Page 78 of Half Baked

“Hi, Poppy Seed,” Hayden rasps.

“Or we’re here until that happens,” Ivy whispers behind me, a smile in her voice.

He pulls me into his embrace and murmurs, “I promised I wouldn’t bring Tripp to crash girls’ night. I didn’t say anything about me doing it.”

“Why didn’t you text me that you were okay?” I chastise him with a smack at his shoulder. Then I sink against him despite the frustration in my tone.

“I rushed over here as soon as I could. I landed, changed, and needed to see you in person.”

“Good to see you’re okay, Hayden,” Stevie offers as the three of them try to slip by us in the doorway. When did they collect their things?

“We’ll talk later.” Wren winks at me.

“We left the wine,” Ivy adds with a smirk, closing the door behind them.

Sweeping me up in his arms, Hayden waits for me to wrap my legs around his waist before carrying me back to the livingroom. It’s amazing he doesn’t bump into anything, considering my face is on his, blocking his view. Laying me down on the couch, he leans on his elbows above me. I pull him down and lose myself in him. All my worries drifting further away with each nip of his teeth and the delicate pass of his tongue that follows.

“I think we should make it a rule moving forward, I get to see you the minute you’re back from a call,” I suggest breathlessly.

He smiles against my lips. His voice gruff, he says, “Absolutely. I don’t think we’ve ever agreed on something this fast in our lives.”

Chapter 35

Poppy

It’s funny, I never thought that waiting for the other shoe to drop would be more anxiety provoking than the moment it finally did.

I turn the envelope over in my hand once more, my eyes scanning the perfectly crisp edges. The pristine presentation is the result of this envelope being hand delivered rather than going through a mail carrier—this is what it looks like when you get served.

Slipping my finger along the seal, I pop it open and withdraw the thick weighted paper. It’s heavy with importance, the burden of my future on these pages.

It’s the mid-morning lull at the bakery, most people are done with breakfast, but not quite ready for a sweet afternoon pick me up. I can’t help but think Tara planned the delivery of this to find me during the period I usually allow myself to rest. If she thinks that she can rattle my peace this easily, she must not have been listening when I talked on the show about what it meant to be a Wheeler woman.

I pull a stool up behind the front display and pluck one of my rocky road cookies from its glass pedestal. Taking a bite of the still warm confection, I start reading through the document, butI can hardly make out what it’s trying to say. Legal jargon is like a foreign language, and I’m confident that the point of the stack of papers in my hand is to elicit fear rather than inform.

It’s better than addressing the red past due envelope that came yesterday, though. I have that tucked away in my tote with a plan to call the construction company later and plead my case for another month’s reprieve—again.

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter, glancing at the incoming call on my phone. Putting the forms down, I pick it up instead and swipe to answer it.

“Tara,” I greet her cooly.

“Poppy.” The sharpness in her tone is shifting me further still from anxiety, and now closer to hostility. It’s refreshing after the last few days of waiting and wondering. I have something tangible to fight now.

“So nice of you to have those forms hand delivered to me.” I counter her edge with a honeyed tone. “It is much more convenient.”

“You’re not fooling me,” she bites out. “This is bad for you, Ms. Wheeler. What I want to know—is it really worth losing everything?”

I don’t answer, my mind reeling about what it would mean if I really did lose everything. And yet, when I try to imagine my everything, Hayden is there. He’s always been there.

“You’re mistaken,” I finally say. “I’m making sure that I don’t lose what matters.”

“Let me make this clear, if?—”

“Clearer than your legalese I have in front of me, hopefully,” I scoff.

A shrill laugh carries through the phone, assaulting my ears from afar. “I want this show. And I get what I want, dear,” she replies. “I’ll even sweeten the deal, Hayden controls the whole narrative if he gives us his own account of what happened—something he’s never given anyone. Ever. But he would do it for you, wouldn’t he, Poppy?”

He would. Which only helps to push me over the edge into indignation towards this selfish woman. I fist the perfectly pristine documents until they make a satisfying crinkle and jump up from the stool.

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