Page 47 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“Yay!” I punch the air with excitement, and my coworker, Celine, gives me an odd look as I slip behind the counter with a laugh.

“I can’t wait.” Bailey’s excitement is palpable through the phone. “Just… look, I’m sure you won’t see her, but don’t mention it to my mom, okay? She’ll go ballistic that you guys are visiting before she does.”

I cringe, thinking of all the things Wyatt told me about Bailey’s mom. Suddenly, a lot more of her behavior makes sense.

“Of course, B. It’s not like we run in the same circles,” I add, and she snorts a laugh.

“Poppy?” My boss, Dave, pokes his head out of the back room as I set my bag down behind the counter. “Can you come in here?”

“Be right there,” I say, turning back to the phone. “I’ll call you later. I’ve arrived at work.”

“Sure thing. But, Poppy?”

I pause at the sincerity in her tone. “Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.” I end the call with a grin, and, without over-thinking it, purchase two tickets to Napa for this weekend. Then I slide my phone away and head into the back office.

“Morning, Dave. What’s up?”

He motions for me to sit opposite him, his expression grim. “We need to talk.”

18

Wyatt

The smell of baking hits me the moment I enter the house, warm and comforting like a hug, welcoming me home.

But I’m not prepared for the multitude of cookies covering every inch of counter-space when I enter the kitchen.

“Wow,” I murmur, bending to pet Sugar as she brushes against my legs.

Poppy glances across, her face flushed, her hair loose, a spatula in one hand and that apron hugging her curves. I love how wild she gets when cooking, but something about her energy seems off. Bailey’s words from a few weeks ago come back to me—she stress-bakes huge batches of cookies when something is wrong—and I cross the room, taking the spatula carefully from Poppy’s hand and setting it down on the counter.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she says, in a voice that is too high and tight to be genuine. “I felt like baking.”

I cast my gaze to the countertop. “You felt like bakinghundredsof cookies?”

She lifts a shoulder, glancing away. “Why not? I figured you could take some to work for the crew, or something.”

Hell, they’d love that, but I know she’s not telling the truth.

“Poppy.” I take her chin gently in my hand, tilting her face to mine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She grimaces, dropping her gaze. “I got fired.”

I lower my hand in shock. “What? Why?” What could she possibly have done to get herself fired? I can’t begin to imagine.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she says, then grimaces again. “God, I really didn’t want to tell you…”

An alarm bell goes off in my head. “Tell me.”

She swallows. “Apparently, a customer came in yesterday after my shift and complained about me. Dave wouldn’t give me the details, but whatever I supposedly did was bad enough to get me fired.”

“Acustomer?” I repeat. Because I have a feeling I know exactly who it was.

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