Page 28 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 10

Poppy

Rushing around, making sure everything is ready while your 5-year-old runs around putting on a fashion show for the crew, while adorable, is stressful to say the least. The furniture was delivered yesterday evening just before 8:00. Saint Pothole blessed most of the roads from here to Charleston. So, not only did the driver got lost, he also had to fix a flat. My guys had been waiting around for them to arrive since two. There was a lot of downtime yesterday with nothing for them to do; then it was on like Donkey Kong. We didn’t leave until midnight, and here I am setting up for a party that’s set to go down in three hours. I check my watch, 9:00 am. The caterers arrived thirty minutes ago and are making good use of all the new appliances.

I still need to go to town to pick up the flowers I’d ordered and a few other small things for staging. My mom had music lessons this morning, my dad is on a fishing trip and no one else was available to watch Harp. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my girl; I just hate when I my attention’s being pulled in ten different directions at once. It’s not fair to her. But she is so good; she’s been my little helper today. She dusted and swept. She even helped me choose some of the décor; the kid has an eye.

Currently, she’s charming the mess out of Caroline, who insisted on being called CiCi. She’s helping keep an eye on Harp while my crew and I get the house finished. She brought cookies; so of course, she and Harper bonded straight away. She’ll have to leave in a bit to pick up Mimi, and I’ll plop my daughter in front of a tablet and let her have at it for an hour. Don’t judge. I’m a single parent doing my best. Which right now, I’ll admit isn’t great, but I do limit Harper’s screen time ninety percent of the time.

No one has seen the wall collage in the den yet. I covered it with a drop-cloth after I’d hung everything this morning. It’s a surprise for the family; I hope they love it. I’d found paintings and poems the girls had done in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Then I’d gone through the attic at the main house and found some old photo albums of Caroline’s. There were pictures of the kids playing in and around the cottage. I even found one of a youthful Mase grinning in the old tree swing. There were pictures of Rachel and Robert Townsend holding their baby girl, Kitty and Sterling Maxwell with their sons (Sterling Jr., Gibson and Callum), one of Caroline and Gib when they’d first been married, and an old one of the original Maxwells that built the cottage.

It’s an interesting collection of family memorabilia. I had most of the images blown up, some printed on canvas, others on wood, the rest on stock then matted and framed, all in black and white. I’d hung a recent family portrait in the center, and strategically placed a wooden carving of the word family, a giant metal M for Maxwell and a set of three refurbished antique sundial mirrors. It looks amazing and will be the focal point of the room. I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces when they see it for the first time.

The party is a success. Caroline invited a few of her friends, some of Mimi’s and all the Maxwell children. Asher was somewhere in the Middle East still, and would be there for a few more months, Lillian was in Nashville (she’s a best-selling author and up against a tight dead line—Caroline had explained) and Mase was at a football camp for inner city youth he’d started with some of his teammates a couple years back. He also lives in Nashville, not too far from his sister, as it happens. It’s just Violet, Oliver and Grayson here today.

Harper’s having a tea party with Mimi and a couple of her friends. I’m busy mingling with guests when I notice Grayson join them. He’s been chatting with different small groups until now, and I thought he’d make his way over to me, but instead he stops in front of Mimi, bending to kiss her cheek then turns toward my daughter and extends his hand to her. She smiles and shakes it. It looks like she’s inviting him to sit with her. Yep, she’s handing him a dainty teacup, which he’s graciously accepting while taking the seat between her and his grandmother. He takes a sip, pinky out, and Harper beams at him. Looks like my daughter is just the next in a long line of ladies charmed by Mr. Maxwell. I’m too far away to hear their conversation, but it looks animated.

I’m ignoring the polite chatter around me because I’m a little stunned. I honestly can’t believe he just walked up and introduced himself to my kid, like it was no big deal. It’s giving me anxiety. What are they talking about? Me? I’ve said exactly two words to him today, but, after our last meeting, an exchange of ‘hi,’ isn’t exactly how I imagined today’s conversation would go. Maybe he’s offended that I turned him down? It’s not that I’m totally disinterested, the opposite actually. I just don’t know what he expects.

I’m on edge. He gives me butterflies, and my stomach is already in knots. So far, I’ve received a positive reception of my work today. But you never know what will be said, or printed, after the fact. I don’t need the added pressure of trying to impress him along with everyone else. What I do need is a dang massage.

My mind drifts to large, strong, sure hands kneading my shoulders. Grayson’s hands. I bet they’d feel good. My eyes momentarily close, lost in my own fantasy. It’s not the first one I’ve had. And they’ve come more frequently as of late. Multiple times daily if I’m honest. He’s texted me a few times since originally asking me out. He’s quite persistent. Oddly enough, my little vision of his dexterous fingers has calmed my nerves. If just the thought of his hands on my body have that effect, what would it be like to actually have them touch me? Like, touch me, touch me. Now my heart rate’s picking up again. Warmth spreads across my skin, followed by a decidedly less calming effect. That is not what I need right now. Shake it off.

