33. Daisy
CHAPTER 33
daisy
“That’s why Jeremy wasn’t at the Christmas party the other night,” Claire admits with a shrug.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” I tell my friend when she confesses that she and her husband are officially calling it quits. Then I reach out and pat her shoulder. “That stinks.”
She only gives herself a second of vulnerability before she hardens her expression again. “Yeah, well, people get divorced all the time, right?”
There’s a pang in my chest when she says it, because I’d all but forgotten that I’m about to become a member of that divorcées club, right alongside Claire.
“Yeah, it happens,” I reply with a shrug, trying to hide the emotion in my voice.
“Anyway, how are things going with your hot doctor?”
I force a laugh, but my mind is still reeling with the thought of Landry moving out and leaving me alone in a month. “They’re not,” I tell her.
She grunts. “Didn’t the two of you leave the party in a hurry after that steamy kiss? I figured it was safe to say he took you home to finish what he’d started under the mistletoe.”
My cheeks heat. “We left because Landry was embarrassed. And he only kissed me because he didn’t want to make me feel bad in front of everyone else.”
“Lame,” she grumbles, and I can’t help but smile. “You tell him I think he’s full of shit. And a tease.”
I press my lips together, stifling my amusement. “I’ll certainly relay the message.”
“Well, have a good break,” Claire says after the bell rings. “Let me know how your test goes.”
“Yeah,” I reply, though I’m not confident of my answer. “Merry Christmas.”
“Call me if you need a ride. Or if you feel like going out and making your hot doctor jealous,” she adds as leaves me in the classroom.
My phone chimes, so I take it out, just in case it’s Landry. Then again, I don’t mind making him wait on me today, anyway.
Magnolia
Daisy, what are you bringing to Christmas dinner this weekend?
I frown at the screen after reading my sister’s text. Because I’m twenty-five, married, gainfully employed, and I still cannot cook. I can sew. I can garden. I can clean. I can interpret classical literature, manage a financial budget, and make friends practically anywhere I go, yet I can’t cook a casserole to save my life.
Iris
She probably doesn’t have time to cook with her job.
Don’t bring anything store bought, Daisy. I don’t want my kids to find out that junk food exists.
This time I roll my eyes. Iris has never been one to sugarcoat anything, literally or figuratively. You think I’d be used to that kind of blunt honesty by now.
Marigold
Bring whatever you want, Daisy. Or don’t bring anything at all. Your presence is all we need.
Rosemary
I second that and add that I can’t wait to see all of your faces and love on your sweet bébés all weekend!
Violet
I didn’t know Daisy could cook?
Iris
Good point. Can you actually cook anything, Daisy?
I pout as I type in a response.
Daisy
A woman’s worth is based on more than her culinary talents, you know.
Magnolia
And the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I’m guessing you’re still single?
Daisy
*gif of a little boy crossing his arms and pouting*
Sore subject, Mags.
Landry and I will stop on the way and pick up something homemade. And who cares what I’m bringing when we all know Mari’s making her famous pecan divinity candy, right?
Iris
Wait, so you’re bringing the hungry doctor?
Please tell us he’s not just hungry …
Daisy
He doesn’t care much for my cooking, I’m afraid.
Magnolia
Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Why don’t we practice baking while you’re home?
Violet
Hey, congratulations on not fornicating, Daisy! Well done!
I snort after that last message and put my phone away. Then I take one last look around Loren’s classroom before I stuff the last of my things in my school tote and head for the door. By the time I return from the break, I’ll have my very own space. Mrs. Joanie has been prepping me to take over for the past couple of months, and Claire helped me set up a date between Christmas and New Year’s for my certification test. I should be giddy with excitement for this new venture, yet I can’t seem to channel any of my usual enthusiasm.
Maybe it’s because I’m afraid I can’t pull it off. Even Mrs. Joanie’s instruction doesn’t seem to be enough to turn me into a good cook. But I’ll get by with the few basic recipes she’s been teaching me during our planning time.
I don’t even think it’s a fear of failure.
If I’m afraid of anything, it’s that the start of this new job means the end of my arrangement with Landry.
Somewhere along the way, he must have planted a small seed of hope. We arrived at a point in which we’d shared too many flirty exchanges, moments of vulnerability, and stolen glances for my heart to accept that we could never be more than friends. So, in all Daisy fashion, I started tending to that seed.
Then Landry kissed me again, leaving me defenseless as that flower bloomed overnight, just before he crushed it underfoot.
Silly me, thinking it would mean something to him.
No, scratch that. I’m only silly for hoping he’d acknowledge what’s so obviously grown between us. But deny it all he wants, there’s more to us than friendship.
I flinch as I step outside and raise my arm to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight. It’s only a few days before Christmas, after all. Plenty of time left to run the air conditioner in South Louisiana.
