Page 7 of Yuletide Acres

* * *

Idrive the mile and a half down Main Street, parking my Jeep in front of the newly rented store. Poppy’s store.

It’s so ironic that our new resident shares my girl’s name.

It has to be a coincidence. There’s no way. But my hands tremble as I clutch the steering wheel, wondering if there is a chance the universe aligned to put that woman back into my life.

There has only ever been one woman who held my heart. I’m loath to admit that she still does. But I let her slip through my fingers a decade earlier.

She was my everything, but I got lost in her. Lost in the passion and the fire that burned between us.

But Poppy never let me in. I knew nothing about her, except that I worshiped the ground she walked on. I never even knew her last name.

I lean back, recalling how I snuck away in the middle of the night without a note. I knew if I didn’t leave right then, I never would.

I owed it to my father to come home and mend fences.

But I didn’t make it in time. He was dead a few hours when I walked through the front door. The guilt over missing my chance to say goodbye forced me to reevaluate my life, to put my family first, and to shelve the idea of unbridled passion.

Shelve the idea of a life with Poppy.

Passion is a dangerous commodity. These trysts I’ve engaged in over the last several years? Perfunctory. The women are doting and willing and I have a good enough time, but they pale compared to the connection between my Sunshine and me.

“Sunshine and D,” I say aloud, releasing a sad chuckle.

She certainly was my sunshine, and I hate to think that now she’s a star in someone else’s sky.

Enough of this trip down memory lane. You’ll walk in and it won’t be Poppy, and you’ll release a sigh of relief. Case closed.

I hop out, smoothing the front of my flannel shirt. The best part about being a mayor in a small mountain town? The folks don’t expect you to wear a suit and tie. Hell, they’d laugh their asses off if I showed up wearing a three-piece to work. It’s not practical, and here, practicality is the keystone of survival.

I pull open the front door, my palms sweaty. What is my issue? It’s likely a coincidence. There’s more than one woman in the world named Poppy. Besides, the Poppy I knew had short, blue hair and facial piercings. Not the description my mother provided.

The bell above the door sounds, and a voice calls out from one of the back rooms. “Just a second. I’ll be right out.”

The blood freezes in my veins. I know that voice.

“I apologize, I’m not open yet. Can I help you?” The curtain separating the front of the store from the back parts, and my past steps into my present.

Holy shit. I’m in so much trouble. Poppy was pretty when I knew her, eclectic and fun as hell. But this version? She’s softer. Natural. Breathtaking.

Her hazel eyes widen as she catches sight of me, the towel dropping from her hands. “D? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I manage, finding my voice. “Hi, Poppy.”

“Oh, my God! What in the world? How are you here?” Just like that, she’s in my arms again, wrapping me in a hug.

I enfold her in an embrace, burying my head against her neck. Smelling her. God, this woman always smelled like heaven on a warm day. Spicy and exotic and sexy as hell.

Poppy pulls back, a wide smile playing on her lips. I remember that mouth. I remember all the ways that mouth used to drive me wild. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look so different.”

“So do you. Long hair, I see.” How am I supposed to remain calm when my dick is throbbing from the sight of her?

“Yeah,” she giggles, tossing it over one shoulder in a shiny waterfall. “Natural color, too. Apparently, I grew out all the hair that you shaved off.”

“Hmm,” I mutter, running a hand over my dark crewcut. I wonder how she really sees me. I’m so normal now. Staid. Responsible. Not at all the crazy guy who traveled the country by her side. Not her type. Not anymore. “Had to grow up sometime. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, that’s a story.”

---