Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Daisy, Now
“Last name?” I check off the sporty couple listed on the clipboard, hoping they don’t see my hands shaking. “Welcome, you two. Stacey will take you to your room, and if you need anything, let me know. We want to make you as comfortable as possible.”
Reservations have become a nightmare today as guests called to delay their arrivals, but I’ve opened up The Mirage to campers so they have a safe place for the night.
Flash floods are no joke around here. With so little moisture in the ground—when was the last rainfall?
—an abrupt, heavy downpour can wreak havoc.
We’ve experienced it before with power outages, fence damage, and mud seeping under doorways.
Max returns in my truck, and thank god he spent all those years in Europe and learned how to drive stick.
He’s been running all over town to gather supplies while I oversee operations here.
Although I always have a stash of emergency provisions, those ominous clouds are the color of a nasty bruise and moving in fast. We’re less than forty-eight hours from opening, and Mother Nature has decided she wants to play.
“When the guy at the store found out they were for The Mirage, he threw in some extra sandbags,” Max says, slamming the truck door shut. He looks rugged, with a sheen of sweat on his brow and his shirt wrinkled, and I wish I could melt into him and forget everything else.
I survey the trunk, disappointed by the small haul of sand-filled sacks. We cleared the lot mere weeks ago, and all of that hard work and money will wash out to town.
Max’s warm hand links around my upper arm and sucks me out of the negativity. “Combined with what we already have, we’ll have plenty of ground covered. We’ve got this.”
“You can’t promise that,” I say under my breath. I need to stay calm for the sake of our guests, and for the sake of Stacey and the gallery assistants who are all working their asses off. If anyone sees me losing my serenity, warmth, and wonder, that would only add to the turmoil.
But we have so much on the line.
“The guests are safe, they’re getting settled in, they have food and flashlights, and their rooms are secure.
” He moves to stand in front of me, both hands on my shoulders.
The gesture grounds me. “The people are the most important, and you’ve got that covered.
Maybe they’ll have some minor leaks, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. ”
Then, as if doing so is the most natural thing in the world, he rests a hand on my hip and pulls me in for a kiss.
His lips on mine set everything right, if only for a moment.
We have guests exploring the property and another couple sitting in the lobby revising their vacation plans, but all I know is him, here.
We’re at that point—still not labeling “us,” but not worried about what other people think either. Not hiding.
A distant crack of lightning reminds us what we’re up against. We’re plowing into the first big storm since the renovations, so I don’t know what points of failure exist.
Which also means every piece of art is in danger, too.
“I’ll use as many painter’s tarps as I can find.” He scratches his head, like some other brilliant idea might be hiding in there. “Not ideal, but workable.”
“We can turn my living room into storage.” Poor blind Freddie won’t understand a thing, but I can keep him in my bedroom, and at least we know everything will stay dry.
“Or…” Max pinches the bridge of his nose. He hesitates, pulls out his phone, and stares at it before pulling up a familiar contact’s name.
“No.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“You said you wanted to do this without their help.” My shoulders sink with the realization that Max couldn’t count on me, or on The Mirage.
“They have the room. With the extra travelers staying in the guest room and on the couch, wouldn’t it be better to put everything where no one will run into it or knock it over accidentally?”
I hate the idea as much as he does, but we’re past desperation.
“Are you sure?” I interlock my hands with his. Despite what we’re dealing with, I love this—being able to touch him like this without caring what anyone thinks.
“We can’t afford not to. Everything will be safe there, and it’s just down the road.”
Five seconds later, he has his cell on speakerphone.
“I’m about to head into a meeting,” his dad answers. “Three minutes.”
“Hi to you, too.”
I tap Max’s foot with my own to keep him on track. He looks at me and whispers, “What?”
“Hello, Mr. Weber.” I adopt a honeyed customer service voice. “It’s Daisy.”
Mr. Weber’s tone brightens, and he asks how I’m doing. I answer honestly: we’re busy and stressed. I wait, giving Max the opportunity to step into the discussion, but he doesn’t bite.
