Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Max, Now
In the blinding afternoon sun, The Mirage is exactly like the image burned in my memory. Muted colors on the plain exterior, so it seems to grow out of the earth itself. Shaded patios with dangling hammock chairs. A haven in the desert heat.
Daisy watches with sad eyes as the site contractor’s van bounces down the uneven driveway and out of sight. “He said we’d need to remove everything,” she mutters, studying the paper rattling in her grip.
“That’s a suggestion. We don’t have to go full concrete for the parking area.”
“We’d be removing a lot of plant life, regardless.
” Daisy gnaws on a thumbnail. Her nervous habit hasn’t changed, and she’s already chewed three others down to the quick.
During the whole meeting, she dug in her heels on every single thing—where the lot entrance should start, how wide to make it, and how much space we need.
At this rate, the pop-up will happen a decade from now.
“Look, we have to remove some plants, otherwise it’ll be a game of cactus minesweeper out there.
We don’t want guests getting hurt.” I grasp for a middle ground to move our plan forward, and to salvage Daisy’s poor fingernails.
“What did you think about leaving some brush in the center and using the large cacti as a natural curb stop?”
“He said we’d still have to clear from here to here.” She shows the space with wide arms and shakes her head for the billionth time today. “That’s too much disruption.”
“What about replanting?” I ask, holding back a gritty exhale as we walk to the casita. “Businesses do that to keep operations eco-friendly.”
“Maybe.” Daisy examines the paper and holds it up to me. “Did you see this number?”
The funding has me on shaky legs too, though I wouldn’t tell her that. I never had to be the one to make the financial part happen, so I’ve got long nights of research ahead of me.
“Focus on the vision right now,” I say, “not the money.”
“The money is the only thing I’m focusing on. We’re barely forty-eight hours in and we’re dealing with more than I spend on land maintenance in a year.”
I stop Daisy, putting one hand on each of her shoulders to ground her, and the honey-toned flecks in her eyes catch the sunlight.
“It’s always like this at the start. With every museum I’ve ever worked on, the beginning is the toughest, the most stressful.
All the expenses roll in, and you have this moment where you doubt yourself. ”
She inserts the corner of her ring finger between her teeth, and I pull on her wrist to stop her.
“You’re going to run out of fingers.”
“Maybe this isn’t worth the trouble,” she whispers, avoiding eye contact.
My body tenses with worry. This place owns a part of Daisy’s heart, and she has every right to want to protect it. But if she backs out, then we’re left with a nice idea, all of the same problems, and nothing more.
“Remember what we’re working toward.” I can figure out the budget, but the big picture will have more sway.
“Reservations booked for weeks, even longer. We’ll be in the news.
You’ll have a gorgeous, renovated barn for weddings.
The Mirage might look a little different from when you were a kid, and it’ll be different than when you took it over from your mom.
But it’ll be something that would make her proud.
” I meet her eyes again and lose my train of thought momentarily. “But it…it’s gonna be worth it.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely.”
Daisy bites her lower lip. After a beat, she tucks the quote from the contractor into her back pocket and continues down the gravelly path. “What if we ditch the bathroom add-on?”
“We need bathrooms.”
“When we’ve had weddings in the past, the couples rented porta-potties for the event. My mom found this company that has fancy ones.”
“Fancy?”
“Yeah, they’re nice. Wash stations and everything.”
“The whole point of this is to get the barn in the best condition possible.” Although we can’t rule anything out, the suggestion primarily cuts corners. “And renting those will add up.”
She hmms in agreement and pauses. “You can still back out, you know. I’d understand.”
“No.” I shake my head because I need this pop-up as much as she does. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“This isn’t the ideal location you thought it would be.”
“It is exactly what I want. You’re being cautious, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I can’t envision this the way you can.”
Looking at Daisy, I’m eighteen again and ready to leap at any opportunity to make her happy.
I want to chase away the storm on her face and bring out the sunshine of her smile.
All of our work could pay off with the pop-up, and I can picture the end goal—I just don’t know how to help her see it, too.
She leads me into the casita, and the air conditioning welcomes me like an ice bath. I swipe the sweat collecting on my forehead, and Daisy places a cool glass of lemonade in my hands.
“You used to love hot days like this,” she says, plopping down on a stool across the kitchen island.
“These temps are kicking my ass.”
