Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
DAISY
I wake from my nap when I find him in the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it since I left his bed.
He looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
I lean on the counter, pretending I’m more composed than I am. I need to know more about this man. The words leave my mouth before I can even think. “How is it,” I ask, voice lighter than I feel, “that a man in his forties has never been married? You’re in your forties, right?”
He pauses mid-pour, coffee steaming in his hand. “Art got all my devotion,” he says, glancing over at me. “Didn’t think I had space for anyone else.”
I take a step closer, watching the way his jaw tenses. “And yet…” I smile, curling a finger around a lock of my own hair, “you know how to do things to a woman that make her forget her own name.”
He sets the mug down.
Crosses the space between us.
“Your taste,” he says, voice low and dark and steady, “tells me where to go.”
My breath catches.
He brushes his fingers along my jaw, slow and deliberate. “All I did was keep my mouth on the sweetest part… because it kept begging me not to stop.”
I feel that pull again—the one that starts low and coils tight in my core. I should look away. I don’t.
His gaze drops to my lips.
My knees feel shaky, and I’m not sure if it’s from how he touched me this morning or how he’s looking at me now.
I whisper, “And what if I keep begging?”
His fingers trail down my arm, slow, possessive. “Then I’ll never stop.”
And I believe him.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and move to the old couch in the living room, a blanket tossed over my legs. He sits next to me and covers himself with the blanket as well.
I’ve been asking questions. Little ones. Harmless ones. But now I ask something that feels bigger, and it lands like a stone in the silence.
“How is it,” I say gently, “that a man like you is single? You’re almost too good to be true. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
Then he turns, finally meeting my eyes, and says, “I have actually been married before.”
The words hang there, heavy.
I sit up straighter. “Oh. I thought you said—I didn’t know.”
“No reason you would.” He swallows hard, his jaw tightening like it always does when he’s holding something back. “It was a long time ago. Years. Another life, really.”
“What happened?” I ask softly.
He leans back, his hand raking through his hair. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Her name was Mara. We were high school sweethearts. Thought we had the kind of love that would outlast anything.”
I don’t interrupt. I just listen. His tone is distant, but the pain is fresh. Real.
“She got pregnant. We were married, settling into life. I thought it was ours—our little family, starting. I was ready for it.”
He stops. Takes a breath. Shakes his head.
“But a week before the baby was due… I found out the kid wasn’t mine. It was my brother’s.”
My heart stumbles.
I don’t know what to say. My instinct is to touch him, to reach for his hand, but I wait.
“She told me she was in love with him,” he goes on, bitterness creeping in under the grief. “Said it wasn’t a mistake. Said she couldn’t pretend. I told her we could make it work—that if she promised to stay away from him, we could still raise the baby. I was willing to forgive her.”
He looks at me now, and the fire reflects in his eyes, but there’s no warmth.
“She didn’t want forgiveness. She wanted him.”
I cover his hand with mine. It’s strong and steady, but I can feel the ache there, too.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He nods, eyes dropping to our hands. “It’s why I left the city. Why I live up here. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.”
“I get that,” I say, because I do. Maybe not the same kind of pain, but the shape of it feels familiar.
We’re quiet again. Somewhere in the cabin, my cat jumps onto a counter.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel anything again. Until you walked in with that silly little cat and those wide, beautiful eyes. You know he’s really growing on me.”
I laugh under my breath, but it catches in my throat.
I want to reach in and gather all those broken pieces. I want to press them together with everything I have and promise him that I’ll never be like her. That I’ll never leave him gutted, bleeding from the inside out.
I resolve, right here, that I will never be the reason he feels that kind of pain again. I could never do that to this man.
“Have you ever been married?” he asks me, his voice low, almost hesitant. Like he’s only just remembering that I’m still a mystery to him, too.
I shake my head. “No. Just a couple shitty boyfriends. If you could even call them that.”
His eyes hold mine, steady and curious. “What happened?”
I hesitate.
