Chapter 11
11
DAISY
I’m up early the next morning. At the first creak of the floor in the hall outside my room, I sit up in bed and attempt to push my bed-head flat.
Yesterday, I woke up single, and today, I have a girlfriend. A fake one, to be specific, which I guess I need to be when we’re not in private.
Blowing out a breath, I cringe at my morning breath and slip out of bed. Toes curling into the plush carpet with every step to my dresser, I yank clothes out and get dressed. The bathroom is across the hall, and I don’t think I’m quite ready to be wandering Bryce’s halls in only my panties just yet.
I tuck the strings of my sweatpants into the waistband and open my door slowly. It’s silent, so I slip into the hallway, eyes set on the bathroom?—
“Good morning.”
I jump and spin, my hand slapping at the wall to stabilize myself. Bryce watches me with a straight face, a coffee mug in her hands. Her outfit is the same one she’s worn every day since I’ve been here, but I swear it keeps getting worse. I know that shirt has to be itchy .
“Morning!” I cheer, cupping my throat where I can feel my pulse hammering away.
“Was I loud?”
“What?”
She shifts, putting her weight on one foot. “Was I loud enough to wake you up?”
“Oh. No, you weren’t.”
Nodding, she looks past me at the empty hall, fingers tapping her mug. My lips twitch at her shifty behaviour.
“Did I wake you ?” I ask.
She blinks, looking at me again. “What? No. I work at eight.”
I don’t bother telling her that I already know that. I’ve heard her leave the house at seven forty-five every single day. She’s nothing if not punctual.
“Do you walk or drive to work?”
“Walk.”
“Fancy some company this morning?”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly, clearing her throat. “Nobody will be up and watching this early.”
“Are we not allowed to get to know each other while we’re doing this? If I don’t know anything about you, I won’t be able to make the relationship look genuine. My brother will know something’s off right away.”
She scrolls her eyes down my body, and suddenly, I feel like a complete slob. The baggy shirt and sweatpants I pulled on are nothing compared to her proper clothes, even if they are completely wrong for her.
The jean skirt from yesterday is long gone, replaced with a long, loose one that’s only an inch from dragging on the floor. Her blouse is ridiculous and hides all of the artwork that I now know lies beneath. It feels like a crime to hide such beautiful designs with something my great-grandmother would probably turn her nose up at.
“Why do you agree to wear that?” I blurt out. With a wince, I add, “I mean, it’s just not you . Not at all. ”
She slides a finger into the collar of her shirt and pulls at it as if that’s the only way she can breathe properly. “I pick my battles.”
It’s a rehearsed line that I’d bet she’s spoken a million times. When I don’t look convinced, she grips the fabric of her skirt and lifts it to expose her from the knee down. The black cowboy boots on her feet have me giggling.
“I rebel in my own way, Sunshine,” she states.
I stare at her boots, lips spread into a smile. “I see that.”
She appears more relaxed now, just a fraction of her icy exterior warming. “If you’re walking with me, we leave in five. The first thing you need to know about me is that I don’t like to be late to anything.”
“Got it. I’ll put something else on and meet you by the door.”
I’m already halfway to my room when she says, “Don’t change. You look fine the way you are.”
I lift a brow and glance at her over my shoulder. “Like I’ve just rolled out of bed?”
“Like you don’t feel the need to dress to impress anyone. Let alone on a walk to the town office at 8:00 a.m.” She puts her weight on her other foot. “It’s nice.”
I can’t help the way my chest warms at her words. A subtle compliment from Bryce? Yeah, I think I’ll survive the next few weeks. It feels good to hear that from her.
“Alright, you win. But I need to sort my hair, at least. I’ll be quick.”
She doesn’t smile, but I don’t expect her to. “Three minutes.”
I salute her and disappear into the bathroom instead of my bedroom. The floor doesn’t creak for a few moments after I’ve closed the door, but when it does, I swear I hear her muttering to herself.
If only I could hear the words.
“Do you have a favourite colour?” I ask five minutes later.
With fall rolling in, the leaves are orange and crunch beneath my Converse, where they’ve fallen on the sidewalk. I pinch my cardigan together at my chest to fight the chill and wait for Bryce to speak for the first time since we left the house.
She didn’t put a sweater or coat on before we left, and it doesn’t look like the cool morning affects her. Maybe she has goosebumps beneath the sleeves of her blouse or on her tattooed thighs. Or maybe she truly is the ice queen and doesn’t feel the shift in temperature.
“Yellow,” she answers.
“Really?”
“Black would be too obvious.”
