6. Weston
6
Weston
F or the first time in a year, I don’t go to Joe’s for my morning coffee. I know it’s cowardly, but I can’t imagine seeing Daisy after last night. I need a day to get my head on straight.
I can’t believe I was going to ask her out. Mortification floods me at the thought. Here I was thinking there was a connection between us, and all the while she was dating my son. My twenty-three-year-old son.
I shake my head as I climb into my Audi and pull out onto the quiet morning street. I’ll get my coffee in the city today.
What was I thinking, that a woman her age could be into a guy like me? I must be twenty years older than her. Sure, I’m in great shape, thanks to swimming laps after work most nights, but I don’t have the energy of a twenty-something, and I come with so much fucking baggage it’s not funny.
Of course, Jess comes with baggage too. I’m shocked to learn that even after seeing Daisy for several months, he didn’t tell her about his mom’s death. It’s the most significant thing that’s ever happened to him. If they’ve never spoken about that, what do they talk about?
Unless they spend very little time talking at all.
My stomach churns with unease at the thought, but I push it away. It’s none of my business. So I know her from the local coffee shop—that means nothing. She works a job that relies on tips; is it any surprise she’s been so nice to me? She’s probably nice to everyone. Her livelihood depends on it.
I can’t shake the thought that there was more to it than that, though. And that makes me feel like a bit of a creep—that I’m still convinced she was into me. That I went to that coffee shop early, every day, just so I could see her. What the fuck have I been thinking?
I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and my wedding band catches my eye. Of course she thought I was married. How did I not consider that? I haven’t taken my ring off since Lydia died. It’s a part of me. It never occurred to me that Daisy would notice it.
And that’s how I know this entire thing has been in my head. I’ve been going there to enjoy her company, thinking we had a connection. Meanwhile, she’s been serving me coffee, going out of her way to get a generous tip from the married guy who comes in every day.
I feel so fucking stupid, I want to bash my head on the steering wheel. And now she’s dating my son, and I’m going to have to see her with him. I could stop going to Joe’s, that’s easy enough, but Jesse might want to bring her home again, and how would I explain the fact that I’m avoiding the coffee shop?
Besides, I like going there. I like this routine I’ve built for myself, and I’m not sure what my life would be like without it. I’m not sure who I’d be without it, and I don’t want to find out. I can enjoy Daisy’s company without being weird about it, right? That’s what I’ve been doing for most of the past year anyway. It’s only recently that I’ve realized I want more from her. A few months, tops. And that’s nothing—I can switch that off.
I have to. My relationship with my son depends on it.
Somehow, things with Jesse have gotten even worse. After Daisy left in shock last night—for which I can hardly blame her—Jess and I had a huge blowout. He yelled at me for ruining his night and freaking out his girlfriend, and when I asked him why he hadn’t told her about his mom, he stormed out of the room. Just when I thought things with him were improving, we’re back to square one.
I need to repair this. I need to show Jesse I’m willing to make things better, and I need to make sure Daisy feels comfortable in our house. Comfortable around me. Not just so I can keep going to Joe’s. I need to do it for my son.
It’s pouring out when the doorbell rings at 7 p.m. I hurried home from the office so I could be here, but Jesse hasn’t made it home yet. That means I’ll have to man up and face Daisy alone, whether I like it or not.
I called Jesse from work this morning and told him I wanted to have Daisy over for dinner, so we could sit down and get to know each other properly. He fought me at first, but when I pointed out that we hadn’t made a great impression together last night, I was surprised to hear him agree with me. One hour is all I asked him for, then they’re free to do whatever they want. I said I’d provide the food, and he agreed to text her.
But I didn’t count on Daisy arriving first.
The doorbell rings again and I press my eyes shut. Oh well, here goes.
I pad to the front door and swing it open with a smile. “Hi, Daisy.”
“Hi.” She’s standing on the stoop under the torrential rain, and I quickly usher her inside.
“Shit, you’re soaked.” I dash into the laundry to grab a towel and spy my Yankees hoodie waiting to be folded after I washed it this morning. I snatch that up too and head back to the entry hall. “Here. Dry yourself off and put on something dry.”
“Thanks.” She won’t meet my eye as she takes the towel and hoodie from me. “Are you sure Jesse won’t mind me wearing his sweatshirt?”
His sweatshirt? True, he’s stolen it from me a handful of times, but that hoodie is mine and always has been. I’ve worn that thing over the years until the cotton became softer than silk. On more than one occasion Lydia tried to give it away to Goodwill, but I always caught her before she could get it out the door. The memory makes me smile.
“Sure,” I say, side-stepping the question of sweatshirt ownership. I shouldn’t be offering Daisy my clothing to wear, but it’s too late. “Bathroom is down there.” I motion along the hall, and she scuttles off to change as I step back into the kitchen.
I place my hands on the cool marble countertop and take a slow, deep breath. Jesse shouldn’t be too long. I need to act normal until then. I’ve spoken to her hundreds of times—this doesn’t need to be any different. It’s not like I ever made any of my feelings toward her obvious, because I was downplaying them until I was ready to make a move. Thank God for that. In fact, she most likely has no idea. I’m just the guy who comes in to get coffee every morning.
