Intoxicating Page 9

  “Well, of course he trusts me. I trust him, too.”

  Red spread her hands on the table and studied her crimson manicure. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s going to be hard for him to see you go in December. You are—you always have been—one of the most consistent, reliable forces in his life.”

  Poppy squirmed. She was starting to wonder a wee, tiny bit how she would do without Heath, too.

  Maybe that was why she’d thrown herself at him at the consortium. Maybe she had to see what it felt like to push the boundaries of their relationship, before it was too late.

  “I’ll only be an hour away, you know.”

  “But from what Keval said, it sounds as though you’re going to have a packed schedule, what with the modeling, the traveling, and the wine steward job.”

  “I’ve been working in Portland for the past few years.”

  “But you still came home to Clarkston every night. You can see why, in Heath’s perception, you never really left.”

  “There were weeks when Heath and I didn’t run into each other. I might as well have been living in another town.”

  “But the fact is, you weren’t. If Heath had needed you, really needed you any time in the past few years, he knew where to find you. This . . . this is the real deal. There will be times when you’re unreachable. Stretches when you can’t drop everything and run back to Clarkston. For all intents and purposes, you’re going to be gone from Heath’s life, for good.”

  Worry made her hackles rise again. “Why is everyone giving me a hard time about moving on with my life?”

  Across the room, Demi looked up at Poppy’s outburst.

  Red laid her hand on Poppy’s and lowered her voice a notch. “Who’s giving you a hard time? You deserve this. I couldn’t be happier for you. But you know as well as I do that you’re going to get caught up in your new life. Your old life will gradually fall away. That’s just the way things work.”

  Red’s disturbing prediction was tempered by her calm delivery, helping Poppy to keep her head.

  “Heath’s not the only one I’ll be leaving behind. Everyone I care about is in Clarkston: Junie, Keval. You.”

  “Do you have a place to live lined up?”

  Thank goodness Red was veering the conversation toward more practical matters. She dropped her split ends and sat on her hands to keep from picking them up again.

  “I went apartment shopping online while I was laid up. I made a couple of appointments in the Arts District for next Sunday.”

  “Ooh! House hunting is my favorite hobby. And I’ve been wanting to stop by Brides for a Cause again before the fashion show. We have too many narrow skirts. I like the big, puffy numbers.”

  Poppy made a face. “Really? Those remind me of those over-the-top Gypsy weddings on that TV show. The straight ones are more elegant.”

  “You just haven’t seen the right ones yet.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m in the market.”

  “I love looking at gowns almost as much as I like house hunting.”

  “Brides for a Cause is in the Arts District.”

  Red put a finger to her lips and thought. “That’s right—it is!”

  “Want to come with me?”

  Chapter Eleven

  On Sunday, Red called Poppy while she was getting ready to leave for Portland.

  “I mentioned to Sam that I was making a trip to Brides for a Cause, and he asked if he could tag along. Maybe we should go separately? I don’t want to hijack your whole day.”

  “Not a problem. Should I still pick you up at the café?”

  “Sam said he would drive us in the van, in case I saw more dresses I want to bring back for the show. We can pick you up at your house.”

  “What about the apartments?”

  “Sam’s curious, too. He said he wouldn’t mind ferrying you around.”

  “Even better. It won’t hurt to have a few extra opinions before I sign a lease on something.”

  But no sooner had Poppy climbed in behind Sam and fastened her seat belt than she was startled to see they were pulling into Heath’s driveway. She was even more surprised to see Heath standing outside, waiting.

  “I didn’t know Heath was coming.” The last time they’d been together, she’d made a fool of herself by lunging at him, then picking a fight. The idea of spending the whole day with him stirred up her emotions all over again.

  But the situation was out of her control. She wasn’t driving, and there were other people to consider.

  “I’ve been trying to lasso him to get him up to the city for a while,” said Sam. “Couple of brewpubs I want to take him to, and I thought, the more the merrier. After your appointments, that is.”