There’s a sour taste that creeps up the back of my throat just thinking about it. About him. His voice in my ear like a blade, the way he could make me feel so small with just a look. How love turned into something twisted.
But Hudson deserves more than my ghosts tonight. He deserves more than someone else’s name echoing through the room like they could possibly ever matter to me as much as he does.
So I just smile—tight, but real—and say, “He was crazy. Not the good kind. I don’t want to ruin the moment by thinking about him.”
His brows knit together slightly. He doesn’t push, but his eyes linger on mine for a beat longer. Maybe he understands more than he lets on.
“Fair enough,” he finally says, giving my hand the gentlest squeeze. “I don’t want to ruin the moment either.”
And just like that, it feels like the past is kept at bay. Like whatever haunts us—his pain, my fear—it’s outside this room. Outside this moment.
He leans back and his arm drapes lazily around my shoulders, my head nestled against his chest. It feels safe here. Like maybe all the chaos of the past week is finally beginning to settle into something soft and real.
Then the door creaks open.
My body stiffens instinctively, and Hudson shifts next to me. We both look up at the same time.
A man steps inside like he owns the place.
He’s wearing a smug kind of grin, like showing up unannounced is perfectly normal. His eyes flick between me and Hudson, and something in his expression sharpens—curious, maybe even knowing. My stomach flips.
“Luke?” Hudson seems surprised to see him.
“Didn’t think I’d find you two all cozy,” he says casually, shutting the door behind him.
Hudson moves fast, untangling from me and standing up. “Luke,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Without waiting for an answer, he guides Luke to the far corner of the cabin, out of earshot—but not out of view. I sit there frozen, the warmth from the fire forgotten, my heart thudding dully in my chest.
They start whispering. Fast and low.
Hudson’s jaw tightens. Luke’s hands move when he talks—sharp gestures like he’s trying to make a point. Hudson runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Then he glances at me over his shoulder.
That glance makes the bottom fall out of my stomach.
Because something’s not right.
I don’t know what Luke is doing here or what he’s saying—but Hudson looks like he’s hiding something. And maybe he doesn’t mean to. Maybe he’s just trying to protect me. But secrets? Lies? I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.
I straighten up, clutching the edge of the couch cushion with both hands, every nerve in my body suddenly alert.
“…you’re really gonna let her stay?” Luke says with a note of surprise, maybe even disbelief.
There’s a pause. An awful, thick silence that feels like it catches in my throat.
I wait for Hudson to say something—anything. To say, yeah, I put out the ad, or she’s not what I expected, but I like her.
But then the friend laughs, a short, dry huff. “Wait… so you actually are thinking about going through with this. That’s surprising considering our conversation the phone!”
Another beat. Hudson says “Bro, you owe me an apology! You know I would never have ordered someone off the internet.”
My stomach drops. Like a stone thrown in a lake—it sinks fast, cold and heavy. Something splinters inside me.
Everything stops.
I take a step back, heel catching on a root. The air feels too sharp. My hands curl into fists before I even realize it. I feel like an idiot. A complete idiot.
The mornings. The soft smiles. The kisses. The intimacy. The trust I was starting to build in him—brick by careful brick—shakes like it’s caught in an earthquake.
He didn’t want me here.
All of this, every flutter in my chest, every time he looked at me like I was something unexpected and precious—it was a lie wrapped in warmth.
And to think I gave myself to him. I’ve never been that open or forward with a man.
And he took it, knowing full well that he was lying to me.
Ugh. He’s just like everyone else. I guess I should feel lucky that I’m seeing the red flags this soon in the relationship.
Great. Another heartbreak. I need to leave before I fall any harder.
I spin around and march toward the truck parked in the driveway. His truck. I fumble with the keys I found on the counter.
I slide into the driver’s seat, heart hammering, throat burning. I don’t even check to see if they noticed. I just need to go. Be alone. Think.
Because the last thing I want—the very last thing—is to build another relationship on lies.
I deserve better than that.
The engine roars to life. I shove it into gear and press the gas, gravel crunching beneath the tires. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care.
Anywhere but here.