I twist my lips to hide a smile. “I’ll admit that I thought it would be black.”
“It’s been yellow for a while now.”
“I’ll make a note of that. Can I ask another question?”
She stares ahead at the row of shops on our right. The Beautifully Bold swinging sign is behind the Thistle and Thorn one, two thriving businesses run by two badass women whom I’ve come to know. I get hit with a blast of pride when we pass both shops, and Bryce straightens, as if feeling the same thing.
“You don’t have to ask whether you can ask questions. Just do it,” she mutters.
“I don’t want to be rude.”
“You’re not,” she states simply.
“Good to know.” I walk around a missing chunk of concrete on the sidewalk and fall back to her side, making sure to keep some space between us. She watches me, eyes heavy and focused on my movements. “When did you get your first tattoo?”
“My fifteenth birthday.”
My lips part in surprise. “Fifteen? How did you get away with that?”
“Wade Steele forges a great signature. ”
There’s no stopping my laugh. It punches out of my lungs, leaving me breathless. Wade Steele, the owner of Steele Ranch, is the world’s biggest hard-ass, but somehow, his kindness knows no bounds.
His wife, Eliza, wouldn’t have put up with him for the duration of their marriage if he wasn’t soft and squishy beneath his hard shell.
“Where is the tattoo?” I ask, the words airy as I catch my breath.
She licks her lower lip, tugging at her shirt collar again. “Nowhere I can show you in public.”
My cheeks start to burn at her bluntness, but I blame it on the chilled breeze that’s begun to pick up. “Can you at least tell me what it is?”
“A middle finger shaded in pink, purple, and blue.”
The bisexual flag colours. “You knew when you were fifteen that you were bisexual?”
“Fourteen, actually, but nobody would tattoo me then. I found a spot in Calgary that would ink me at fifteen, but it was a grungy fucking shop with a creep of an owner who just wanted to get his hands on a teenager. It’s a miracle I didn’t get an infection afterward,” she says with a huff.
I shiver at the thought of an infected tattoo and what sort of man she’s talking about. “I think I knew at fourteen that I was a lesbian, but I wasn’t ready to announce it until I was sixteen.”
“I get it.”
“My moms weren’t surprised when I came out, so I don’t think I was all that subtle about it before then either. But they didn’t force me to move faster than I wanted to. How did your parents take it?”
From the corner of my eye, I see the way she visibly locks up at the question. I want to curse myself out for overstepping, but it’s too late to take the question back.
“We’re almost at the office. I told you nobody would be out at this time to see us. ”
I turn and flash her a gentle smile. She’s got a couple of inches on me height-wise, but it’s not enough to have me looking up at her. Even if her gaze is intimidating enough on its own, making my confidence waver beneath it. I don’t let it crumble, though. That’s not me.
“Just because no one saw us doesn’t mean it was for nothing. I learned some things about you, so I’ll take that as a win,” I declare.
We stop in front of the small office building, and while it feels a bit awkward between us still, I don’t let that deter me. Especially not when I see someone walking out of the coffee shop down the road and toward us.
It’s go time.
“Don’t look, but there’s someone coming,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on Bryce’s.
Her jaw ticks. “Who?”
“I’m not sure. Nobody I know, at least. But we should still do something, right?”
“Do something? Like what?”
Her nose twists when she sniffs, and it’s adorable. We’re close enough that I can see every mark on her face and wrinkle in her lips. I’ve never seen skin so clear yet textured in a way that proves she’s a real person and not the robot she sometimes pretends to be.
Brows thick and manicured, they sit confidently above her kohl-lined blue eyes and draw together slightly the longer I stare. I dig my teeth into my lip just once before blinking and diverting my gaze.
The scuffing of shoes on the sidewalk has me acting before I can think twice about it. If it’s not me that makes the first move, something tells me that it won’t be Bryce.
Swaying onto the balls of my feet, I lean close and press my pursed lips to her cheek. Warm and smooth beneath my mouth, her skin heats as I’m pulling back. Her simple, spiced berry perfume sticks to my throat, and I risk a final sniff before giving her space.
She’s frozen in place when I meet her eyes and say, “Have a great day, Frosty. See you at home later.”
“Frosty?” she croaks.
I wink, my smile sly. “Sunshine?”
“What a fucking pair,” she says absently.
Wiggling my fingers in a wave, I start moving backward, a pep in my step that electrifies me. The newfound energy in my bones has me pressing my fingers to my lips and blowing her a kiss before spinning and leaving her there before I can see her reaction.
I don’t question the way I’m feeling.
Not once.