Page 2 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

He usually stayed out of situations that aggravated him. But this time, he couldn’t retreat to his cottage in the Kent countryside, where he took long walks, brewed his craft beer and chatted online, pretending he was a decent British gentleman instead of drowning in the chaotic isolation that was always right there at the edge.

“You okay?” Merle asked.

“Sorry for being a jerk,” Ali said. “But I do need to speak to her.”

Merle just nodded. “I’ll let her know.”

Poppy stood at the sink, her hands braced on the counter. Had she manifested this?

For fuck’s sake.

She hadn’t been prepared today for Alistair looking like every sex dream she’d ever had. He hadn’t lost his shine in the years since she’d seen him. If anything, he looked fitter. When they first met, he’d been leaner, wearing black and leather to go with the bad boy persona that had preceded him to uni. His black hair was just as thick and curled the slightest bit on the top.

God, her fingers were tingling just remembering how it felt to push her hands through it.

He’d deceived her, broken her heart and filled her with regret. Too bad that late at night when she’d had too much pink Moscato, she still wanted him. Even wanted to be his fake wife. To be the ballsy woman that her friend Liberty was and say yes to the wedding, sleep with him, use him and then tell everyone there they were divorced.Good riddance.

Time to take karma into her own hands, leave on her terms, taking back the legacy he’d charmed out of her hands when she’d lost her family’s tea recipe to Lancaster-Spencer. She should have heeded her ancestor’s warning not to trust anyone in the Lancaster-Spencer family—especially the men.

Except she wasn’t Liberty. She’d been born a people pleaser. She couldn’t hurt him even if she wanted to because of his eyes. Those same soulful eyes that held hidden depths she’d never really discovered, that suggested Alistair held on to a lot of pain.

Truthfully, that same look had been why she’d fallen for him. Sure, she had thought they were moving too fast, but there was always something about Ali that grabbed at her. That outward charming arrogance that looked a little edgy...and secretly sad.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hug. She recognized Merle’s warmth and cologne—and the slight scent of cinnamon, which she knew came from Liberty. Hugging him back, she drew strength from her cousin.

“You okay?”

With her forehead against his chest, she groaned.No.No way, she was the opposite of okay.

He laughed in a kind way. “I tried to get him to leave. But he said it’s business and took a seat at one of the tables,” Merle said. “He almost slugged me but stopped himself and calmed down.”

That caught her attention, and she straightened. Alistair always had a quick temper and got into fights all the time when they used to go out. That violence was never directed at her but at the shitty men who would hit on her. Alistair always came to her rescue...just not the way she’d have wanted. It had made her uncomfortable and want to go home. For her, he had only his passion. Everything that Alistair felt manifested itself physically.

“That’s new.”

“Yeah,” Merle said. He waited to see what she wanted to do.

Her cousin was six months older than her. They’d always sort of been the oddballs in their families and had bonded. Her mom’s biggest gripe about her was that she lived in Poppy’s World and Merle had simply said,What’s wrong with that?

“Options?”

“You sneak out the back, and I act like you’re still in here,” he suggested. “Then send Liberty in here to ‘talk’ to you, she goes back in the shop and kicks him out, so I don’t have to go up against your buff ex-husband.”

Poppy couldn’t help smiling at that and playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I know you’re not scared of Alistair.”

“You’re right. I also know he won’t get physical with a woman, and it was a near thing when I blocked his path. I don’t want to test it again. Seemed like he was holding himself back, and that’s not him, from what you’ve shared.”

She had the same feeling when Ali asked to join her online group six months ago. He listened, asked thoughtful questions, and there had only been one incident when he contradicted her and got superior about a tea-blending approach. Both of them had been right, and he was valid in stating there were other ways to do things than the way she did them. But it had smacked of their old relationship.

Ali used to frame her blending skills as lesser because she’d only learned them from the old book that had passed down through her maternal family. The same recipe book that his family had tried to romance, buy and steal from hers for centuries. Not without bitterness, she knew that the romance had worked on her in a way it hadn’t on Viola Kitchener. That woman had walked away from marriage to the prestigious Earl of Winfield and his fledging tea company, Lancaster-Spencer.

“You got any other ideas?” she asked. Even living in the romanticized version of the world as she did, she still fought her own battles.

“You talk to him,” Merle said. “Get some closure with him. Hate to be that guy, but I can tell you’re still into him.”

No denying that.“I’m not into him... I’m justnot.”

Giving her a wry grin, Merle said, “It’s a good thing I speak Poppy. So what should I do?”

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