Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Daisy
“Have you and your boss had sex yet?” Callie asks when I find her in the lab inputting data into her laptop on Friday afternoon.
Beckett has automated all the vineyard and winemaking activities.
Nothing makes the Dark Lord of the Manor happier than having data readily available at the swipe of his gigantic thumb.
No more clipboards, binders, and handwritten work orders for us!
We’re cloud based now!
With proper data entry, reports can be generated within minutes!
If utilized effectively, this software will promote growth and save money without sacrificing quality!
Big promises from the man himself, delivered to the entire team when we were forced to sit through a dull presentation on how to use the software.
Just the fact that she calls him my boss makes me seethe. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because the sexual tension between you two is thick,” Callie says. “Anyone can see that.”
“That’s not sexual tension. That’s barely disguised animosity. It’s taking everything in me not to wrap my hands around his throat and wring his neck.”
Callie laughs. “Yeah, okay. Then how do you explain why he got so jealous the other day?”
“If you’re talking about lunch, that wasn’t jealousy.”
“He made Hunter change seats,” she points out.
All because I was having too much fun and had the audacity to laugh at something Hunter said. “He just loves to suck the joy out of life. He’s a control freak who needs to be in charge of everything, including who I sit next to at lunch and who I talk to.” I gesture to her laptop. “And just look at all the extra work he’s created for you.”
“I mean…it is an improvement,” Callie says, looking over at me. “But you know what you need?”
I lean against the counter and stare at the test tubes and glass beakers. “A shovel and an alibi?”
She laughs. “Is he really that bad?”
I give her a look. “Yesterday I questioned his authority and he said, ‘Daisy, some of us are born to lead and others to follow.’ He made it very clear which camp I was in.”
Callie laughs again. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She shakes her head, laughing. “Okay, I have a theory so just hear me out. What if his father forced you together because he thought you’d be perfect for each other?”
I stare at her like she’s suddenly grown three heads and eight arms. “You can’t be serious. You think Robert was playing matchmaker ?” I laugh at how ludicrous that sounds. “No.” I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
“Why not? Like, what if Robert figured out that Beckett had given up on love, and then he saw you and thought…aha! Daisy would be perfect for my son.”
I snort. “I think you’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
“I don’t know. I think it makes perfect sense. Robert was a romantic. And vineyards epitomize romance. The people who run them are passionate about the grapes and the origin and the land. Robert loved this place so he obviously loved both of you.”
I give her a skeptical look. “I’m not so sure that Robert did any of this out of the goodness of his heart.”
I wish I knew why he set it up this way, but I guess it was too much to ask that he would have actually shared his plans with his estranged son and stepdaughter.
“Okay, I don’t know the whole story so I could be way off base but maybe he sensed that something was missing in both of your lives and that you’d find it here.”
“Do you watch a lot of Hallmark movies, Callie?”
She laughs. “I mean…everyone loves a happy ending, right?”
She’s wrong about me and Beckett. But not entirely wrong about Robert.
He was a bigger than life character. Outspoken. Passionate. Flawed. Human .
When I lived here, he treated me like an adult, not a child, and introduced me to art and literature and films that weren’t PG. I’ve always been drawn to the subversive, so I loved it.
He took me to art exhibits of emerging artists. We listened to The Velvet Underground. Watched Godard films. He read Ginsberg’s “Howl” to me when I was eleven. Who would ever read a poem like that to a young girl? Robert. That’s who.
He introduced me to the work of Annie Leibovitz and Nan Goldin who became my biggest inspirations, and they still are to this day.
And Robert would always ask, “How does that make you feel , Daisy?”
Because art is supposed to make you feel something.
It’s the opposite of technology. And maybe that’s why Beckett chose that profession. Technology doesn’t force you to tap into your emotions or explore the depths of your soul like art does.
But I highly doubt that Robert was playing matchmaker. That wasn’t his style. He would have gotten a bigger kick out of watching us spar.
“But anyway,” Callie says, “what I was going to say is that we should go out tonight. I know a cool bar with good music and there’s usually hot guys hanging out. It would be totally fun and completely stress-free.”
Maybe a night out would be fun. “Okay.”
“Yes! We’re going to have a great time,” Callie assures me. “I brought a change of clothes and makeup just in case. Is it okay if I get ready at your place and then we can go together? I’ll drive.”
“Wow. I feel like we’re taking our friendship to the next level.”
“It’s just an excuse to see the inside of that house. Plus, I barely know anything about you.”
“So you’re planning to go through my things while I’m in the shower?”
“Of course. How else will I find out your dirty secrets?” she jokes.
Hale’s Roadhouse is out on a two-lane highway—a scenic winding road—and looks like a log cabin nestled in a grove of towering redwoods. At least a dozen Harleys are parked out front and a yellow sign above the door reads: Bikers Welcome.
“I had no idea you had a thing for bikers,” I tell Callie as we walk to the entrance.
“You see? We’re learning so much about each other.”
“We should have worn our leather chaps and Harley Davidson T-shirts.”
