Chapter 23
I ’m sitting in Gramps’s car, applying a coat of a CVS lipstick that’s supposed to be a Charlotte Tilbury dupe, when Daniel rides up on his bike.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard: It’s exactly nine o’clock.
Impressive. It feels early to me—the breakfast room had been bustling when I arrived there an hour earlier than usual—but the parking lot of the Floor Emporium is as crowded as though it were midday.
I step out of the car, clutching my Starbucks iced coffee in one hand (an actual Starbucks: one of the perks of driving all the way into St. Pete).
“I cannot believe you biked all the way here.”
He flashes a grin as he removes his helmet, his red hair sticking up.
“Easy ride. Barely took more than half an hour.” I follow him as he locks his bike to the rack outside the automatic doors of the Floor Emporium. He’s wearing his usual black biking shorts and white T-shirt. It takes all of my self-control to prevent my gaze from flicking down to his thighs.
“Aren’t you afraid of…” I twirl my iced coffee for embellishment. He gives me a quizzical look. “Like, getting flattened by all the cars?”
He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh at me. “It’s not high on my list. Poisonous snakes, climate change, riptides, cancer. Those are higher.”
I have no response to this. All I can manage is a small “right.”
“You should really try it,” Daniel continues. “If only to get around our little town. Isn’t this your grandpa’s car?”
“Yeah, but he never uses it. Besides, if I were biking, where would I freshen my lipstick?”
Daniel gestures to the round rearview mirror clipped to one of his handles, showing it off like a game-show hostess. This makes me laugh.
“And the helmet hair?” I press. “I don’t know, Daniel.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about in the hair department.” He says it nonchalantly, leading the way into the store. I’m glad he’s ahead of me, because now I’m blushing furiously, and simultaneously very pleased that I wore my hair down this morning.
“Oh my…” As soon as we walk in, I’m overwhelmed. This place is huge, filled with slabs of tile and planks of wood and rows and rows of linoleum squares. If I had come here by myself, I would’ve just turned around and walked out.
“You’ve done this before?” I confirm.
Daniel slows his pace next to a gorgeous slab of white marble. “Of course. I help clients with stuff like this all the time. And I redid my own place a few years back.”
“Did you hire someone to do your floors?” I ask.
He gives me a look that somehow insinuates that this is a silly question and do I really think he wouldn’t do his own floors?
“No,” he answers. The look, and the one-word answer, are filled with so much manly confidence that I have to suppress a nervous giggle. I slurp my iced coffee.
“I like this one.” I drape myself over a block of pale, creamy marble with pink highlights.
“Oh yeah?” He smirks, probably at the fact that I’ve chosen the girliest floor they have. “Do you have an extra five hundred grand lying around?”
“What?” I spring up as though the marble has burned me.
“I guess I should ask.” He turns to face me, and I can’t help but notice the full-frontal body language. I brace myself for a flirtatious question, but then he says, “What is your budget?” and my excitement deflates.
Picturing my bank account minus my rent, a couple of plane tickets, the rental car, and the insurance on Pebble Cottage, I say, “Small. Cheap.”
“Got it.” He strides forward and beckons for me to follow. “Your section is over here. Forget you ever saw that marble.”
“But…” I stroke it lovingly, picturing how nice it would look with my Pottery Barn couch, my off-white chunky crochet throw blanket, the enormous, creamy pink Anthropologie candle I could buy to go with it.
“Say goodbye, Rosen.” Daniel grabs my hand and drags me away.
“I’ll never forget you,” I call. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“Now, your square footage is small—reasonable—so you really don’t have to spend too much,” Daniel says. He suddenly realizes he’s still holding my hand and drops it. I snort with laughter. He continues his spiel. “But you should be prepared to spend around two thousand dollars.”
“Does this include paint?” I ask hopefully.
“No. But since you’re doing it yourself, the paint will only set you back a few hundred.”
“Excellent.”
An older salesman with a white mustache and a red vest pauses beside us, holding a clipboard.
“Help you find anything?”
“Yeah, we’re looking for vinyl hardwoods, light neutral shades, something mid-range,” Daniel says. I give him a sideways glance—shouldn’t he have said cheapest possible ? But he doesn’t look back at me.
“Or,” I interrupt the salesman’s response, “what about a ceramic tile with sort of a faux-marble look?”
Daniel touches me lightly on the elbow. “I don’t think you want to get into installing tile. It’s harder than you’d think.”
“I’m sure I could—”
He cuts me off. “Plus, tile is impossible to replace, and I bet good money you want to redecorate again in five to ten years.”
This shuts me up; I bite back a smile. Seems like Daniel McKinnon somehow, sort of, knows me.
“Your husband is right,” the salesman continues. “Tile is tricky, especially if you’re going for self-installation. I can show you a selection of vinyl that’s made to look like tile, or even marble.”
Daniel briefly closes his eyes as though praying for patience, holds up one finger, and starts to say “We’re actually—”
But I twine my arm around his. “Hubby is always right. Aren’t you, smoochikins?”
The salesman’s cheeks turn rosy with delight above his mustache. “Newlyweds?”
“Just back from our honeymoon.” I nuzzle against Daniel’s shoulder. He stiffens with discomfort.
“Enjoy this time,” the salesman says indulgently. “I remember my honeymoon like it was yesterday. Niagara Falls. Been married almost thirty-six years now.”
Suddenly, Daniel leans into me and ruffles my hair, somewhat aggressively. “Any advice?” he asks.
“You know what they say.” The man tucks the clipboard under one arm. “Happy wife, happy life!”
“Well, that’s easy. Give this one another clown figurine to add to her collection and she’s happy as pie.
In fact, she loves clowns so much, I should let her join the circus.
