Poppy

My morning started early and not by choice. The living room window hadn't been the only one I'd forgotten to hang curtains over, and my bedroom faced the rising sun. The cheerful rays blasted me directly in the eyeballs when I rolled over to find a cold spot on my pillow, and I shot upright with a groan, my head throbbing from the combination of little sleep and too much wine. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and cradled my head. I might not feel guilty for drinking the entire bottle, but I sure as hell felt pain.

"Ibuprofen," I muttered, limping to the kitchen to get a glass of water and meds. Those, at least, were where they were supposed to be since I'd unpacked them last night.

Draining my glass, I surveyed the disaster that was my house and internally screamed at my stupidity. How was I supposed to get anything done with a brass band clanging between my ears? Despite all the best intentions, the last twenty-fours did not signal a very auspicious start to my new life, but the only person who could change that was me. Indulging in the wine had been a terrible idea, and what had seemed like a reward while I was working yesterday was clearly nothing more than an excuse to continue the pity party I'd been throwing for the last month. The one I'd assured myself was over when I found this house. If I wanted something different, I had to act differently, and that started now.

An hour later, I sat on the front porch and congratulated myself on walking to the mailbox and back without vomiting. With a little more water and some food—the greasy, no good for you kind that worked miracles on hangovers—I would be right as rain. Unfortunately, there was no food in the house. I ate the last of my burger and fries late last night sometime between the cops leaving and finishing the bottle of wine. That meant I would have to run into town.

"Crap," I fussed, stretching my legs in front of me with a groan.

Then I snorted. Too bad this imaginary chicken didn't exist. A couple of fresh eggs under the bushes would be a godsend. Save me a trip and money since eggs were a luxury item these days.

I stood up, stepped toward the front door, and froze when I heard something rustle in the bushes. Before I could turn to look, a raspy noise—something between a growl and a caw—joined the rustling. Surely not. I gripped the stair railing and leaned forward, pushing my hair out of my face to get a closer look at the creature in my shrubs. Whatever it was, my attention agitated it.

"Please don't be a chicken," I muttered, crouching in front of the bushes.

They were too dense to see well, forcing me to lower my stomach to the ground. Morning dew seeped through the thin fabric of my t-shirt, but what I saw was worth the ruined top. Just a couple of inches in front of me were two little orange chicken feet.

"Mother clucker," I cursed, going up on my hands and knees. "There really is a chicken!"

Which also meant the individual I'd called the cops on last night was probably precisely how Officer Greyson had described him and not some perverted peeping Tom. What was his name? Noah? That was it.

Oh god. On my first day in Birch Cove, I'd flashed an upstanding citizen and then called the cops on him. There was absolutely no way this story hadn't gone around the entire town already, and since the chicken existed, there was no way I was going to garner any sympathy. They would forever know me as the nudist who lived on Rose Lane.

Trying not to cry, I went inside and dialed the number on the card. Might as well get it over with. Rip it off like a bandaid and spend the rest of my afternoon looking into putting the house back on the market. The call went straight to voicemail, and if I wasn't half hysterical, I might have appreciated the deep grit in Noah's voice as he instructed me to leave my name and number and he would get back to me as soon as possible.

"H-Hi, Mr—" I couldn't recall his last name. "Er, Noah. This is your neighbor, Poppy Harper. I think you were at my house last night looking for a chicken, and well, the chicken is currently in my bush. Bushes! I've got to run to town this morning. Otherwise, I'll be home the rest of the day. You're welcome to stop by anytime you like. Okay. Um. Bye."

Praying he would come by while I was gone, I hightailed it to my bathroom and made myself as presentable as possible. I wrestled my hair into a loose, messy braid, dabbed concealer beneath my eyes, and swiped mascara onto my pale lashes. Because today was supposed to be humid and hot again, I shimmied into a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt.

"Cora," I growled, when I realized the t-shirt was cropped, leaving my freckled stomach exposed.

It had to be one of hers because I would never buy something like this. I was a firm believer in high-waisted pants and tops long enough to cover my hips. I spied my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against the bedroom wall. With the minimal makeup and casual, trendy fit, I looked not just years younger, but like myself again. Like the girl I'd been before Phil got his hooks into me and convinced me he could help me be better.

Still... what would people in town think? Everyone here could be a bunch of conservative Karens, and going out like this after last night might be all it took to seal my reputation in this town. I glanced at the opened box of clothes and realized I would have to dig to find anything else. There was no time for that.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not getting out of the car. Find a drive thru, maybe some chicken strips, and find somewhere to park and eat and pray Noah has come and gone by the time I get home. That's it. That's the game plan."

I repeated the plan as I locked the front door, which was probably why I didn't hear the gravel crunch under his feet as he approached, and when I turned around to find over six feet of man behind me, I screamed and threw my keys at him.

"What the hell?" he shouted, catching the keys as they bounced off his chest and glaring at me.