“If I owned them, you can bet your ass I’d be wearing them. The owner is super-hot. He looks like a Viking in motorcycle boots. He’s also emotionally unavailable. So of course I’m attracted to him. But it’s just one of those fantasies I’d never act on. Like a celebrity crush.”
“Yeah. You’re better off just watching him from afar. Guys like that will just toss you aside and?—”
“Leave you at a seedy roadside motel.”
“Exactly.” Earlier, we bonded over burgers at a diner and I told her some of my bad dating stories, not all of them, but just the highlight reel.
Callie told me about the one who got away when she was young and dumb and messed around with his friend.
She was feeling insecure and scared that she loved Ian too much, so she didn’t want to give him the power to break her heart.
“In the end, I beat him to the punch,” she said. “And it didn’t hurt any less. I broke my own heart and his.”
Isn’t that always the way? If I had a penny for all the stupid things I did as a teenager I’d have enough money to send my therapist on an all-expense paid trip to the Maldives.
Inside, the bar is dimly lit, with Harley Davidson memorabilia and vintage license plates decorating the rustic wood walls.
The crack of pool balls can be heard over the blues music piping from the speakers, and a distressed-wood bar spans one wall with the pool tables and darts in the back.
My kind of place. Rustic. Timeworn. Cool without trying too hard.
I’m all ready to sidle up to the bar and order some shots to seal our new friendship pact when Callie grabs my arm. “Ian is here.”
“He’s here? Where?” My gaze darts around the bar, but in my quest to find Ian—a guy I’ve never laid eyes on before—my eyes land on… Beckett Heyward ?
Seriously? Of all the bars in Sutton Ridge, we just had to choose the same one?
He doesn’t even look like he belongs in this bar. Although I must admit he looks particularly swarthy tonight in a black button-down and dark denim.
And sure enough, would you look at that? Those icy-blue eyes are narrowed on me. Always narrowed in accusation like I’ve done something wrong simply by breathing the same rarefied air as him.
I give him a big exaggerated wink and he returns it with his customary scowl.
Hey, buddy, it’s a free country. You don’t own this place.
“Uh oh.” Callie laughs, obviously noticing the same thing I did. Let’s face it, the guy is hard to miss. He takes up a lot of space. “It looks like he knows the owner.”
Beckett and Caiden are at the other end of the bar talking to a guy with longish dirty-blond hair who does look a bit like a Viking. He also looks vaguely familiar.
“Is this the only bar in town? Why is everyone here tonight?”
She shrugs. “It’s a cool place and it’s popular with locals so it’s always packed on weekends.”
“What’s the owner’s name?”
“Ledger.”
Ledger. Beckett, Caiden, and Ledger. They were best friends growing up. So of course we’d end up at the bar Beckett’s childhood friend owns.
Now all three of them are looking over at us.
But tonight isn’t about me, so I turn to face Callie.
Her high school sweetheart is here and I need to make sure she’s okay with that. If not, I’d be all for going to a different bar. In fact, I’m low-key hoping she wants to go to a different bar.
“Do you want to leave?” I ask. Her gaze keeps darting to two guys sitting in the corner. I’m guessing one of them is Ian, the one who got away.
No sooner have I asked the question when the guy with a blond fade looks over and his eyes lock on Callie’s. They stare at each other for a few moments like two star-crossed lovers until he turns to say something to his friend and then he’s off his stool and striding over to us.
When he reaches us, I step aside to give them some privacy.
“Hey, Callie.” He runs his hand over his hair, looking nervous. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You too.” She clears her throat. “You look really good.”
“So do you,” he says with a smile.
If there’s any lingering animosity on his part, I certainly can’t detect it. He looks genuinely happy to see her and she looks slightly dazed, so it takes her a few seconds to remember she didn’t walk in here alone.
With a little shake of her head, she turns to me. “Daisy, Ian. Daisy and I work together.”
“Nice to meet you, Daisy. Do you guys wanna sit with us? Unless?—”
“No. We would,” Callie says quickly then looks at me, an apology in her smile. “I mean, if it’s okay with you.”
Her eyes are pleading with me to say yes and there’s no way I’m going to let her down. I’ll be the best wingwoman she’s ever had. “We’d love to.”
Ian and his friend offer us their stools, and from my spot at the corner of the bar, I have a direct view of Beckett Heyward. Oh, happy day. Like I don’t see him enough as it is, I get to watch all the girls drool over him.
Good luck, ladies. Prince Charmless is a real keeper. A little personality would go a long way.
The other night he was working on his laptop and he looked so stressed that I blurted, “Are you sure technology is right for you?” A valid point because every time he’s doing anything work-related for the company he owns, he looks absolutely miserable.
“It doesn’t look like it makes you happy,” I pointed out.
If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ashes sitting on his mantel.
Now, his eyes catch mine and his brows rise in question. You again?
I smile. I can’t live without you. Wherever you go, I’m bound to follow.
His eyes narrow. Get lost. You’re a thorn in my side.
My smile widens. Isn’t life grand? What should we name our children?
His scowl tells me exactly how he feels about seeing me here tonight.
A beer magically appears in front of me, praise the lord, and I raise my pint glass in a toast.
“To us,” I mouth.