“Um, actually,” I say, “we have a favor to ask of you. With the storm, we have a lot of items from the pop—”
“Can we stop by the house and store some stuff?” Max asks. “To keep things from The Mirage safe tonight, with the weather and all.”
His dad pauses. “How long will it be there?”
“Tonight, and that’s it. In and out in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Be right in,” Max’s dad says to someone else. “Well, sure. Anything you need, Daisy.”
I catch how he’s offering support to me, not to Max, and if we weren’t in the middle of an emergency, I’d like to have a nice, long talk with Max’s dad.
“Thank you, Mr. Weber.”
“Great,” Max says. “Thanks.”
“Your mother and I are gone this week. Working in Beverly Hills. But Ava’s home.”
We hang up, but Max’s mood remains as stormy as the clouds rolling in the distance.
“You didn’t tell them about the museum, did you?” I ask.
“They wouldn’t have cared.” He turns toward the barn. “Need help with the truck cap?”
“Ava’s probably already told them,” I call after him, but he keeps walking.
“If they want to come, they’ll come. But they won’t, and I don’t care.”
By the way he’s hunched over, his body in a defensive position, I know he cares very much. My heart aches, and I wonder if it’s too late for them to make up for all the shows they missed, all the offhanded comments, and all the times they let him down.
“Let’s just…” He shrugs, then rakes his hand through his hair again, mussing it up in a way that makes me want to run my own fingers through it. “Let’s pack the truck before I change my mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He gives me a sad smile before turning to get back to business.
We take a couple of trips to transport the pieces there, with Stacey’s help.
Max asks if it’s okay for Ava to stay with us—he’d rather have an eye on her, and she’s excited by the prospect of a sleepover.
Of course I say yes, although I also yearn to have a moment alone with him, to talk one-on-one and really understand what’s going through his brain.
He’s looked at me all day like we’re a missed opportunity in the making, but all we can do now is settle into the casita with mugs of hot drinks in our hands, staring out the window into the darkness as heavy raindrops fall.
When the rain stops at three in the morning, I want desperately to sneak out and survey the damage, but I can’t.
Never mind the danger of walking on the property after the rainfall has tracked brush and debris—and who knows what else—onto the land.
But I am literally trapped between Ava on one side of my king-size bed and Max on the other, with his arm snug around my waist. “No funny business,” his sister had joked as she dozed off last night.
Max waited until she was passed out and snoring gently to nuzzle close.
His fingertips traced the soft parts of me—my hips, my stomach, my thighs—until he fell asleep too.
I don’t rest, though. Under the dim glow of my computer charger, I examine Max’s dozing profile.
Even with so much at stake and so much going on, life feels right with him here, resting next to me.
I can’t remember what I was doing for the last eight years.
It’s as if the time without Max never happened, and he’s been here all along.
These dangerous thoughts lull me to sleep, and the next thing I register is sunshine stabbing through the blinds and assaulting my eyes.
Freddie has found a home between my legs, stretched out on his back like he’s a hot dog in a bun.
Max and Ava are gone, the sheets cold. I check my phone. 8:49 a.m.
“Shit.” I slink out of bed, careful not to disturb the cat, and toss on my boots. When I emerge from the house, my property looks like the inside of a shaken-up snow globe, except instead of snow, we’ve got dust and dirt. I suck a breath down and walk toward the turmoil, and I trip over a sandbag.
“Watch out,” Max calls from the barn. He waves, his mouth curved in a gentle smile, and I head in his direction.
“I wanted to wake up hours ago.” I don’t mean to snap at him, but I can’t believe he let me lie in bed so late. “I should have been up with the sun.”
“Freddie’s a pretty cozy blanket.”
“You should’ve woken me up.”
“Daze,” Max says, resting his hands on my upper arms. “You needed rest.”
“No, I needed to know what the damage is. Is everyone okay?”
“Everyone’s safe.” He squeezes my shoulders and turns so I can look at the property in its entirety. “Stacey and I have already checked in with all the guests.”
My body relaxes with the good news, but with the landscape in disarray, I know not to get too comfortable. “The barn?”
“One major leak, focused in a single area. That little alcove. We can close that off tomorrow. Move some pieces around.”
“You spent days setting everything up.”