“It’s only nine-thirty in the morning.”
I chug half of my drink in one go, and the cooling effect on my insides prompts a satisfied groan. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Daisy’s cheeks look red from the sun, and she busies herself with something on her laptop. “So how are we paying for these renos?”
“You said no porn, but…”
She keeps her eyes on the computer, the left side of her mouth twitching.
“Donors or investors were my first thought,” I say with a chuckle, studying a bead of sweat sliding down her chest. “People who will put their money into the project simply for the love of it.”
“Like folks from the community? Local businesses?”
Eyes up. “Exactly.”
“Sal’s?”
“That’s a good start. The Rotary Club, coffee shops, maybe? Any amount helps.”
She nods, wordless but clearly paying attention and willing—at least I hope—to follow my lead. We create a list of places and people in Harlow to contact, on top of resources from my network, like Eleanor.
“We could…” I hesitate, then throw out my next suggestion with a bitter scoff. “I could ask Judy and Bill.”
“They could donate all that money they’re saving on the storage unit,” Daisy says, which causes a laugh to burst from me.
“I…” I run a hand through my hair. “We know they have the money.”
“You’re not actually considering them?”
“Maybe? I’d like to succeed without their help.”
Her eyes go soft. “Of course.”
“They’d never agree, anyway.”
“Probably not for you,” she says, flashing a winning smile. “But for me?”
“Wow.” The best way to deal with my parents’ attitudes is jokes and sarcasm, and Daisy knows this. “Nice.”
She giggles, and the sound flickers inside me.
“You…you don’t actually think they’d funnel money into some artistic endeavor of mine, do you?”
“If this ends up becoming as popular as you think, then maybe.” She sinks lower into her seat and speaks her next words with care. “I completely understand wanting to do this without them. But if you really wanna show ’em, this could be a great way to do it, right?”
Daisy knows that my parents have never seen my dreams as equally valuable as passing the bar exam.
Imagining them walking into the barn, their jaws slack in awe, fills me with a hunger I didn’t even know I had.
How would I feel proving them wrong? And if the pop-up’s a total disaster, then could they be any more disappointed in me, anyway?
“I’ll think about it.” I stare at the list, wishing she were wrong. “Last resort, though. Who else have we got? What about Sunridge?”
“I thought we were keeping this local.”
“The town’s not even an hour away. Plenty of people will come up for the exhibit.”
Sunridge is Harlow’s fashionable older sibling. People venture to Harlow for nature, the park, and simple desert living; they head to Sunridge to spend cash. It’s a small, quirky city for a flashy trip full of expensive restaurants and extravagant bars.
Daisy bends down and scratches at her calf, her cropped shirt rising to reveal ink I don’t remember on her ribcage. I resist the urge to lift the fabric up and peek.
“So, art galleries?” she asks.
“Anything. Stores, restaurants. Obviously, having a personal connection to you helps. But whatever you’ve got, we can work with it.”
“I’ll reach out to some folks and see what they say.”
“No, we’re brainstorming.” I tap my pen on the paper. “Give me names so I can research.”
“Let me handle stuff in Sunridge.” She pours herself more lemonade, even though her glass is almost full. She’s not telling me something.
“Do you know any people down there?”
Daisy avoids eye contact and does a mix between a shrug and a shake of her head.
“If you have suggestions, you need to tell me, Daze. The more I can learn about them, the better I can tailor our proposal.”
“Fine,” she says after a moment. “I might know someone who could help us.”
The chef. He can’t be all that bad if she remained on good terms with him. While I’d love it if she didn’t bound back into a relationship with him—we need to focus on the pop-up—it’s not my business if she has lingering feelings.
I can still dislike him, though, for hurting Daisy. She didn’t tell me explicitly what happened between them, but she’s been fidgety all afternoon, and I’d guess it’s because he broke her heart.
“I look okay?” Daisy finger-combs her hair. She wears a long, flowy dress that’s strappy on the top, showing off her strong shoulders dotted with constellations of freckles. To someone passing by, we could be going on a date.
“You look more than okay.” I clear my throat.
She checks herself out one more time in the restaurant window’s reflection, and my gaze skims over the smooth curves of her cleavage. The cut of her dress goes so low I catch the start of a sternum tattoo, and I flick my eyes away before she catches me staring.
“This guy will regret things ever ended with you.”