Page 68 of Half Baked

“This is a nice way to honor their memories,” Poppy whispers, leaning her head on my shoulder.

We remain like this, my arm holding her close to my side and her head nestled against me, looking out at the sea together. I’ve all but forgotten the other guests surrounding us. It’s just her, warming the numb corners of my heart. Poppy chose me today. She chose to be here, to let me in despite how it would disrupt her perfectly planned life. It’s still hard to believe.

Billowing sails guide the yachts forward as they cross the finish triumphantly. I wonder if it isn’t time to get Dad’s back out there. Maybe I’ll join Jamie next year, after all, less likely things have happened.

Chapter 30

Poppy

Lobster, quahogs, soft-shell clams, corn on the cob, and baby potatoes are piled high on trays across the table. It’s a traditional New England feast—prepared by Hayden. No personal chefs, no one serving us, just friends that feel like family. That became the family he could carry on this tradition with. My heart aches for the boys sitting up on the hill in a quiet empty house those first years, yet another reminder that I never knew Hayden. Not really. And yet here he is, welcoming me, helping me, with no regard for the way I judged him.

We take our seats as a group at the long table. At my left, Hayden reaches forward and selects a plump lobster from the spread, depositing it on my plate. Manipulating its claws, he forms the shape of a heart and winks at me. My heart is officially as melted as the butter in the dipping bowl before me. On my right, Stevie leans over and whispers, “That is the cutest thing. What have you done to this man?”

“Who is doing the toast this year, boys?” Mr. Taylor asks from down the table.

“I did it last year,” Beckett announces triumphantly. “Hayden?”

With his easy, relaxed smile, Hayden rises from his seat beside me. “I’ll make this fast. I just want to thank everyone for continuing this tradition year in and year out. As some of you know, our mom, May, was nothing if not a hostess. This clambake was one of her favorite events of them all. She always said it was about the traditions that came from the heart. And I am certain our mom would be happy to see everyone gathering to this day.” He raises his glass. “To you all.”

Everyone follows suit, a round of praise and murmur of cheers circles through the group. Hayden returns to his seat and slings an arm across the back of my chair. In his laid-back fashion, his hand drifts down over my shoulder, fingers grazing me lazily.

Around us, people turn their attention to the food. But not Hayden, he seems to be studying me. Reaching for the serving utensils, I raise an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

“Just glad you’re here.”

He says it so simply, as if it should be obvious. Then with a smile, he sits forward and begins filling his plate as well.

Across from us, Mrs. Silberman is telling Wren about an antique console table she got in yesterday. One that she thinks Wren will love for the inn. Beside them, Jamie and Tripp are deep in conversation, and it sounds nautical in nature.

No one seems surprised in the slightest by my presence here today. They aren’t even batting an eye at the fact that I’m sitting with Hayden instead of at the farthest corner of the table from him. It feels like I’m the last one in on a secret about myself. And that’s fine. It’s a relief, really, not having to field questions and comments about our apparent truce.

“So, Poppy, how is the show going? We’ve seen the crew around town. They come into the café a good amount,” Vanessa asks from her spot beside Mrs. Silberman.

I stiffen at the mention of the show, unsure how something that was supposed to be exciting has become a tense obligation. Stealing a glance at Hayden, who dropped his hand below the table to squeeze my knee, I feel steadier. “It’s good,” I tell Vanessa, reaching under the table as well and taking his hand in mine. “It isn’t what I expected, but there have been some fun surprises.”

“Do you get much say in what is said and done? Or is it pretty scripted?”

“Well… we get to kind of do our thing—” I look at Hayden once again.

“Wait, we?” Vanessa asks, her eyes darting between us. I just assumed most people knew he was joining me on camera, considering the way news travels in our small town. Apparently not.

“I didn’t know you baked, Hayden.” Mrs. Silberman turns towards us.

“I don’t.” He laughs, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of my hand. “But Pop is an amazing teacher. That is, when I decide to listen.”

“Which is hardly ever.”

“But she hasn’t kicked me out of her kitchen yet.”

Millie, Tripp’s deputy, leans forward to join the conversation. “I can’t believe our little town is going to be famous,” she muses.

On the other side of Stevie, Beckett stiffens. He looks wearily towards Hayden, a silent conversation passing between the brothers. I can imagine what he’s thinking about, when Foxport was thrust into the spotlight before, and I wonder if Beckett knows that Tara is trying to put them through it again.

Either way, it’s just another reason why I’m not considering this angle.

“I think it’s wonderful that you get to do the show together.” Ruth smiles from down the table. Her tone is motherly—with that hint of knowing.

“One of those fun surprises,” I agree.

---