, if they want to, they can redo it when they arrive again next week for Christmas.”

I snorted a laugh.

Her eyes snapped open wide. “Wow.”

I hit the one lamp, leaving on the light in the kitchen, and I waved for her to climb into bed. With me. We slid between the sheets as if it were the most natural thing to do between us.

Just last week, we’d barely been speaking.

Now, I goaded her with a shake of my head, knowing exactly what she was referring to ever since she first seemed so astounded when I actually let myself relax enough to laugh.

“Another laugh. I’m just shocked.” She met my challenge. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“This how you win men over? You insult them?”

“More like teasing. And especially if they deserve it,” she said before she blinked a few times, her eyes drifting away from mine as she realized that we were both getting comfortable, lying next to each other with one pillow separating the space between us.

“Your Mr. Right must be something.”

“If you think I have a Mr. Right and I’m lying with you on the couch right now on a weekend and after I spent most of the week here, you are crazy.”

There were the insults again. The teasing , I mean.

“There is no Mr. Right. There is no mister … no anyone, for your information. But now, you’re breaching the code,” she whispered.

“The code?”

“The professionalism code.”

Poppy shifted under the blanket as if struggling to get comfortable. I pushed a little extra toward her to wrap around her shoulder.

“Oh, well, I didn’t realize there was an entire code now, Snow Angel.”

Poppy inhaled at the new nickname I’d given her. “There is,” she insisted.

“I find it hard to believe that you don’t have some sap running after you, taking you to some kind of Christmas concert or something,” I said.

“You think I live in some cheesy holiday movie, don’t you?” she said. “No. I’m all alone.”

“Tragic.”

“Truly.”

“You scare them off,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t scare people off.”

“You are pretty intimidating.”

“I am not,” Poppy argued.

I shrugged.

“I’m not intimidating,” she repeated.

“You know what you want. You go after what you want. You enjoy what you’re doing …”

“And that makes me intimidating?”

“It makes you rare.”

Again, there was that narrowed stare, as if she was deciding if she should glare. Unless that, too, was against her professionalism code? Being combative was a no-go, wasn’t it?

“I’m pretty sure that’s a synonym for odd,” she settled on saying.

“It makes you unique,” I rephrased. “To truly love what you do—not everyone gets that opportunity or to keep it when they find it.”

“Did you find what you loved to do?”

I opened my mouth to respond. To say, Of course I did . I loved the Army. I loved the family I’d made there.

But I paused, thinking about it.

I’d groan in the morning when I had to get up, and sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I’d beg that I would wake up anywhere else but at work, at training, or overseas. When the days got long, I thought to myself, I could be happy if I never had to see another minute of this work ever again.

“It’s who I am. I’m going to go back. I’m working toward it,” I informed her. “Every day, my leg is getting stronger.”

Though, that wasn’t exactly true.

“But do you still enjoy it?” she asked before seeing I was at a loss for words.

Did I still enjoy it?

“Either way, I mean, you’ll have a lot more excitement ahead of you. Even if it’s scary.”

“Scary?”

“Yeah, it’s scary going into the unknown,” she said. “But, my step father, Simon, once told me that life if meant to be a little scary if you’re doing it right. Life isn’t supposed to be frilly all the time; it’s a battle.”

“You think life is a battle?” I asked.

“We all have our own.”

Here we go again. “I’m sure everyone does.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Go on,” I gave in. “Tell me your battle. You held whatever sad backstory you have in you in long enough. What, two weeks?”

“Three. But no.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to tell you. Why would I when it’s clear that you don’t care or don’t want to?” She raised an eyebrow, which I could just see through the dimness in the room.

I shook my head. “Because you’ve already surprised me more than once today.”

Poppy blinked, as if unsure what to say to that. Maybe I surprised her too.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“Okay,” she whispered, gathering her thoughts. “At the end of high school, I developed pretty terrible chronic pain. At least, that was what the doctors called it. They couldn’t figure it out. I would curl over myself; it was so bad, and no one seemed to care.”

“Are you in pain now?” I asked.

She should her head. “Not like I was. Sometimes, I can forget about it. But not long enough not to …”

“Not to what?”