  After a pit stop for coffees, Poppy did her best not to look at Heath, catty-corner from her in the front seat, close enough to touch. But hard as she tried to focus on Red’s chatter about the upcoming fashion show, billowy skirts, and the ideal wine to serve at a wedding, she couldn’t stop stealing glances at the curve of his shoulder, the way his soft brown hair waved over the top of his ear.

  What was pegged as an hour’s drive turned into ninety minutes, thanks to highway construction to widen the main road between the city and the wine country to accommodate the growing numbers of tourists and the resultant explosion in the size and number of suburbs. Finally, Sam slowed the van along a city street.

  “We must be close,” said Poppy. “There’s the liquor store the Realtor said was on the same corner as the apartment.”

  Sam rolled around the block a couple of times before he found a place to park. Then the four of them followed the waiting real estate agent up a flight of stairs to the first apartment on Poppy’s list. The price was right, and the wall color was a nice, neutral beige that would go with anything.

  But as the Realtor was showing Poppy how to operate the window blinds, they heard shouts coming from outside.

  “Stop! Police!”

  Poppy peered out the window and saw a man clutching a bottle, tearing down the sidewalk from the direction of the liquor store with a cop in hot pursuit.

  “Someone’s thirsty,” said Sam calmly, over her shoulder.

  “Or he stole that bottle of tequila,” said Poppy indignantly.

  Sam gave her an amazed look. “Ya think?”

  Poppy felt herself blush at her naiveté.

  After that, she didn’t hear another word the Realtor said. Between Red giving her the hairy eyeball, Heath suddenly glued to her side, and Sam prowling around outside like he was her personal protection officer or something, she had all she could do just to let him finish his spiel.

  The second stop was a new, gated community of cottage-style town houses. Poppy and Red oohed and aahed over the marble counters, spacious bath, and fenced-in, postage-stamp backyard.

  Heath said nothing.

  “You’re quiet,” said Poppy when Red and Sam had drifted off to look at the second bedroom. Even quieter than usual.

  “How am I supposed to get in a word edgewise?”

  She laughed. “I know. When Red and I get to talking, especially when you add caffeine to the mix . . .”

  She spun around in the middle of the living room.

  “Isn’t this cute, though? Safe area, washer/dryer . . .”

  “Hnmpt.” The fine line between his brows deepened. “There’s no creek to cool your toes in on a hot afternoon. No sound of the breeze blowing through the treetops.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You have to admit, it’s better than the last one.”

  “Anything’s better than the last one. But you’re the one who’s searching. It’s whatever makes you happy.”

  How could I have thought this would work—both of us pretending nothing is amiss? Heath backing her self-improvement quest was already too much without rubbing his nose in the reality of her starting over, far away. His coming here today was bound to ratchet up the tension between them.

  At Brides for a Cause, Red introd
uced Sam to one of the managers while Poppy skimmed through dress racks just for fun and Heath checked out a nearby garden shop.

  Red picked out some fuller dresses for the fashion show, and Sam and Poppy helped her load them, bagged in plastic, into the van.

  They were parched by the time Sam ushered them into a wood-heavy space with faux Tiffany lamps hanging overhead.

  “Check out their formula, man,” Sam told Heath. “They’re keeping it simple. Five homebrews, five sandwiches. And when the Blazers are playing, they pack ’em in with ten-dollar pitchers.”

  “Let’s give their sampler plate a try,” said Heath. “I’m buying.”

  “Save room for the next stop,” warned Sam. “They got brisket braised in beer, the best tater salad you ever ate, and a wheat ale made with apricot purée.”

  Moments after the server took their order, a different guy came over to their table.

  “Don’t mean to interrupt, but aren’t you Heath Sinclair?”