Today was supposed to be a small get-together. The guest list has grown exponentially since I saw it two weeks ago. Beckett’s here. With his camera. I should be excited about the coverage, but it only creates more nerves. I could publicly bomb and be ruined. Ugh. I should have revealed the wall when Caroline and Mimi first got here, made it a personal gesture. That way, if they hated it, I could just cover it back up and no one would see. Too late now. Everyone wandering around seems intrigued by the unveiled piece.

Not only had I pulled off the reno in such a short time (the AC even worked now—Thank, God!), but everyone seems to like what I’ve done. Fingers crossed; the reveal will go just as well. I’d pried into the Maxwell’s personal lives a bit to find some of these treasures, and even though Caroline had basically given me carte blanche to use whatever I wanted, I hadn’t expressly asked her permission to use everything. If she hated it, I’m sure she’d have no trouble finding something she loved to fill the space and a new designer for future projects. And I could kiss my bourgeoning career goodbye.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to boost my dwindling self-confidence, wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, and gather everyone in the den and dining area (the open concept turned out beautifully). I give my little spiel of gratitude. Thanking everyone for being here today, Caroline for giving me this opportunity, and God that Mimi’s operation and rehab have gone so well. With that, I pinch the edge of the fabric covering the wall.

“I wanted to show my appreciation with a gift. I tried to find something that would have meaning for each member of the family and also be enjoyed for years to come,” I say to Caroline and Mimi. “I hope you like it.” Pulling the corner of the sheet, it floats down to the floor, just like it’s supposed to (It would appear that my usual gracelessness has fled today and is nowhere to be found; I’m sure it will sneak up on me later—when I least expect it.). There’s a small collective gasp as everyone looks. Gib is standing on Mimi’s other side, a wide grin splitting his cheeks; he guides her arm, helping her get a closer look. They’re all silent for a few minutes, perusing up close. Then Caroline turns toward me with tears in her eyes. Success! I don’t exactly aim to make my clients cry; I just want them to love what I’ve done. It’s why I do what I do.

“Poppy,” her voice wavers, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is the most beautiful gift. I haven’t seen some of these in ages.”

Mimi grabs my arm to pull me down to her eye level. She throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you so much! I’m going to love living here. I may just sell my house and make this permanent.” She pulls back to smile at me, “especially if you promise me weekly visits from that little spitfire of yours.”

I grin back at her, proud that she’s so taken with Harper, though I must say, I’ve met few people that aren’t. “We’ll visit as often as we can, promise.”

“Besides, Gib has been dying to have me closer.” She manages sarcasm without the bite as she elbows him in the ribs.

“You know we love having you close,” Gibson says smiling down at his mother-in-law. “It’s going to make it easier to cart you off to the course now. I wouldn’t trust anyone else as my partner for the Two on Two Tournament. It’s in September this year. Your rehab will be finished, and Nick and Sylvie are going down.” She just chuckles. Apparently, she enjoys the occasional game of golf and is quite good from what Caroline tells me.

“Mama,” I hear Harp whisper just as she tucks her hands around my waist. “Why is everybody crying? And laughing? Are dey sad or happy?”

“Not sad, Bug. They’re happy tears.” I pick her up so she can see the wall too. “Sometimes our emotions are too much to keep inside, and we need to let them out, so we laugh and cry.” She just nods at my words, looking at the pictures.

I feel him beside me before I see him. “Thank you,” he whispers near my ear. “This is amazing. You truly are extraordinarily talented. I don’t know the last time I saw my mother and grandmother this happy.”

“Mama, you know Mr. Max?” Harper asks.

“Yes, Harp. We met a few weeks ago.”

“Is he your friend?” She asks, looking at me with wide eyes. I’m not exactly sure if ‘friend’ is the right word to describe what we are, but I don’t know how to explain our relationship to myself, let alone my daughter, so I nod. “Okay, he says it’s good to help our friends when dey needs it, and he needs our help.”

Apparently, he’s not above using a child to get what he wants. I’ll bite. “Okay, what does Mr. Max need our help with?”

“Carrying stuff to da pond. He said we can shares his picnic if we help. And dere’s peanut butter and jelly and lemonade and cookies!” Suddenly his intentions become clear. He’s enlisting the aid of my daughter to get dates now. I feel a little trapped, but at the same time I’m not mad at his ingenuity. Most men run in the opposite direction when they find out I have a kid. This man is trying to take both of us to lunch. And he quickly realized the way to Harp’s heart is through her sweet tooth.

“Oh? Well that’s very generous of him,” she nods ever so seriously. “Did he happen to mention what he needs help carrying or how far this pond is?” She looks expectantly at Grayson, and my eyes follow hers to his face. He’s smiling at Harper, then looks to me. He knows he’s got me.

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