Page 46 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

Poppy looked hot in a midriff-baring bright pink top she’d paired with some high-waisted, wide-legged trousers. She had a fascinator tucked into her bag for the wedding later. This was just brunch with his parents.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sweating. He’d worn a suit in green, coordinated with a patterned shirt and bow tie. The dress code for Gemma’s reception was “funky formal.” He’d taken that remit to his tailor and was pleased with the results. But at the same time, he was slightly uncomfortable. George and his wife, Bronte, waited in the lobby for them.

George’s suit was similar to his, and Alistair hated that he relaxed when he saw his older brother in the same awkward garb. Bronte wore a sheath dress in bright orange satin with a large broach comprised of three sequined flowers that pretty much dominated her entire left side.

George was on his phone, and Bronte spotted them first, hurrying over and hugging Ali. “Nice to see you.” She turned to Poppy. “I’m Bronte. I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you.”

Poppy smiled. “Poppy. Nice to meet you.”

“Sorry, I’m going to fangirl for a minute, and then I promised George I wouldn’t do it again. But I’m obsessed—obsessed—with everything WiCKed Sisters. We’ve been too busy to make a trip to Maine, but we are planning one at the end of the summer.”

Poppy’s smile deepened, something that happened when she talked about the shop she shared with her friends. It was clear to Ali that the business truly fulfilled her in a way that he never had. He had to remember that as he was trying to figure out if he could find a way back into her orbit permanently.

The women were soon deep in conversation. Feeling like a third wheel, Alistair glanced at the bar, which should be serving alcohol even this early. It was a wedding day, after all, and he could already hear some people in there celebrating.

George clapped his hand on Alistair’s shoulder before he could bolt for a whiskey to dull the edge of his nerves. This was the kind of situation where being numb would have been his MO not that long ago. Tension was all around him.

So he breathed in. Out. Holding himself in that happy zen garden that his therapist had taught him to create in his head.

Today, there was no running or escaping the situation. He promised himself he’d be here for Poppy and George. They were both counting on him.

“How was the Tor?”

“Nice. Thanks for the house rec. We really enjoyed it,” Alistair said.

“Bronte got changed three times because she wanted to vibe with Poppy,” George said. “But to be honest, Poppy seems different than the last time I saw her.”

“Yeah. She is. WiCKed Sisters’ success, I think, is part of it, but she’s...just sort of stepped into herself.” Alistair had to admit that he was more drawn to Poppy now than he had been the first time he’d seen her. The years had been good to her. He couldn’t get enough of this new Poppy—in every sense of the word.

“Good. I’m here for it. That’s the kind of energy Dad needs to see,” George said. “You good for this?”

“Yeah,” Ali said. Not really wanting to think too far ahead to seeing his father. The old man had mellowed toward him after the breakdown. Everyone had. No one wanted to put too much pressure on him.

“I mean it, if you need to step out—”

Alistair was not going to let his brother cover for him. Suspecting that George was coming from a good place didn’t change his mind. He wasn’t walking out on Poppy or away from his dad. “No. I’m not going down that road. I need to get out of my head when people who matter to me need me.”

“Poppy’s not the only one whose energy has changed,” George said quietly. “I like this version of you.”

The women joined them before Ali could respond, so for a moment, he sat in George’s compliment. All that work to shed the old behaviors had started to pay off. The biggest test would be when he was with his dad. The earl was his Everest. Every obstacle that would keep him from reaching the top was going to be present. There would be disappointment, probably—

His thoughts broke off as Poppy slipped her hand into his. Her fingers were long and cool, and when she squeezed his hand, heat moved up his arm, melting the lump of icy panic that had taken hold of him.

“You okay?” she asked under her breath as she reached up with her free hand to straighten his tie.

“Yeah. I’m not going to let you down again.” Reassuring her was easy. It was all he thought about. The past was littered with mistakes that he was determined not to repeat.

A sad sort of half smile teased her mouth, and then she forced a full one. “Great. I’m not going to let myself down either.”

Ali understood that he and Poppy had the same agenda. They both had allowed themselves to be pushed, manipulated and bullied by his father the last time they met with him like this. As a couple, they hadn’t been united because Alistair had only wanted to see pride on the old man’s face.

This time, he was here just for Poppy. Praise wasn’t something he craved from Howard Miller any longer. And it wasn’t something the eighth Earl of Winfield was ever going to give willingly. It had taken a lot of miles in his running shoes to finally process that Ali didn’t need that man to be proud of him.

“They’re here.” George waved his parents over.

Ali felt Poppy tense next to him. Dropping her hand, he put his on the small of her back instead so he could touch her skin. He stroked her gently until she stood taller, shoulders back, and nodded to him.

They were as prepared as they could be.

---