Chapter 32
Daisy
The hardest thing to do is leaving your comfort zone.
But you have to let go of the life you’re familiar with
and take the risk to live the life you dream about.
~ T. Arigo
I’ve become a cave-dweller. The glow of the TV is my campfire; the hum of the heater, my hibernation soundtrack.
It won’t last. I’ll start my new job at the library soon. Until then, I’m happy to burrow on my couch, eating canned soup and watching reality TV, dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt … or the pajamas I slept in the night before. Don’t judge.
My friends have no respect for my impersonation of a bear in winter. They keep popping by to check on me—and then they linger for hours. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a schedule posted somewhere with color-coded shifts and all.
It’s Winona’s turn to babysit me, I guess. And she’s pestering me about the email from the host of Burning Through the Pages. Why, oh why, did I share it with her?
“I am currently choosing to ignore it,” I tell her, assuming she’ll give me a high five for my restraint.
Instead she says, “You have to write him back!”
“Do I, though?”
“He’s so sorry.” She gives me puppy dog eyes.
Her tone grows soft. “I know you were stood up by Patrick back in high school—and he cost you the dream of Vanderbilt and whatever would have come after that. His failure to show up made you hypersensitive to being abandoned by someone when you need them most.”
“Okay, Doctor Winona,” I joke.
“I’m serious. I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you. Am I wrong, though?”
“No. I even told the host that. Standing me up is a hot button for me.”
“Right. So, hear me out. This guy isn’t Patrick. He made one mistake, and he’s obviously sorry. Don’t make one man pay for the sins of another.”
I stare at her. “When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart. I just don’t flaunt it. People expect too much if you let them see how much of a genius you are.” She wags her brows and I laugh.
“So?” she asks. “Are we writing this thing or what?”
“We?”
“Yes. I’ll help you. I won’t even charge.”
I laugh again, not even protesting when she stands, takes the seat next to me and commandeers my laptop.
“Dear … What do you call him if you don’t know his name?”
“Here. Give me that.” I retrieve the laptop. “I call him BTTP.”
“That’s so futuristic.”
“It stands for his podcast.”
“And what does he call you?”
“M&M.”
“Like the candy?”
“Like the bookshop.”
Winona places her hand on my knee, a soft look of shared grief and comfort passing between us.
I start typing, reading my draft to her as I compose it.
Dear BTTP,
I don’t hate you. Like I said, I don’t do well with being stood up. It’s okay if you still write to me.
“Should I tell him I miss him?” I ask her.
“Do you?”
“Yes. I really do.”
“You like him.”
“A lot.”
“No. Don’t tell him you miss him. Let him work for it. He made some big promises. You’re opening the door a crack. He still has to storm the gates.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “I’m too quick to forgive.”
She all but rolls her eyes. “In most situations you are. I’ll give you that.”
“In situations where someone doesn’t destroy my future because of misplaced loyalty,” I clarify, feeling worse than usual about my standards when it comes to Patrick.
Ever since his explanation, I can’t seem to muster up the same animosity and fierce determination where he’s concerned.
I most definitely do not tell Winona about how Patrick showed up here while I was wrapped in a towel and proceeded to fix my water heater in one of the most domestic and thoughtful moments I’ve experienced with a man in … ever.
I turn my attention back to the email. My fingers hover above the keys. It’s ridiculous how much my heart is pounding over a stranger with a microphone. Only, he’s not really a stranger anymore. I’m not quite sure what he is.
My friend is sitting next to me, telling me to make you earn my trust. I think she’s right. I won’t block you. I’m giving you a chance.
You may write the next chapter. I’ll read what you write.
P.S. You’re really good at groveling. Top-notch skills.
- M&M
“That’s really adorable,” Winona says when I read it to her.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t realize how much you liked him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re blushing like a schoolgirl. You wanted to tell him you miss him. You’re flirty. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you flirt—with the exception of that hate dance you do with Patrick.”
“That is absolutely not flirting. It’s the opposite. It’s unflirting. Deflirting. Nonflirtation.”
“Mm hmm. I’m totally convinced.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“What do you mean?”
“The podcast host or Patrick?”
“Is Patrick an option?”
“Nope.”
I picture his face, turned toward mine as we squatted in front of the pilot light.
His expression when he stood on my porch, a coffee and croissant extended toward me.