“Remember,” she said, honestly. “And worry that it’ll come back. Eventually, the doctors found out the chronic pain wasn’t some mystery. But it took about five years. Too long, yeah, though some people go longer without that kind of diagnosis, which almost feels like a godsend. People finally started to look at me like I wasn’t insane. I had— have endometriosis.”

I’d heard the word before, but the look of confusion on my face must’ve been plain to see.

“It’s basically when uteruses attack.”

“Doesn’t that happen every month?” I asked ignorantly. Immediately, I wanted to correct myself.

I didn’t get to. Poppy giggled.

“Sort of. But more. It’s when the tissue sort of invades other places, and around that time of the month or even other times, the tissue sort of”—she squeezed her hands together in a little fist between us—“contracts.”

I cringed.

“Yeah. Not the best feeling.” Poppy swept her hair to one side, casting it out of her face. “After I got my diagnosis, I found a doctor who specialized in treating it. I had surgery for it to go away for good. It’s never guaranteed though … but that’s it. I doubt you want to hear any more of the little details.”

She was wrong. I wanted to hear more.

“But you’re not in pain now?”

“Like I said,” she whispered, “not like I was. But that doesn’t mean it won’t come back one day. Or ruin other things. You don’t have to pretend you want to talk about it. Not your kind of trauma, right?”

I felt like she might as well have punched me in the chest. “I …” I had no idea.

She slowly nodded, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. I hoped she did because I couldn’t find the words. They disintegrated on my tongue every time I tried to think of a phrase that would somehow make up for how horrible I had been to this woman, who was trying her all at something she loved so that other people could love it just as much.

“And getting to the point, it wouldn’t be the first time a relationship ended because of it. So, maybe that’s why I brought it up,” she confessed.

“Ended because of what?”

“Because”—she shook her head—“with the diagnoses and the treatment, there’s a risk of infertility issues. Men often want children. Among other things. And they want simple. Even if they say they don’t care or it isn’t important to them … it is. And I’m not. Simple anyway,” she said. “No one wants someone already preprogrammed to disappoint you.”

Who told her that?

“Anyway, now, I’m okay with that. I have realized that I’m just not good at it anyway.”

“Good at what?” I dared to ask.

“Relationships. Every one I’ve ever had ended horribly, and I’ve come to terms with that. I’m dedicated to my work. I won’t let myself down, doing it. You’re right. Home Haven has always been the dream. I’m content that it will be my love. And I refuse to disappoint myself in the relationship I have with it,” Poppy said with a small huff, the same way I imagined she said her little mottos that popped up on her phone every morning.

I noticed them a lot. At first, I’d snorted at them.

I am strong.

I am capable.

I was almost certain at some point I was going to see an affirmation that went something like, I can handle another day of working with this walking asshole who makes life hell.

“It sucks that you had to deal with all that. That you had to deal with other people who made you deal with all that,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Poppy paused, studying me. It was as if she was unsure, or shocked I’d said anything at all.

At some point, we’d gotten closer to each other. I could almost feel the breath of her words on my cheek when she spoke. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

She stared at me through tired, half-lidded eyes. “Thank you for taking my pain seriously. Thank you for taking me seriously.”

“Anyone who didn’t would be a fool.”

I would know. I had been one.

Maybe I still was one. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her. I couldn’t’ stop thinking about how soft her skin would be if I reached out and brushed my thumb over one of her rosy cheeks, which I’d thought was from her embarrassment or the cold, but it was just her.

And now, I didn’t move as my eyes turned from her jaw toward her mouth.

God, I had been looking at those lips for days. When she laughed and then opened wide to reveal her perfectly pearly teeth. When she pressed them together as she shook her head at me or, even better, when they pursed just so—not quite a pout, but not quite not one either—and her cheeks got all red in a way where I was dying to know what was going on in that head of hers. What in the world would this well-behaved little homemaker have to say to me that made her face so scarlet?

So angry.

Right now, her cheeks burned in a different way, a heady pink, as I leaned in closer. Her breath caught, parting those plush lips.

“You know what, Snow Angel?”

“Huh?” She looked down at my mouth.

I knew I shouldn’t do it. I wasn’t a complete idiot.

But I was starting to think, For Poppy Owens? Oh, yeah. I am an idiot for her.

“Being professional is overrated.”

So, it was no surprise when I leaned in that final inch and kissed her.