CHAPTER THREE #3
We’d pulled into the Estates at South quickly, and she guided me along the cobblestone roads, telling me which streets to turn down.
I took in the huge water oaks lining the picturesque sidewalks with their wrought-iron, lantern-style streetlamps.
Spanish moss hung from the branches of the trees and drifted in the warm breezes coming in from the ocean down below the downtown area.
It had a similar vibe to the Garden District in New Orleans. Or some of the squares in Savannah.
We turned a couple of times, but I knew I could get back to the huge, three-story white brick home she’d directed me towards if I needed to. And based on the way I was feeling towards her, I definitely needed to.
The house had a well-manicured lawn with perfectly trimmed hedges lining a long driveway.
There was an arch and gate as the driveway was flush with the house.
I was pleased. That provided added protection, and I wanted to know Daisy was safe.
Black shutters with flower boxes at each window lent an almost homey vibe to the mansion.
A wide, white brick stairway with wrought-iron railings led up to a front porch with a large black door, urns of flowers on either side, and an ornate light fixture hanging down from the roof of the landing area.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said before getting out to get her bike for her.
“It is,” she agreed, then winced. “God, that sounded conceited. It’s not really my home. I just live here for now,” she said cryptically.
What the fuck did that mean? I had to find out more about this house.
“Anyway,” she took the bike from me self-consciously, “thanks so much. And I’m really so sorry about your lunch. I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.”
My thoughts of what she could do to make it up to me were filthy, and I hoped she couldn’t read minds. I cleared my throat, glad my T-shirt covered my cock as I pictured her under me, enthusiastically working off her debt. “Yeah, could I request you as my delivery person from now on?”
A genuine smile broke out on her face. “I think you should be requesting that I never deliver it again to save yourself from my clumsiness.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to see you again,” I said.
She blushed and looked away briefly before meeting my eyes. “I’ll ask Old Man Dinardo, but since you requested it I don’t think he’ll mind. He’s a big fan of yours,” I said. “In case you didn’t know. You’re his favorite customer.”
“Ah, well, I’m a creature of habit.” I rubbed the back of my neck. I knew people thought it was weird to eat the same lunch every day for a decade. Even though she didn’t seem judgmental, I felt the need to defend myself. “I eat something different on Sundays,” I blurted.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Really? What do you eat?”
“Brunch.”
“Do you eat the same meal each Sunday?”
“No,” I said kind of proudly. “I eat something different each week.”
“Cool.” She gave me a genuine smile, as if she really did think it was cool.
I didn’t tell her that years ago, a therapist who specialized in working with highly gifted children had given me a challenge to eat something new on Sundays.
Little had she known that I would turn that into an obsession as well.
Now I felt as if I almost had to eat something new on Sundays.
I was good at obsessing, which was great when I was working on video games, and really fucking bad when I was at parties.
We stood there for a moment, out of things to say. We just looked at each other for a moment more.
“I live around here, you know,” I blurted, looking to extend the conversation any way I could. I didn’t live in this neighborhood! Why was I saying I did? It was like my brain was taking my mouth over and spewing out random, false information.
“Oh, really?”
“Mm-hmm.” God. Please don’t ask which street I live on.
“Which street do you live on?”
Fuck. “Oh, um, it’s over there,” I said and pointed in a vague direction. “I jog a lot. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I jog, too.”
“That’s amazing.” Dial it back, Jack. Dial it back. Lots of people jog. “I mean, that we both happen to live in this neighborhood and we both jog.” That was a massive stretch, but she didn’t give me side eye or anything.
“Well, thanks for bringing me home. I really appreciate it. I, um, guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, “when I deliver your lunch.” She opened her door then turned and gave me a little wave before she went inside.
“Bye,” I said, after the door closed.
Then I turned and walked back out to my car.
I looked up at the sky. Was it bluer today? Were the scents of summer stronger? The world more beautiful? All of that was true, I thought as I drove back to the office, seeing West Bay almost through fresh eyes, though I’d lived here all my life.
I’d seen a real live angel today. I hadn’t known they existed. Now I just had to convince her to be mine before she flew back up to heaven and abandoned me down here without her.
My God. What was wrong with me? I sounded like a bad—really bad—poet in my head.
But I knew. I rubbed my chest over my heart unconsciously. Daisy Tiller had changed me. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know why, but she had.
And I didn’t think I’d ever be the same.