19. Daisy
Chapter 19
Daisy
"You're doing great," I say to Noelle, the town librarian. "Remember to keep up the exercises at home. I really think you'll see an improvement in your shoulder pain."
"Thanks, Daisy," Noelle says, smiling as she situates her sweatshirt over her head. "I swear, it's like I turned forty and my body began to protest."
Noelle's twelve-year-old daughter, Scarlett, rolls her eyes from where she sits waiting for her mom. "That's not how it works, Mom."
"You wait," Noelle wags a finger in Scarlett's direction. "There will come a time when you'll learn the hard way not to stretch out in bed after you wake up in the morning because you might pull something."
Scarlett frowns disbelievingly. She's still young enough that she doesn't truly believe getting older is a real thing that will happen to her someday.
Isla joins the conversation, delivering a pointed look to Scarlett. "Just tuck away this little nugget of truth for when you're forty. Always walk around for a few minutes after you wake up before stretching."
Scarlett finally catches on, nodding her head and agreeing to remember that for the day she turns as old as dirt aka forty .
Noelle lifts her eyes to the ceiling in an exasperated, but joking, way. "I do not have murder on my to-do list for today, Lord, but I appreciate you presenting me with the opportunity."
I laugh. Noelle is snappy, pretty, and intelligent, and I know from a previous conversation she wishes she were in a relationship. Maybe she and Isla should go into the valley and cast their hooks.
"Who's that?" Noelle says, tipping her chin behind me.
I already know who it is, based solely off the clock and the fact Peter is never late for his appointments.
"Peter Bravo," Isla answers, and I catch sight of him walking the sidewalk parallel to my office. He's wearing sweats again, and a plain T-shirt. Clothing conducive to our appointment. It's basic attire, but on him it looks elevated. Maybe it's the arms corded with muscle, the filled out back that looks like he could throw a girl over it and ride her into the sunset.
Whoa, Daisy. Take several chill pills.
"He is not too bad to look at," Noelle says, grinning.
"Gross, Mom." Scarlett's lip curls in disgust.
Isla smirks. "He's the reason Daisy's wearing mascara today."
"And lip gloss?" Noelle's eyebrows are raised.
I send Isla a harsh glare. "He is not."
She shrugs. "Sorry boss, but you didn't start wearing mascara until he started making appointments."
"That is a lie and a half and you know it."
Noelle titters. Isla smiles smugly. Scarlett's gaze flies between the three of us, cataloguing the exchange.
Peter strolls unsuspectingly through the door, and right into a den of women foaming at the mouth. But not me, obviously.
He stops short when he sees us standing in what I admit is a suspicious looking trio. "Hel-lo?" His gaze slices to the young lady sitting in a chair to his right, then back to us.
"Hi," I say, stepping forward. Not staking a claim or anything, but he is my client, and this is my business. Plus, it wouldn't be very nice of me to let him get mauled by the ravenous hyenas in this small but mighty pack of women.
Isla waves, and I introduce Peter to Noelle and Scarlett.
"Nice to meet you," he says, to which Noelle replies, "Do you have any theatre experience?"
We all turn to look at her, trying to understand what it is she's really asking.
"I'm desperately in need of someone to play the part of the hero in the town play." An impish grin dances over her lips. "I asked Hugo, but he said he's too busy running the olive mill. Too bad, considering he'd know how to wield a sword."
"There's a joke in there somewhere," Isla murmurs.
Peter looks like he wouldn't mind if there were an earthquake causing a chasm under his feet at this very moment. "I don't act," he says, gaze meeting mine briefly before darting away.
"Not a requirement," Noelle says cheerfully. "You have to be able to read, and speak. The bar is low."
"I have terrible stage fright," Peter argues, sounding like he is, in fact, horrified by the idea of being on stage.
But Noelle has morphed into a pit bull, and she won't be letting this go. She wags a finger at him. "Nice try. You'll be great." She lightly taps his shoulder on her way past him. "The kids will love you. And so will the town."
Noelle floats out into the warm midday sun, petulant Scarlett in tow. When the door is fully closed, Peter pins me with a murderous glare.
I lift my hands in protest. "Whoa there, Sailor. Don't be mad at me."
"You could have stopped that from happening," Peter glowers.