“The gallery assistants are already on it.” He tilts his head beyond the barn, the corners of his mouth turned downward. “The lot is our big focus. Needs serious clearing.”
I needed this pop-up to go off without a hitch, and the universe couldn’t cut me a break.
One storm made this an impossible task. Max held up his end of the bargain: get the art, organize, promote.
He sucked down his pride and asked his parents for help, whereas I let him down.
Maybe it’s the bad night’s sleep, or maybe it’s because I haven’t had my morning caffeine, but hot, thick tears blur my vision and my face crumples.
“Hey, whoa,” he says, rubbing my arms. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. How will we open tomorrow night?
All those reservations will probably cancel.
” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
“What other museum has given you this many problems? At any other pop-up, I bet you didn’t have to worry about some natural disaster sweeping through and ruining it.
You needed a solid, reliable place, and I couldn’t even give you that.
I can’t fix this,” I say through a quiet sob, frustrated with myself for getting so emotional over the one thing Harlow’s always had: harsh weather.
“I know how to fix a lot of things on my own, but I can’t fix this. ”
He cups my face with both of his hands, a bemused look on his face. “Daze.”
“Don’t laugh!” A storm of emotions surges inside me as my raised voice only makes him chuckle more. Has he lost his mind? “We can’t do all of this.”
“We don’t have to.”
I follow his line of sight to the cars parked near the lobby.
Some of them are Max’s students, since the school district issued an inclement weather day, and their parents chauffeured them here.
The kids bounce out of their vehicles, practically shouting with excitement about the storm, bragging back and forth about the frightening sounds they heard and how much debris landed in their yard.
Then there’s Dawn, Gwen, Bob, my dad, and Oona—but also Shonda from the gas station, the barber, the thrift store manager, and the line cook at Sal’s.
“I made some calls,” Max said. “Everyone knows we’re in crunch time.”
Every single one of them has arrived with tools and buckets of supplies and smiles on their faces, ready to save me.
“That community you’re always talking about? The people you’re always helping?” Max checks me with his shoulder. “They wanna help you, too.”
“Max.” It’s the only word I can manage, and at barely a whisper. He could guess that I would have spent all day and night attempting to do this myself, not wanting to suck people’s energy and resources dry. I hate that he knows me so well. Rather than pick a fight, he’s guided me to a better place.
I turn into him, wrapping my arms around his body and letting his quiet strength envelop me. “Thank you.”
As we tackle the property, I catch Max looking at me more than once with a contented smile, and I beam back at him. People showed up. The community showed up. I could cry. On two occasions, I run to the bathroom to do just that.
We start by removing the standing water from the alcove, and we situate borrowed fans to dry the floor.
Max fetches the art from his parents’ house and directs his assistants and students as they rebuild the pop-up.
We spend hours shoveling and rearranging piles of dirt, and by the day’s end, the parking area looks rough-and-ready, but usable, and with the same number of spots.
We manage it all without a single room cancellation coming through, and the members of the media we’ve invited for the event are still thrilled to attend the next day.
The sun jumps out from behind a cloud in time for a muted golden hour, so we get literal sunshine and rainbows after the storm.
“Food and drinks on me,” I announce to the small group who remains. The students and parents have all gone home, but we have a crowd of other folks from around town. “See you at Sal’s in twenty.”
Max, Ava, and I walk into the casita to change. A rinse-off might do me good, but I go for a healthy dose of body spray instead. If I hop into a hot, steamy shower, I’ll crash.
Gwen and Bob will take me to Sal’s while Max drops Ava off at a friend’s using my truck. His sister hugs me goodbye and bounces out the front door.
Max looks at me, his expression conflicted.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just—I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
My stomach sinks, and he moves in to hold my hand.
“Not something bad,” he says, and the reply soothes me. “But something important.”
“Right now?”
“No.” He glances outside to where Ava sits in the car. “Later tonight? I want some time alone with you.”
I blush. His words imply something sexual, but his tone has an earnest gravity to it. “Okay, well, tonight,” I say. “After Sal’s.”
He rests his other hand on my jaw and kisses me like I’m the only person who matters in the world.