Page 33 of Yuletide Acres

Chapter 7

Poppy

“Is this seat taken?” I ask the bartender, who shakes his head in my direction. I’ve gotten used to dining alone, but I still prefer to sit at the bar. It feels a little less obvious that way.

“What can I get you?” the bartender inquires. “I’m Ralph. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mills.”

That’s the thing about small towns. A new arrival is a bit of a celebrity for a while. “Call me Poppy. Can I have a whiskey, neat?”

Ralph nods as he pours my drink, setting it in front of me. “Dining alone?”

“Looks like it.”

“I’ll keep you company.” He slides a menu across the bar, and I shoot him a smile of thanks.

Aside from Dylan and Mrs. Withers, Yuletide Acres is the epitome of a welcoming haven. If only their mayor could retain such a level of friendliness.

I sip my drink, thinking back to my latest run in with my former lover. Everything was smooth sailing. Hell, I was ready to straddle him on the massage table and reunite on every level. But the second Troy stopped into the shop, Dylan pulled a one-eighty, causing my heart and head to spin.

Right before he stormed out. Again.

The man has gotten quite adept at walking out of my life.

“Hey there, Ralph. Can I get the usual?”

Crap. I suck in a breath, steeling myself for another round with Dylan.

“Where’s Troy?” Dylan asks, his words clipped.

“Is that your standard greeting toward me? I thought it customary to say hello.” I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or my patience has reached its end, but if Dylan wants to play hardball, I’m ready. I meet his gaze and my heart skips a beat. I hate that it does that. “I have no idea where Troy is. Doesn’t he work for you?”

Dylan grunts out a laugh, but it’s tinged with far more anger than levity. “He’s your date for the evening, Poppy. Hell, I wager he’s mighty important to you, since you were all too keen to interrupt our session to tend to his…needs.”

The bastard. I swing the barstool in his direction, my eyes flaming. “You think you know everything, Dylan, but the truth is, you are way off base.”

“Sure I am.” He refuses to meet my gaze, but I notice his foot tapping out a rapid rhythm on the floor. He’s as agitated as a caged rat.

“For your information, Troy was looking into a situation at my cabin. Considering I’m a single woman living alone, I wanted to err on the side of caution.”

The mask of anger slides from Dylan’s face, as he tips my chin up to meet his probing stare. “What situation? Did someone try to hurt you?”

I huff out a sigh. I really don’t want to get into it, but I can tell from the set of his jaw that Dylan won’t let me off without an explanation. At least he doesn’t look like he wants to spit nails at me anymore.

Hey, a win is a win.

“I might be paranoid. It’s hard when you live alone. There seem to be threats everywhere. But, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is following me, and I’ve twice found tire tracks in the mud near the cabin. Fresh tracks. I’m also well aware that it’s desolate out that way, which isn’t helping the situation—real or imagined.” I take another sip of my drink, but the burn of the whiskey fails to warm my body. “So, Troy was investigating. That’s why he stopped into the shop today.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Is this man serious? “I did. To the sheriff. I figured that’s how it worked. Issue with safety, call the police. Issue with permits or anything else, speak to the mayor.”

Dylan drums the bar with his thumb. “I’ll look into it myself. I want to know if any of the residents feel unsafe. Especially you, Poppy. You can stay with me. I don’t want you fearing for your safety.”

Oh, D, I fear for my heart around you. My safety pales compared to the risk being near you brings.

“No, thank you. I’ve no doubt you’d stab me while I sleep.”

Dylan releases a sigh, staring down at his drink. “If I apologize and pay for all your drinks, will you consider forgiving me?”

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