"W-who are you?" I demanded, flattening my body against the front door and debating whether I could jump over the railing on the side of the porch and make a run for it.

"Noah Hayes. Christ, woman. Are you always so fucking jumpy?" Noah crossed his arms over his chest. My keys dangled over the tip of his pointer finger, almost like a taunt.

Any plans I had for apologizing went out the window the moment he spoke to me in such a condescending manner. "Maybe if you didn't make a habit of sneaking up on me, I wouldn't be so jumpy."

Besides the brief widening of his eyes, his expression remained unchanged. "You said you had my chicken." The left corner of his lip twitched. "In your bush."

The metal screen door creaked as my weight lifted, and I stepped around Noah to point toward the shrubs where I'd last seen the bird. "She's in there, or she was about fifteen minutes ago."

Noah grunted and handed me my keys. I snatched them, careful not to touch him, and watched as he walked to a white truck parked in my driveway, his long legs eating up the distance with ease. He opened the truck and leaned across the driver's seat, offering a delightful view of his shapely ass.

It was almost unfair how perfectly his jeans hugged his backside, and when he turned around, a sack of feed in hand, I jerked my gaze away and prayed he hadn't caught me ogling him. It would seem Officer Greyson wasn't wrong. I very much doubted Noah Hayes had trouble getting attention. Certainly not to the extent that he would have to look through windows.

"Care to explain how a chicken hitches a ride?" I asked while he scattered feed on the ground. A feathered head poked through the green. She waited until Noah took a few steps back before coming all the way out, ruffling her red feathers while pecking at the grain.

His shoulders raised and dropped, but he didn't glance at me. The hen had all his attention. "I left the truck door open last night when I ran inside to grab something I'd forgot. Didn't know she was in here until I was passing by your place. Bout damn near had a wreck. She got loose when I pulled over."

I loved animals and planned on getting a pet once I was settled in, but I wasn't sure I would have run into the dark chasing after a single chicken. Especially onto someone else's property. There was a hint of distress in Noah's voice that suggested he'd never considered waiting to go after her.

"You should've knocked instead of scaring the crap out of me."

He whipped his head toward me, startling the hen, who was nearly within arm's reach. Squawking and flapping her wings, she shot back into the bush, shaking the branches with her irritation. Noah threw another handful of feed onto the ground, this time with enough force I could hear it hit the blades of grass.

"I might have knocked," he said, shoving his hand into the feed bag, "but the show you were putting on caught me a little off guard."

"Excuse me!" Blast my pale skin. I could feel the heat of my blush spreading over my cheeks and down my chest. No doubt my freckles were standing out in stark relief.

"Do you always dance around your house naked with the curtains open?" Noah asked. He shaded his eyes with one hand, but even with the shadow it cast on his face, I saw the way his gaze travelled over my body. Like he was comparing the fully clothed version with the naked one.

"It doesn't matter if I do or don't," I snapped, covering my chest and hunching forward, wishing I'd taken the time to find a different shirt. I felt so exposed. Not because he saw me naked. That would be the normal reaction to what was happening. No, I felt exposed because he likely found me lacking in some way. Men like Noah didn't like their women soft, pale, and freckled. "You should've turned around."

I'm not sure what I expected from him. But whatever it was, it wasn't for him to exhale and nod. "I would've if I'd had the time. You saw me about the same time I saw you, and then you started screaming. I tried to knock, but it was too late. I'm sorry for scaring you."

His apology shocked me. I dropped my arms to my side and straightened. "I'm sorry, too."

A vein flexed in his jaw, and he swallowed hard before turning his attention back to the hen who'd come out of hiding again. This time, I remained quiet as she approached, and he scooped her up in his arms with minimal fussing from the hen. Stroking her head, he held her toward me.

"Poppy. Meet Cordelia. The reason for all this mess."

My lips curled up. The grumpy man had named his chicken. "Hello, Cordelia. Nice to meet you, but please keep your visits to daylight hours from here on out."

"Oh, I'm afraid you won't be seeing her again."

Fear seized me. She had a name. He couldn't plan on eating her. "Wait, you don't have to do that. No harm, no foul."

We looked at each other, processing what I'd said. I burst into laughter. Noah rolled his eyes, but I saw the grin he fought back.

"No, I'm not going to eat her, but she is grounded. No free roaming for her for a long time."

"Oh, thank goodness."

"I'm heading out. Again, sorry for all the chaos," Noah said, climbing into his truck, the hen tucked comfortably under one arm.

"It's fine. Hopefully, it'll be a funny story one day."

Noah set Cordelia in the passenger seat and started the engine. Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled out of the drive, and he gave a little wave before pulling onto the road. I stood on the porch until his tail lights faded from view and then glanced at the car keys in my hand. Right. Food. I thought about Cordelia and then the chicken strips I'd been planning on getting.

"Burger it is."