Chapter 8
Booker’s hand is still wrapped around mine when out the front window I see a golf cart come screaming down the sidewalk and
skid to a stop directly in front of the cottage.
A blond girl ( definitely younger than me) jumps out, a wide smile on her face.
I drop Booker’s hand. “Is that—?”
He opens the front door, cutting me off midsentence. “Afternoon, Daisy!”
“Why, Booker Hayes,” she says, and I instantly detect another Southern accent because it comes out like “Whah, Book-uh Haize . ” North Carolina. If I had to peg it, I’d say Charlotte. Odd for Wisconsin. “Well, aren’t you just as pretty as a pie supper?”
She smiles in my direction but reaches for Booker, pulling him into a tight hug.
I make a mental note to tease him for this later.
Tan-skinned Daisy is wearing white denim cut-off shorts and a tight white tank top underneath a red gingham button-down knotted
at the waist. She looks like a Fourth of July picnic table.
“Daisy, this is Rosie,” Booker says. “Your new housemate.”
Daisy looks at me, throws her hands in the air, and lets out a high-pitched scream. And I never thought I was the Elphaba
before, but in this situation, I am clearly not the Glinda. “Well, goodness gracious ! Finally! I’ve been here all by myself for weeks !” She throws her arms around me and hugs me almost as tightly as she hugged Booker. She smells like strawberries. “Did this absolute dream boat give you a tour?”
“The absolute dreamboat did,” I say mid-hug, tossing Booker a look over Daisy’s shoulder.
He seems amused by this whole fish-out-of-water scenario playing out in front of him.
Daisy gives a final squeeze, then releases me and pulls back. “ Per fect. You’re going to love it here.” She talks with her hands, all kinds of kinetic energy. “All the residents are so adorable and kind. Well, most
of ’em. Arthur is salty, but that’s only because his sweet Annie passed away and he’s completely lost without her, and Belinda
probably won’t like you because you’re pretty and she likes to be the most beautiful woman in every room. She really likes
me, which I’m only just this second realizing is both a compliment and an insult.” Her smile is wide. “I’m desperate for a friend my age! Do you like to go out? There’s this great bar that’s mostly
locals—I go there almost every weekend.” She looks at Booker. “You should come too, Booker. And maybe bring some of the other
guys—Louie, maybe?” Back to me: “It’d be fun?”
I scrunch my face. “I’m not really into the bar scene. Or... going out.”
She scrunches her face right back at me, waving a hand in my general direction. “Well, we’ll work on that.” Daisy wraps her
arm around me. “I’ll show you around your new home.” She looks at Booker and does a little curtsy. “You’re dismissed, handsome.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He mock salutes, then glances at me. “See you tomorrow.”
I don’t look away, mostly because I don’t feel like I can. But also because I don’t want to.
There’s something magnetic and mesmerizing about him, something I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt before.
He lingers for a few extra moments, then backs away, gets into the golf cart, and drives off, leaving me staring after him like I’m a puppy whose person just rode off into the sunset without her.
“Oh-kay-uh,” Daisy says, her accent turning the word into a drawn-out, three-syllable word. “ What was that about?”
I look at her. “What was what about?”
She presses her index fingers to her temples, like she’s seeing into the future. “I am sensing... a lot of tension. The
romantic kind.” She flutters her eyelashes.
My laugh is nervous. “What?” I’m usually better at hiding my feelings. It’s like this place—or that man—has cast a spell on
me, one that makes me super obvious and plows right through all my defenses.
“You and Booker Hayes.” She places a hand on my shoulder, as if I’m headed off to war. “Many have tried. Many have failed.
Best of luck to ya.” She slaps my shoulder once. “But if you’re breaking down that wall, I want a front-row seat.”
I don’t tell her the price I would have to pay to break down that wall. But I do remind myself because I’m in great danger
of forgetting.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say more firmly than I feel. “I just met the guy. He’s... fine. We’re fine.
It’s fine.”
“Fine, fine . I can take a hint.” She laughs. “My last roommate was the arts and crafts leader. She never talked. She knitted a lot and
made these tiny fuzzy animals out of yarn.” Her accent makes that last bit sound like three questions. “She knitted a lot? And made these tiny fuzzy animals? Out of yarn?”
“She also had a whole book about crafting with cat hair, so you know, that was gross.” She shuts the front door. “I’m all for hobbies, but most of the time, I felt like I was just walking around the
house talking to myself.” She looks at me. “I can show you all the ways to get out of wearing the hideous uniforms.” She shimmies
her shoulders. “Dress-up days go over really well here. Or you can just find creative ways to hide from Connie.” She laughs. “It’ll be nice to have a friend!”
I think of my friends back home with a strange ache I haven’t felt in years. I promised them I would be better about staying
in touch, and I’m going to keep that promise.
I’d convinced myself I don’t need people—but my trip home showed me how much I miss being a part of something.
A community .
Would I find that here?
I follow Daisy through the cottage and find myself standing in a small hallway.
Daisy points to the left. “Bedrooms are down the hall here. We do have to share a bathroom, but I promise I’m not too messy.
My hair does get in the drain, but when it’s clogged, we get to call Booker, so it’s really a pro and not a con.” She grins
as she leads me down the hall and past the bathroom, stopping in front of a door. “This is you.”
I flip the light on and walk inside the room.
“There’s a door here that opens to the outside.” She moves across the room to show me. “Which is why I’m not in this room,
even though it’s a little bigger than mine. I watch a lot of scary movies.”
“So if someone breaks in, you want them to kill me first,” I muse aloud.
She scrunches her nose. “Pretty much.”
I look around the room. My suitcase is at the end of a metal-framed double bed, as if it appeared by some strange Disney World–type
magic. The dark hardwood floors perfectly complement the white shiplap walls, and even though it’s bare, it’s got a homey
feel.
In two seconds, this nearly empty bedroom in the middle of Wisconsin feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been since
I was six.
Definitely more like home than my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. That always felt like a place to crash.
Never like home.
I tell myself not to get too attached to any of this because it’s a short-term arrangement, but when I open the door out to
the patio, I realize that’s going to be harder than I thought. The patio itself is small but sweet, and beyond that, there’s
a slice of the golf course backed by big beautiful trees.
It’s stunning.
Despite being in this little pocket neighborhood, it feels quaint and private back here.
“Do you like it?” Daisy asks from her spot in the doorway.
“Are you kidding?” I turn toward her. “This room is bigger than my entire apartment in Brooklyn.”
She frowns. “Wow. Really?”
“Real estate is at a premium there,” I say. “I had three roommates, so this place makes me feel like I’m living in a palace.”
And the whole idea of actual alone time has me feeling giddy. I was never alone in my apartment. Someone was always home, and we were just piled on top of each other
so tightly it was hard to breathe. Worse, the people I lived with weren’t my friends.
I glance at Daisy. I like her. She and I could be friends.
I think about Booker. I like him too. He and I are... already friends?
I think about the cooking class. The promise of theatre. The room I’m staying in. My room I’m staying in. In my summer cottage.
And I’m filled with an emotion I haven’t felt in ages.
Excitement.