Isla retreats to her desk, using the excuse that she needs to confirm appointments for the next week.
I tuck back a smile. "Perhaps." My head tips side to side. "But if I did that I would've missed out on sitting amongst the entirety of Olive Township, taking in your debut performance at the thea-tah."
He side-eyes my fancy pronunciation, and I see the precise moment my statement sinks in. His eyes bulge, his head rearing back an inch. "The entirety of Olive Township?"
I nod vigorously, enjoying this too much. "Oh yes. Everyone. And then your photo will be hung on the wall in the town hall."
His lips flatten. He smelled my bullshit. I went too far.
"I take back that last part. But," I insist, "the whole town shows up. It's held in Desert Oasis Theatre, and it's a whole thing."
"What if I chase down Noelle and tell her it's not happening?"
"You could, but then you'd be leaving her in the lurch."
Peter frowns. "I think I was fleeced."
"Noelle is awfully good at telling people what to do. You were a victim."
"Wrong person, wrong time."
I shrug. "Maybe it was a case of right person, right time. Think of it," I say, leading him to the table to start his stretches. "Maybe, buried down deep under that tough exterior, you've got Brando level acting chops. You've never had the avenue to explore it. Until now." I wave flattened palms in the air, swooping them back and forth as if I'm in a musical. "A star is born."
"Absolutely not. No. Nope." The vehemency in his tone comes through like it's been shouted into a bullhorn.
He lays back to begin his stretches, and I say, "Good luck telling Noelle you're backing out. She might be a sweet little librarian, but she's also a menace. There's a reason why she's put in charge of all the town events."
"And that would be?"
"She doesn't take no for an answer."
"Former SEAL, remember?" Peter points at his chest. "I get shit done. I was once knocked out of a Zodiac by a flying fish. At night," he stresses.
He moves into his next stretch, not needing me to guide him because he's already memorized the sequence. "I don't speak SEAL," I say, a smile playing on my lips. "What is a Zodiac?"
"A rubber boat."
"So, you were out?—"
"On the ocean at night, going almost twenty knots," he interjects.
"And a fish flew out of the water?"
"A flying fish."
"Flew out of the water?"
"As flying fish are wont to do."
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. "I'm sure it wasn't funny at the time, but how does this relate back to Noelle and her on the spot casting you as the town play hero?"
"That's one of a hundred scenarios, some of which I'm not at liberty to talk about, and right now, I'm not sure why I chose that one. But what I'm saying is, I was in freezing cold water with blood running down my face, waiting for the Zodiac to circle back and find me. It wasn't pleasant, and neither was a lot of what I've done over the last ten years. All that to say"—he smiles smugly—"I can handle a small town librarian."
"Ohh you can?" I walk over to the spring wall, adjusting the height to accommodate him. He follows. "Please let me know approximately what time you plan on delivering this news to Noelle. I would like to be there to watch your smug arrogance get squashed by a small town librarian. "
He threads his hands into the straps. "What do you have going on this afternoon? We need to get materials to start fixing your drywall. I'll swing by the library after I pick you up, deliver the news, and then be on my merry way."
"I have my wedding dress fitting until two-thirty. Creative Sewing is down the street from the library, so I'll meet you there."
A shadow passes over Peter's eyes, turning the everyday storm into a typhoon. He blinks it away, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it. "Perfect. I'll give you a lesson in playing hardball with someone, no matter who it is."
I snort. "Please remind me to thank you later for the show you're about to put on telling Noelle you're out. And also the show you'll put on in about one month when you perform in the town play."
"Speaking of shows," Peter says, pressing away from his body with the handles, "isn't your wedding in about one month?"
"A week before the play," I answer, trying not to liken it to a show in my head, though it is.
Peter continues with the exercise. "Have you been running?" he asks. "I go every morning with Slim Jim, but I don't see you."
"I've been using the treadmill here," I answer, motioning over to the machine in the back corner of the space. "Somebody creeped me out about running by myself."
"I'd run with you, if you wanted to run around town."
He looks so earnest, so kind, so willing .
I could spin it as part of his physical therapy, but that's a stretch. He doesn't need his physical therapist to run.
Yes balances on the tip of my tongue, but I fold it back.
Peter changes the subject to the progress of the Bellamy house, seeming to sense the answer I should give, and not forcing me to do so.