Daisy enters the kitchen quietly, her dark hair swept over one shoulder, my hoodie falling to mid-thigh of her damp jeans. I wrench my gaze away.
“Jesse’s running late,” I say, my voice suddenly rough. I clear my throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”
I glance back to find her fiddling anxiously with her cuff. She still won’t look at me, and I realize it’s up to me to break the tension here. I need to confront this head-on, or tonight will get us nowhere.
“So… this is a little awkward,” I begin, leaning against the kitchen island and folding my arms. “When Jess told me he had a girlfriend, it never crossed my mind it could be you.”
She emits an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah, well, it didn’t click for me either. What are the odds, anyway?”
“Pretty low, I’d expect.” I shift my weight. “But, you know, I’m glad. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for him.”
“Thanks.” A rosy color dusts her cheekbones, but she doesn’t look up, and I sense she’s waiting for me to say something more.
“And things between us don’t need to change,” I add. “You’re still my go-to barista.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Then why…” Her words trail off and she gives a shake of her head. I know what she’s asking, and there’s a tiny tug in my chest at the way she seems hurt by it.
“I had an early meeting today,” I lie, “so that I could be free tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I thought maybe… I don’t know. You felt too weird about it, or something.”
“Not at all,” I lie again. The lies are starting to pile up, but I need to do this. For Jesse.
Finally, she lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes search my face as if looking for the answer to something, then she nods, letting her mouth tilt into a smile.
“Okay, well, I’m glad.”
The tension in my stomach eases a little, and I return her smile. “Now, what can I get you to drink? And don’t say ‘whatever I have,’ because you make me the perfect coffee every single day. It’s my turn to make you something you’d like.”
“Okay.” Her eyes shimmer. “I’ll have a Cuban Breeze.”
Oh, shit. Do I have everything I need for that? What does a Cuban Breeze even contain? Rum, maybe? I glance at my drinks cabinet, and she laughs.
“I’m kidding. If you’ve got red wine, that would be nice.”
I exhale a laugh. “ That I can do.” I reach for a bottle of merlot from the wine rack and fish the corkscrew out of the drawer. The cork makes a pleasing pop as it releases, and I pour the wine into my decanter. “I should let that breathe for a few minutes, if that’s okay? That way you’ll get the best flavor.”
She lifts her eyebrows, possibly impressed, but I can’t be certain. “Sure.”
I grab a can of seltzer and pour it over ice for her to drink while she waits.
“So you know about wine, then?” she asks.
“A little. I’ve done some work for a couple different wineries here and there. You pick up a few things.”
Daisy sips her seltzer. “I’ve always wondered what it is you do.”
“I’m in advertising,” I say, motioning for Daisy to follow me into the living room as I crack open my own can. It feels awkward standing in the kitchen, but as I lead her to the sofa to take a seat, I realize this might be more awkward. It’s where I caught her with Jess last night. I’m not sure if she’s thinking the same thing, but she hovers to one side, casting her gaze over the bookshelves. They house my books on advertising and graphic design, plus a few photography books I’ve never gotten around to reading. There’s also an antique globe, a few knick-knacks from my travels, and an old Nikon SLR film camera I’ve had for decades. They used to hold Lydia’s art books, but I put them into storage not long after she died because looking at them all the time was too painful. Looking at any of her stuff was too painful.
“Wow,” Daisy murmurs. She places her seltzer on a coaster and reaches for the Nikon, then hesitates. “May I?”
Her politeness makes me smile. “Of course.” I join her as she picks up the old camera and turns it over in her hands, face alight.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that is,” I tease. She’s young enough that she may never have actually used a film camera, for all I know.
She laughs. “Of course I do. I’m not that young.”
You’re young enough .
“Well, I haven’t used it for a long time,” I admit. “It’s far too easy to take pictures with my phone.”
She nods in understanding, glancing at me over the camera. “It’s not the same, though, is it?”
I shrug. “It means I don’t have to find a place to develop film. Do they even still do that?”
Her gaze sparkles with amusement. “Yes. Or you could develop it yourself, if you know how.”
There’s a reverence to her voice that makes me pause. She’s so creative with her coffee, and I’ve always sensed she has an artistic side. Was I right?
“Do you know how?” I ask, intrigued.
“I…” She swallows, her face shuttering. “I did. A long time ago.” She sets the Nikon down and turns away, indicating the conversation is over, but all I want to do is ask her more questions.
There’s a sound at the door as Jesse tumbles in out of the rain, cursing to himself. Daisy and I enter the hallway to find him peeling off his soaking jacket.
“Hey,” he says, noticing Daisy. His gaze travels the length of my Yankees hoodie, and he frowns.
“I hope it’s okay I put this on,” she says, motioning to herself. “I got soaked on the walk over.”
Jesse’s gaze swings to me, then back to Daisy. “Yep.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “Sorry I’m late. There was a delay on the train.” His apology is not directed at me. It’s directed at Daisy, who he pulls close and kisses. I look away.