  At the mention of Heath’s name, heads turned at the bar.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Rusty Glisan, brewmaster here. My server’s a big fan. He thought he recognized you. He spotted you on the street once in Clarkston. When he saw the van parked out front, he put two and two together. I got to tell you, your Newberg Neutral kills.”

  “Thanks. Your porter isn’t bad, either.”

  “You come into the city much?”

  “Used to, when I was getting started. Nowadays I’m pretty busy with day-to-day operations.”

  “This town is like mission central for beer lovers. And we got as many festivals as we have breweries. If you’re ever looking for someone to take you around, I’m your man.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Heath, hoisting his mug.

  Glisan nodded. “Pleasure’s mine.”

  Red wiped beer foam from her upper lip and giggled. “I didn’t know you were famous. I feel like we’re your entourage.”

  “That’s just one guy, and he’s industry,” said Heath humbly.

  “Didn’t you see those heads turn at the bar when he mentioned your name?”

  “There’s a lot of us working at Clarkston Craft Ales.”

  Red turned her attention to Poppy. “So! When’s the next public practice session? And can I come and support you?”

  “Next Friday night after the consortium closes. Sam will be there, won’t you, Sam? And Heath, of course. He’s been amazing. I couldn’t do this without him.”

  She sought his eyes, but he averted them, and she knew he was remembering their private session at Sam’s bar—and what had almost transpired on his couch.

  “Keval will be filming it again. Of course you can come. But not Demi. Everyone is sworn to secrecy so that she doesn’t crash it.”

  “Mum’s the word,” said Red.

  * * *

  Sam dropped off Red at the café after assuring her he’d use the utmost care taking the new gowns into the consortium, then headed out on Chehalem Creek Road.

  After they let Poppy out at her house, Heath climbed into the front with Sam for the short jaunt to his place.

  “Pretty productive trip, I’d say,” said Sam. “We hit a couple o’ great bars, Red got her dresses, and looks like Poppy found herself an apartment.”

  “Maybe. She didn’t put down a deposit.”

  “No need, yet. It’s a brand-new development. There’ll still be units available in a month or two, once she finds out for sure if she’ll need one.”

  If. That was the word that was keeping Heath up these nights.

  “What do you think about her moving?”

  Heath looked out his side window. “I try not to.” Every time he did, it tore him up inside.

  “That’s rough, man. Helping her get what she wants, knowing if she wins, you lose.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?” he said miserably.

  “Sorry.”

  They were at his place already.

  “Tell me something. You don’t think I ought to pull up stakes, move my operation to Portland, do you?”

  “Me?” Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Hell no. Not me, man. If you leave town, who am I going to dole out my best under-the-counter hooch to for nothing in return?”

  “Nothing? Didn’t I pick up your tab today? And who’s always the first to get samples of my new releases?”

  “Two beers and a pulled pork sandwich. You call that payback? Get outta my van, ya bastard.” Grinning from ear to ear, Sam jammed the gearshift into drive to make his point.

  With a matching grin, Heath got out and slammed his door.

  Friends who could lift you up when you were feeling down weren’t easy to come by—let alone leave behind.

  He didn’t know how Poppy could do it.

  That is, unless she didn’t really care about whom she was leaving behind.

  After all, his own mother hadn’t.

  Sam honked the horn, and Heath raised a hand in farewell as he trudged toward the house to see how his father fared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Red kept Poppy occupied over in one of the consortium’s comfortable seating nooks while Keval filmed Sam and Heath setting up the blind tasting.

  “Did your future boss see the first video when you fell?” asked Red.

  Poppy made a face. “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Oh no. Did he say anything?”

  “What’s to say? He just clicked on the link. Letting me know that he had seen it was his message.”

  “Doc,” called Sam from over the bar, “would you like some wine?”

  Red looked at Poppy for her approval.

  “There’s plenty to go around. I only need to taste a little from each bottle.”

  “I’m on my way,” called Red, getting up. “You okay here?” she asked Poppy.

  “I’m fine! Really. I’m good.”

