Page 20 of Poppy Kisses (Return to Coal Haven #3)

I finished with Caden, an active six-year-old who couldn’t concentrate for the whole half hour. I didn’t blame him, but the policy is a minimum of ninety minutes a week. So his mom arranged for two sets of fifteen minutes three times a week. This was our second set of fifteen minutes.

I pressed my hand to my stomach. I’d go downstairs to meet with Jensen about his website, and like I’d been trying to do for the last week, I’d try forgetting that he wanted to trace my freckles with his tongue.

I’d attempt to quit considering how serious he was.

We’d acted like roommates since that day in the shop, and I’d started to wonder if I’d imagined it.

He claimed to be a different guy, and honestly, I’d made some prick moves as a kid. I’d said things I regretted and I had behaved abominably at times. All kids did. I shouldn’t be holding it against him. But his words had burrowed in and molded into my personality, and I couldn’t reverse that.

His tongue might be able to.

No, Poppy.

I made a few notes about my sessions, emailed Debbie an update, and closed my laptop. The spare room upstairs was sparse, but it was quiet. A perfect office, minus the view. I couldn’t wait to get into the Perez house.

Anxiety clamped down on the sandwich I’d had for lunch.

Even if this marriage worked and the house was mine, I’d need a job to live there and to keep the house maintained.

I had some money socked away for the renovations Jensen would be undertaking but beyond that…

My learning center needed a name. It needed to be launched.

But the renters had only just parked a moving van on the sidewalk. So that could wait.

It was time to face Jensen and forget about how his calloused fingertips had felt on my skin.

He was sitting at the island when I reached the kitchen. The laptop was open in front of him, and he was deep in a plate of chips and queso.

“Hey,” he said around a mouthful. “Want some?”

“I’ll grab my own bowl if you promise not to tell Auggie when he gets home from school that I’m ruining my supper.”

“Why do you think I’m eating it?”

“If you don’t like the chicken you threw in the Crock-Pot, why did you make it?”

“Because I didn’t know how busy I’d be with the estimate. Some clients talk an extra hour, and I’m not in a place to tell them I have to go.” He shoved a chip full of queso in his mouth. “Mom’s picking Auggie up.”

Disappointment heated the back of my neck, and I retrieved my own bowl. Did he think of asking me? “I could’ve helped out with that.”

“I was hoping you’d go to the estimate with me.”

“Oh.” He had plans for me? I liked that thought. At least one of us did something that wasn’t impulsive. I sat at the island next to him, stole some of his queso, and grabbed a handful of chips. “Why?”

“Can you make sure I get their names right? It’s Germy and Kate.”

“Jehr-eh-me.”

Frustration flickered in his eyes. “What am I saying?”

I spun to face him. “You’re saying germy.” I walked through each sound of Jeremy and how it should feel for him. He didn’t shrink away, but he couldn’t smother his embarrassment.

“Jehr-eh-me. Jeremy.” Concentration filled his eyes. “Jeremy. I shouldn’t fuck up Kate.”

“Since we’re working on it, mind if I ask how the keyboard app is working?”

“Fine. I’ve been using voice-to-text more.”

A lot of my students who were old enough to have phones often used voice-to-text. “Remember punctuation though.”

He flashed me a grin. “I will when I’m not texting you. Nice to not have to worry about it.”

Pleasure filled me. I was his exception. “You don’t have to impress me.”

“I very much want to impress you, Poppy, but in this, I know I can’t win, and you know why. There’s a comfort there. I can just be my miswired self.”

I put my fingers on his forearm. “You’re not miswired. Just wired differently.”

“And that’s why it’s nice not to worry about it with you.” He put his hand over mine, blanketing my hand with his. “You understand. Not many do. I get shit as an adult for stumbling over words.”

“Well, the Elijahs of the world suck.”

His smile was tight. “I worry about it with Auggie, but people like you get him and teach him how to live in this world. How to be easy with himself when he has trouble spelling what as an adult.”

“The curse of the sight words.”

“Lifelong,” he agreed. “At least it’s not all the time.

Just every once in a while I get stuck knowing that the word I’m writing is wrong, but I can’t fix it for the life of me.

Or that I’ll know what I’m trying to say, but I can’t summon the word for it.

” He brushed his fingers along the back of mine.

A light shiver traced down my spine. “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for Auggie. ”

“I’m just a sub.” Any other tutor would do the same.