But then, just as quickly, I remember him sitting next to his dad in the last few town halls—a mini-me dead set on tearing down my bookshop.
“If Patrick’s not in the running, I’m team podcast host,” Winona says.
“We’ll see,” I tell her.
“Are you going to shower?” she asks.
“Why?”
“You have that I haven’t showered or used dry shampoo in a few days thing going for you.”
“For your information, I showered two … no, three … days ago.”
She cocks her head and raises a brow.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll shower tomorrow. And when I start work again, I’ll obviously be showering then.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to go to the town hall.” Her tone is cautious.
“Is that tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Nope.”
There’s a knock at the door. Winona stands without even flinching.
“Who is it?” I ask before she’s even at the door.
“Ummm.”
She opens it without checking. Carli walks in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Nice greeting. Good to see you too?”
“Sorry. Hi. But what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to escort you to the town meeting.”
“Well, you both are wasting your time. I’m not going.”
“You know what they say about falling off a horse?” Carli says.
“Ouch?” I ask, knowing full well how the saying goes.
“Ha ha. I think you need to get back on and ride, Daisy.”
“That’s what I’m doing when I start a new job. It will be the first job I’ve ever held that isn’t at Moss and Maple. I think that’s enough getting back on a horse for one week.”
Winona’s head pivots from Carli to me to Carli like she’s watching a match at Wimbledon.
“I know,” Carli says as if she’s agreeing with my resignation, but her face is still pleading with me as if she’s holding a neon sign that says But …
“But what?” I ask.
“But I still think you need to show up tonight.”
“It’s over, Carli. I don’t want to hear him gloat.”
“By him, do you mean Patrick or his dad?”
“Is there a difference at this point? I guess all of them—the entire O’Connell family.”
“That’s not right,” Carli says. “You don’t get to let them win.”
Winona nods. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Come on.”
“Dirty Dancing references?” I say. “Really, Win?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes you have to pull out the big guns.”
“We don’t have to go to the meeting,” Carli says. “But we do have to get you out of this house.”
“I will be getting out of the house soon enough. New job—remember?”
“That’s not the same.”
Winona puts her hand on my knee and says, “Do it for Gran.”
“Low blow.”
“What would she want you to do?” Carli asks.
“She’d want me to show up.” Just like she said in her note.
Carli crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll just tidy up here while you shower.”
“Oh. Okay,” I relent.
“You’d do the same for me,” Carli insists.
She’s not wrong.
My house feels safer than any public space ever could, but apparently today’s the day I face my demons. So, I shower. I even put on a cute outfit, as if armor can come in denim and soft knit. Then I drive across town, flanked by two of my closest friends.
The town hall feels thinner tonight—fewer bodies, less buzz. The O’Connells got their way, and the Fall Festival’s behind us. Emberleigh and Sydney are holding seats when we arrive. Mr. O’Connell sits in his usual spot. Patrick rushes in after us, sliding into the chair beside his parents.
He glances back at me and I keep my face neutral despite the fact that he looks freshly showered, making his dark hair seem even darker and his face somehow even more chiseled. There’s no question that he’s attractive.
I distract myself by glancing over at Carli. She’s focused across the room in the other direction. My eyes drift to that spot. A few firemen are standing together.
“What’s up?” I ask Carli.
“Oh. Nothing. I was just thinking about the calves at Lawson Ranch. That’s all.”
“Are you sure you weren’t thinking about the rancher himself?”
“What? No. Cody’s my brother’s best friend. His little sister is one of my best friends. He’s like a big brother to me. You know that.”
In theory, I do. But I’m starting to wonder if Carli is in denial, or if she has feelings for Cody. Or maybe I’m just hoping one of us ends up in a sweet relationship. If it’s not me, I’d love for it to be her.
The meeting begins. Mayor Briggs stands.
“Tonight we’ll go over winter road safety preparations, then planning for the Thanksgiving Day parade, and then the O’Connells have an item that they’ve added to the agenda.”
Carli leans over and looks at me with a questioning expression.
I shrug.
“In addition to the groundbreaking at the future site of Home Mart, we’ve got another development to consider.”
My ears ring and I feel like I’m free-falling with no parachute.
The only words I fully process are “... the property that was the home to Moss and Maple.”