  “It won’t make you nervous, us watching?”

  “I won’t be thinking about you. I’ll be concentrating on naming the wines.”

  “Okay then. Good luck.”

  This time, Sam acted as proctor. He stayed behind the bar while Keval positioned Heath, with the timer, to one side of Poppy and Red on the other for the best camera shot.

  “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do great,” said Heath.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” said Keval.

  Heath set the timer for twenty-five minutes.

  Poppy touched the first glass and the camera started rolling.

  “Wine number one is clean, of moderate plus intensity, flavors of apple and honey. Alcohol is high and balanced with a high complexity and a green pepper finish. The bitterness is intense . . . I think this is a two thousand fourteen pinot gris from the Alsace region of France . . .”

  She fairly flew through the next four, watching Sam scribble as fast as he could.

  “Wine number six is a sweet white wine of moderate plus concentration and caramel color, a perfume of butterscotch and candied orange, a little pineapple. Aged in French oak, this wine is moderately acidic, alcohol is moderate. Final conclusion, this is a dessert wine from Bordeaux, possibly a Sauternes from the Graves region? Stop.” She held up her hands. “Time?”

  Heath looked up from his phone. “Seventeen minutes. Four minutes faster than last time.”

  Cheers went up.

  “Wait!” She shushed them. “Sam, how many’d I get right?”

  There was a pause while he tallied up her score.

  “All of them.”

  This time she was the one shouting, standing on the rail of her bar stool in triumph. “Are you serious? All right?”

  With the camera still filming, her friends raised their glasses to her in a toast.

  “You did it! You were great!”

  “And cut,” said Keval, lowering his phone.

  A short time later, Poppy’s phone blinked.

  “It’s Cory Anthony! He sent me a private message.”

  Red leaned over excitedly to spy on her scr
een. “Oooh! What’s it say?”

  “Big improvement. Keep at it. See you in a few weeks.’”

  * * *

  When Red led Poppy back over to the lounge area to go over the upcoming fashion show in ever-more-minute detail, Heath found himself wanting to trail after her like some lovesick hound. They’re dresses. How much more can be said?

  But he couldn’t walk away from Sam, congratulating him on this latest score of Poppy’s.

  “Dayam. I’m thinking you missed your calling. Should’ve been a life coach.”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Heath, perched sideways on his bar stool watching Poppy’s lips move, wishing he could hear her honeyed voice. “That was pure Poppy.”

  “Guys, guys,” Keval tsked. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what just happened.”

  Sam and Heath exchanged looks of bewilderment.

  “It’s easy to see what you did,” continued Keval. “You told her what the wines were ahead of time so she’d look good on the video.”

  “Did not,” said Heath, frowning.

  “You guys are so sweet,” said Keval, thumbing through his phone. “But you could have let me in on your scam. I’m on Team Poppy, too, you know. Did you think I couldn’t tell you rigged that whole thing?”

  “You’re crazy,” said Sam.

  “Your secret is safe with me. I love Poppy as much as you do. And don’t worry. I have Demi’s number now, and I’m not going to let her get away with any more of her shenanigans.” He lit up suddenly. “Hey, listen to what just showed up. ‘Poppy, soon we’ll be able to say we knew you when. Come back and see us when you’re a famous somm. Love, Sandy & Kyle.’”

  “Listen to this one.” Sam interrupted Keval to read from his own phone. “It’s from Mona Cruz. Remember Mona? Belly-button ring? Jeans so tight you could see the outline of her permit in her back pocket? ‘Poppy, so happy you’re finally chasing your dreams.’”

  But Heath only half heard them. He was back staring at Poppy sitting straight and tall on the couch, happily debating the merits of trumpet skirts versus mermaids versus sheaths.

  She looked more confident, more self-assured than ever before.

  His knee-jerk reaction was happiness for her and pride in her progress.

  But then the dread that had started as a little pain in his heart expanded into a lump that filled his chest.