The doorbell rings and I’m relieved to excuse myself, going to fetch the takeout I ordered. I got Thai, knowing it was a safe bet with Daisy. Though as I tip the delivery guy, I wonder if she might find it strange that I remembered. Why didn’t I think of that?
I carry the food into the kitchen and unload it onto the counter, setting us up to eat at the island. I haven’t entertained in years, and usually, I’d use the dining room where there’s more space and it feels more formal, but I want tonight to feel easy and casual, so we’ll eat in here. I pour two glasses of wine from the decanter and grab a beer from the fridge for Jess. He and Daisy are still in the hall talking, so I slide onto a stool, take a sip of the merlot, and wait.
“Come on,” I hear Daisy say, and she pulls Jesse into the room by the hand. Her gaze lands on the ginger duck I’ve served on a plate, and her eyes light up. “Oh, yay! I’ve been craving this.” She glances up at me, grinning. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
I wave a hand as if it’s no big deal, secretly pleased by her reaction. Jesse shoots me an odd look, then perches on a stool in front of his Pad Thai, his brow low.
“How was work?” I ask him as I bite into my own ginger duck.
He lifts one shoulder, scooping up a large forkful of noodles. I swear, it’s like he’s regressed into a moody teenager all over again. I thought we were long past this.
Daisy nudges him with her elbow, and he glances up to find her giving him a look. With an exaggerated eye-roll, Jesse says, “Work was good.” He looks back at Daisy as if to say, Happy now? but she rolls her hand, gesturing for him to elaborate. “Busy,” he adds.
I glance at Daisy. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for that, by the way—getting him a job.”
Daisy’s cheeks color. “Oh, well—”
Jesse glares at me. “She didn’t get me a job; she set up an interview.”
I sigh. It’s such a minefield around Jess. “That’s what I meant. Thanks for setting up an interview.”
She smiles. “Of course. He completely charmed them.”
Ha. Now that I’d like to see.
“I didn’t even know you knew how to make coffee,” I add. His last job was in retail, I think, but he changes jobs so frequently that I can’t keep up. That, plus he hates talking to me.
Jesse shovels a forkful of food into his mouth, shrugging.
“They train you,” Daisy says, taking a delicate bite of her ginger duck and swallowing. “That’s why I thought it could be a good position. You get barista training you can use anywhere.”
I nod appreciatively. Jesse is lucky he met someone with connections like this.
“I hope you thanked Daisy,” I say.
He shoots me a murderous look, then glances at Daisy. Mischief morphs his expression. “Oh, I thanked her.”
My stomach lurches at the implication. “Alright, we’re eating,” I say with an uneasy laugh.
Daisy drops her gaze to her food, her face crimson.
God, Jesse. Way to make her feel uncomfortable.
I nudge the conversation back on track. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up running your own coffee shop one day.”
Jesse huffs incredulously, slamming his fork down. “Right. Because being a barista isn’t good enough for you, is it?”
My mouth pops open in shock. I hadn’t meant that at all—I’d just been trying to encourage him.
He shoves to his feet, pushing his half-finished meal away. “Not all of us can run our own company, Dad. Not all of us want to.”
Daisy stares at Jesse in surprise, reaching for his arm. “Jess—”
But Jesse yanks his arm away. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll be upstairs when you’re finished.” And with that, he stalks from the room.
I blow out a long, tired exhale when he’s gone. I guess I’d expected with Daisy here he might behave himself, but no chance of that, obviously.
“Sorry about him,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair.
“It’s okay.” She takes a long sip of her wine as I poke at my food, wondering if I should continue or go and talk to Jess.
“Believe it or not, this is the most he’s spoken to me since he’s been home.”
Daisy cocks her head, brown-eyed gaze moving across my face. “Can I ask… what happened between you two?”
I open my mouth, contemplating what to say, then snap it shut. It’s not my place to tell Jesse’s girlfriend why he hates me. “You’ll have to ask him.”
She twists her lips to one side. “I have, but he wasn’t very forthcoming.” Pushing her plate away, she sighs. “Thanks for the food. That was delicious.” She motions to my meal. “It’s good, right?”
Despite the somber mood, I smile. “So good.”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Guess I should go see if he’s okay. He’s on the top floor?”
I nod.
She starts to leave the room, then turns back uncertainly. “Thanks, Weston. For trying. With the dinner, and… with Jess. Don’t give up on him, okay?”
My chest fills with an unusual cocktail of emotions. Jesse behaved like an asshole tonight, but she still cares about him. She wants him to be happy, like I do. At least we can agree on that.
He’s a lucky guy.
“I won’t,” I say, my voice hoarse.
She slips from the room and I drop my head into my hands, trying to make sense of the sensations swirling through me. Of the fact that the woman I was intending to make mine—as recently as a few days ago—has gone upstairs to do God knows what with my son, instead.
Then I hate myself for even having that thought. She’s good for Jesse. I mean, of course she is—she’d be good for anyone. She’s a fucking ray of sunshine. And my son needs that more than I do right now. I’m glad he has that.
Even if it means I won’t get it for myself.