“You’re so much more.” He leaned closer, sparking a glow inside of my chest. “He asked about a soccer team this morning. Said he told his teacher that his friend plays and ‘she’s real good.’”

I laughed. “Is that a quote?”

“Direct. She actually wants to talk to you about starting a summer travel team.”

My good feeling took a nosedive. “I don’t have anything to tell her.”

He gave me that look, the one that said he knew I was brushing him off without explaining. “Are you sure about that?”

“I can be impulsive with my planning and things fall through, so yes. I’m sure.” Saying it out loud was a release. He had his own business and he was doing well. He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t moved towns when his plans and hard work tanked—twice.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

No. “It was humiliating.” But if he could relax and be himself with me, maybe I could give a little something in return. Wasn’t that how we worked? “After graduation, I played soccer for a school in South Dakota.”

His hand was still on mine. He continued with his slow caresses, and I soaked up the comfort.

If he kept that up, I’d let him find out how many freckles covered my body. I didn’t stop him, but soccer was a safe subject. “After, I was all soccer all the time. I coached it, and I even reffed.”

“Yeah? Gettin’ after those parents.”

I grinned. “Sometimes, but I mostly got in trouble for taking too much time when I corrected the kids in the middle of the games.”

“Coaching is in your blood.”

“It was. Then I was recruited to start a league. Parents were disenchanted with the bigger club in town and the preferential treatment of some kids. I said I’d do it. It wasn’t like I was reinventing the wheel, right?”

He hooked his fingers through mine. “Didn’t go well?”

I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. “It was a dumpster fire. The bigger club dominated the town. They got all the field times, blamed us for any damage to the grass or fence line, and the one weekend I planned a small tournament, the Parks and Rec board rented the fields out for a cornhole tournament. ‘Oops, we double-booked.’” I mimicked the snide voice of the Parks and Rec lady, who I learned later was the wife of the club’s president.

Old emotions tumbled back until the utter failure hung like cement blocks off my shoulders.

“I was on the hook for it all. The club went broke. Coaches were irate. Refs who thought they had a weekend gig were pissed. A couple of teams traveled, paid for hotels, and no games. I took all the blame.”

“You were sabotaged.”

I shrugged. “The buck stopped at me.”

“You were what? Twenty-three?”

“By then, yes.”

“But they’d been jerking you around earlier. And let me guess—the older adults who recruited you to run everything knew how everyone was, knew the politics, and left you out to dry.”

Feeling moderately better about my role in the ordeal, I nodded. “I moved and started grad school and never played again.” No matter how much I missed the movement and the kids.

“That’s wrong.” He stroked his thumb along the side of my hand. “Is that why you don’t even have a name for your center yet? You’re too afraid the town is going to sabotage you?”

“No one owes me anything.” And no one would look out for me.

“Let’s come up with a name.”

“What? Now?” My pulse jackknifed. It was just a name. Why was worry clawing through my gut? I could come up with something and change it at any time. Yet my mind blanked. “Don’t you have the meeting?”

“We have a half hour before we leave.”

“The website?”

“Can also wait. I just want to add a Coming Soon page where I tease the Perez house remodel.” He pivoted until he was facing me, our knees interconnected, and let go of my hand in the process. “Names.”

Nothing came out of my mouth.

He placed his hands on my thighs, one on each leg, and my pulse sped up for a different reason. His ponderings about my thighs streamed clearly through my head.

“Little Minds?” He winced. “Shit, that will be taken the wrong way.”

“I’m sure something like Duke’s Dyslexia Center will work.” It was just a name, so I hadn’t given it thought. That was all.

“As much as I love the way DDC rolls off the tongue, you didn’t put any thought into it.”

“Hollis Cabinets?” I pointed out.

“Branding. My name’s in the title, so they don’t have to look hard. I’m well known enough in the area, so if someone says, ‘Hey, is there a cabinet guy?’ then Hollis jumps to mind.” He gave me a gotcha grin. “Poppy’s Pupils.”

I laughed. “People will think I’m an eye doctor or something.”

“Poppy’s Field of Dreams Center.” He grinned, rubbing his hands up my thighs. “Poppy’s Dream of Fields Center.”

I let out a scandalized gasp.

He continued stroking my legs, stoking a thrum between my thighs. “No kidding, Poppy, I would pronounce it that way at least once.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “I want a title that will inspire kids but also make them feel like they’re not standing out when they say it. DDC does that.”