” Daniel tilts his head to smile down into my face.
I’m still gripping his arm, my face locked into a smile that’s now more like a grimace.
“Oh.” The man clears his throat. “Well, the LVPs are thataway.” He points and then hurries off.
As soon as he’s gone, Daniel and I spring apart.
“Clowns?” I hiss.
“Some might find it strange, but what can I say? My little missus is a special one.” He strides off toward aisle 17.
I scurry after him and smack his arm.
“Anyway,” I say, “I know you think vinyl is cheap, but I really might want to consider one that looks like marble.”
“Well.” He stops and spreads his arms at the selection around us. “I think you’re going to like LVPs. Luxury vinyl planks.”
“Ooh. Luxury vinyl?”
“Includes the word luxury , but still in your budget,” Daniel confirms.
I beam at him, then slowly pace the aisle, taking in my options. I’m stopped in front of a gorgeous plank that’s made to look like antique black-and-white tile when my phone buzzes with a new email. I check it out of pure reflex, and then I re-read it three times, my brain fuzzy with confusion.
It must show on my face, because Daniel asks, “Everything okay?”
“Uh… I need to…” I grope around behind me for a place to sit, but I don’t want to send tile samples tumbling, so I just sit cross-legged on the floor. Daniel immediately crouches down next to me.
“Is it your grandpa?”
“No.” Startled, I look up and see that his face is serious, one line creased between his reddish eyebrows.
“It’s a work thing. I…” I exhale, set my empty coffee cup down, and read the words from the email itself.
“All full-time employees must return to the office no later than Monday, July second. Attendance in the office will be expected five days a week.”
Daniel’s face merely crinkles deeper with apparent confusion. I realize that he’s so far removed from corporate tech life, he just doesn’t understand.
“I’ve been working from home for years,” I explain. “Now, with no warning, they’re saying we all have to go back to working in the office. They don’t even know I’ve been in Florida the last few weeks.”
“Will you get in trouble if they find out?”
“I don’t think they’d be happy about it.” I scan the rest of the email; the tone is stern and doesn’t mention any exceptions to this new rule.
“When were you planning to go back home?”
An unexpectedly heavy weight fills my chest.
“Honestly?” I realize the truth as I say the words. “I wasn’t. I mean, not for a while. I kept kicking the can down the road, because things kept coming up, and—well, because I like it here. I feel different here.”
“Different how?” Daniel cocks his head. This man who lives so vibrantly in the world, staying active and busy and talking to people all day long. How could he understand what my life is like at home? Solitary. Quiet. Absolutely devoid of humidity.
“I feel… useful here.” I leave it at that for now.
He nods. He knows all about Gramps and Pebble Cottage, so I suppose this makes sense to him.
“And now you have to go back,” he says.
“By the end of the month.”
We don’t say anything for a long minute.
My butt is getting uncomfortable on the hard floor, but I want to curl up and stay right here.
The idea of leaving Gramps, of leaving Pebble Cottage unfinished, of leaving the beach…
of going back to my lonely apartment, of being forced to commute to a sterile office building to do my boring job under Kat’s watchful eye… it’s too much. It’s way too much.
Boldly, I look up at Daniel, still crouching in front of me.
There’s no denying that part of me wanted something to happen between us.
I mean, that kiss outside the mermaid bar is not something I’ll easily forget.
Deep down, I’d thought that maybe, as we worked together on Pebble Cottage, something would unfold naturally.
And I know it was unlikely, because of his history with a failed long-distance relationship.
But now, it’s absolutely impossible. It’s taken me years to get over my last ex; there’s no reason for me to start something new when it has no chance of going anywhere.
I’m not going to do that to myself. Or to Daniel.
I have three weeks left. Now is the time to get things done, not to fantasize about what might have been.
Daniel has held eye contact as these thoughts raced through my head. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He offers me a hand and helps me up.
“Well,” he says, letting go quickly and dusting his hands on his shorts. “Then we better get cracking. No time to lose, right, Rosen?”
“Yeah. No time to lose.”
The mood of our shopping trip has changed noticeably.
We deliberate between a few options, and within fifteen minutes I’ve chosen the new flooring for my house.
Daniel helps me place the order, calculating how much I’ll need.
Outside, we pause at his bike. The hot, humid air feels like a hug after the air-conditioning inside.
“Mallory.” He fidgets with his helmet. “I don’t want to overstep, but…”
My heart gallops, and I know that it wouldn’t take much for me to toss out the resolution I just made. If Daniel wanted to start something, I might be powerless to say no.
“When you leave,” he continues, “I would be happy to drive your grandpa to appointments. If he needs help.”
This is so far from what I was expecting, I don’t say anything for a moment.
“It’s only that I did the same thing for my dad,” he rushes to explain. “When he was sick.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” My hand lands on his. “Is he okay now?”
Daniel looks down at the helmet in his hands. “He passed five years ago.”
“Daniel, I’m so sorry,” I say again. What else is there to say? I can’t imagine losing my dad.
“Me too,” he says. “But I know what it’s like to help someone in that situation. I know your grandpa has friends and other family around here, but I wanted to offer. Maybe it’ll take some of the stress off your plate if you know that’s taken care of.”
It’s so thoughtful, I don’t know what to say. My throat fills with tears and I feel hot color flooding my cheeks. Just knowing that, without Trish and without me, Gramps will have someone nearby to help him out… it means a lot. Suddenly, I’m tossing my arms around Daniel’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say into his chest. He squeezes tight—he gives good hug, which does not surprise me one bit. And then he lightly taps my waist and takes a step back.
“You’re welcome.”
I exhale shakily, and he gently chucks me under the chin.
“Chin up,” he says.
I nod. Chin up.