My eyes adjust to the light, so I drop my hand. And the first thing I see is Landry grinning at me from the front seat of his Jeep.
I’m supposed to be mad at him, but I can’t help the way he always reawakens those butterflies in my stomach. I smile back at him and pick up my pace, and he leans over to open my door for me.
“Hey,” I greet him as I slide into the seat.
“Hey.” His smile grows wider, as if he’s relieved to see me. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. There’s just something about him that makes me think I’ll never feel the same way about anyone else as long as I live.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in a hurry.”
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I’m not.”
So he opened my door because he simply couldn’t wait a second longer to be near me?
I’m not crazy, right? I can’t be reading too much into our interactions. Maybe my feelings for him are more developed, but he’s got to want?—
“I guess I might be trying to suck up just a little,” he admits after a second.
“For what?”
He shrugs again. “You seem like you’re still upset with me after your Christmas party.”
My shoulders droop as I’m reminded of the second half of that night, when he kissed me back like his life depended on it and told me it could never happen again in the same breath.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Anything else I can do to make you feel better?” he asks, staring expectantly.
“No,” I return, trying to hide the sadness in my voice. “I mean, we agreed to be honest with one another, and we’ve both been holding up our end of the deal, right?”
His throat works as he swallows hard, and he chokes out a hoarse, “Yeah.” It sounds like another lie, just like the one he’s been selling me about not being into any kind of physical affection. But everything about his body language the other night led me to believe he thoroughly enjoyed having my hands on him … and my lips.
“Then I suppose I’m more disappointed than upset.”
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
“Don’t be,” I tell him, forcing a smile.
He sighs and turns his attention back to the road, and I remember my sisters’ group text from earlier. “Are you still able to bring me to the homestead this weekend? I can always ask Rowan to pick me up if you’re going to be busy.”
“Would you rather go with your brother?” he asks carefully.
“Not really,” I admit. “But I can’t monopolize your time forever.”
“You’re not monopolizing my time,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I’m volunteering it at this point. Besides, I was admittedly looking forward to a good, hot meal.”
I frown. “Yeah. It’s not like you get that at home.”
He laughs again. “Unless you’re trying to uninvite me?”
“Of course not. I just thought you wanted us to cut back on the time we spend together.”
“What?”
“You said we should minimize the opportunities for … mistletoe incidents,” I say carefully.
Something flashes in his eyes. “I meant that we shouldn’t take any chances around Camellia. I don’t think we’ll be in danger in front of your folks.”
I study him for a second longer, noticing the way his cheeks are looking a little darker than usual against his short beard. “Okay then. The invitation is always open.”
He smiles. “You know, there’s a reason I always took Rowan up on that offer. What’s better than hanging out with your family and stuffing my face with your dad’s famous duck gumbo and your mom’s homemade bread pudding?”
“Maybe I need to learn her recipe,” I mumble.
“Nah, I’d make myself sick if we ate that stuff every day,” he muses.
“Is that why you never invited Rowan to come home with you to Camellia all those years?” I ask after a while.
He lifts a shoulder, but his eyes stay on the road. “I guess I was a little embarrassed for him to see my family all together. Someone always ends up arguing, and by someone, I mean Lo and me. We’re not the worst, but your family is just so … different.”
Now I feel guilty about harboring that little bit of resentment toward him. “Well, you know my family is always happy to have you.”
“Yeah. They may not love me, but they tolerate me better than my own,” he says on another sardonic laugh. “Speaking of, Loren asked if you’d be coming to the Reed family Christmas. I told her you were planning to stay in Baton Rouge for a few days, but I wanted you to know the offer stands.”
He gulps again, and his hands tense over the steering wheel.
“Do you … want me to come with you?” I’m almost breathless as I pose the question. He’s making me an offer that he’s never even extended to Rowan. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
He turns into the driveway and shrugs before he responds. “I know you miss your family. I don’t want you to cut your time with them short on my account.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for the invitation, though.”
He comes around to open my door, offering to take my heavy bag, and I’m reminded that he’s a nicer person than most of us give him credit for. Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe he’s been right all along—nothing good can come of my attraction to him.
I guess it’s too bad I’m already in love with him.
And since it seems pretty unlikely he’d ever admit it even if he did fall for me, I might as well enjoy this while I can. That’s why I hang back a few steps and allow myself to check out his butt as he climbs the porch steps in front of me.
“Daisy?”
“Hmm?”
He groans. “Don’t do that.” He stops when he gets to the top of the stairs, and I realize he’s watching me over his shoulder.
“Do what?” I squeak.
“Make this any harder than it already is,” he says, his tone sad. Then he cringes, and I have to cover my mouth when I snort.
“Last I checked, there was plenty of fatty tissue there,” I barely manage to get out before the giggling takes over.
“Fine. I walked into that one.” He backs away and gestures for me to go into the house first, stifling a grin of his own.