Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
“ F uck ,” she groaned as the metal brass band in her head went batshit crazy. Squeezing her eyes shut, she burrowed under the covers, blocking out all of the light. She should have listened to the dull throbbing behind her forehead the night before and taken her meds, but she was so focused on planning out the flowers for the next few events that she ignored it. She was paying for it now. Pressing her face into the pillow, Daisy forced herself to breathe slowly and hoped that would do the trick. It sounded sensible in theory, but barely made a difference in reality.
At least I’m not nauseous?
The moment the thought popped into her head, her stomach lurched. It wasn't enough that her migraines made it difficult to think or breathe, every movement made her feel like she needed to empty her stomach. She massaged her temples slowly knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference. But it was easy to convince herself otherwise. She’d fall asleep eventually and maybe when she woke up next, everything would have settled.
“Famous last words,” she muttered.
The migraines had started during her divorce proceedings. She’d always been aware of her anxiety, but never her stress levels. The minute she filed the paperwork and Clarke signed them, she started to stress about everything. She hadn’t been on her own in years and that worry kept her up at night. The lethal combination of anxiousness and constant tension caused enough imbalance to trigger her first migraine. Or at least that’s what the doctor said after her father dragged her to the clinic.
She was given medication and a stern talking to about her stress. Like it was that easy to turn off the tension while going through something so heartbreaking. Thankfully the medication helped and over time, she’d found ways to battle it. But every now and then, she would ignore all of the symptoms and signs, getting too caught up in what she had to do.
Her therapist called that perfectionism—a need for everything to be flawless while criticizing herself constantly. It stemmed from her childhood with her mother and bled into adulthood. Running a business and presenting herself a certain way was important, but she also kept forgetting to take care of herself.
It would have been great if her migraines manifested the same way every time. That would be asking the universe for too much, obviously. Some days, she could work twelve hours with the light throbbing in the back of her head. Other times, it would be difficult to even open her eyes, so forget working. There were the occasions when she was trapped in her bed for more than a day, swallowing pills and throwing up water. She never knew what kind of migraine would greet her, so she did everything to fight it off.
In short, of all the bad luck that she could be cursed with, this was probably the most debilitating.
A few hours later, she was able to open her eyes long enough to send Eden a voice note to let her know that the ‘migraine monster’ was visiting and went back to sleep. Since she’d had these migraines for years, her staff knew all about them. They’d witnessed her suffer through them multiple times too. Her medicine and cold compresses were hidden all over the shop in case she needed them.
Her phone vibrated and she knew it was Eden acknowledging her message.
As she drifted back to sleep, her brain went into a guilt spiral, feeling like she was taking her staff for granted while she was cocooned in her bed. She knew that she wasn’t skipping out on work, but her brain wouldn’t accept it that way.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but constant buzzing woke her up. Groaning, she stretched her arm out blindly for her phone. With one eye open, she swiped to answer the call on speaker without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?” She sounded scratchy and groggy, like she’d swallowed glass.
“Daisy?”
“This is she.”
“Why do you sound like that?”
It took her a moment and some blinking to realize who was on the other end. “I’m dying, Ginny. That’s why.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”
She grunted. “What can I do for you?”
“I was calling to set up a meeting for tomorrow, but I’m thinking maybe not.”
She pushed back the covers, hissing as bright light hit her face. “Good call.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just a migraine taking residence in my head to plot my demise.”
“How have I never seen this side of you before?”
She huffed. “I’m glad you haven’t, I’m not fun.”
“You’re plenty fun, Daze. But seriously, do you need anything?”
Sighing loudly, she sat up carefully and rubbed her forehead. “I’m good. The worst has mostly passed.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “How about I give you a call when I’m back at work and we can schedule a meeting.”
“Absolutely. Rest up.”
They said their byes and she tossed the phone aside. With two fingers she massaged her forehead and closed her eyes. The migraine had reduced to a dull flutter that went back and forth across her head. Because that’s so fun to keep track of . She knew that with a cold compress, something light to eat and medication she’d be fine by the time the day was over. Then hopefully she’d have enough energy to do some work in her garden.
“Wishful thinking,” she sighed.
After a long moment of purposeful breathing and convincing herself she was okay, she stood up and stretched in the loft bedroom. Her tiny home was the perfect space and the first thing she invested in once she got her shop up and running.
After growing up in a gorgeous New York brownstone, and a craftsman once she was married, she’d gotten used to spacious homes. However, after her divorce, she’d lived in a tiny apartment where she could reach everything from the comfort of her bed. Her shop was a priority, but she also wanted something affordable that was hers.
That’s when she met Davis at a wedding.
There was a brief flirtation, a couple of nights spent between the sheets before they discovered they were better off as friends. With benefits, of course. She also discovered he designed and built tiny houses. The more they talked, the more she realized that’s exactly what she wanted. He drew up a plan, they stopped sleeping together and once all the paperwork was finalized and land was purchased, he built her home.
The outside was painted a dark green with cream trim for the windows. She planted white wisteria on the sides, so it would climb up the front of the house. She even designed a small garden and set up a compact greenhouse in the modest backyard.
The inside was done up mostly in ash and maple, to brighten up the space—which wasn’t really helpful when she had a murderous migraine. The kitchen was below the loft space, with big wide French windows that opened into the backyard and brought in tons of natural light. The bathroom and her walk-in closet were to one side of the staircase, hidden away but still easily accessible.
The open concept house was her dream. Six years of living there and she still fell in love with it every single day.
Now, as she climbed down the stairs with both hands on the railings so she wouldn’t fall, Daisy was extra grateful that everything she needed was close. She pulled cold compresses from her freezer, filled a glass with water, grabbed her meds and sat on the couch to fight the last throbs of her migraine. She’d even tried the ice hats, but felt claustrophobic because it covered her eyes and never used it again. So she wrapped the gel pack around her neck and set the compress on her forehead, settling back against the soft cushions.
What people didn’t realize about migraines was that even though you spent the whole time sleeping, it was incredibly exhausting. You weren’t sleeping to rest, you were sleeping to heal and the latter took a lot more effort than the former.
That didn’t stop her from trying to snooze as much as she could, because it was the only thing that helped.
When she woke up from her nap, the sun was still shining. Thankfully her migraine had worn down to a faint headache. It was now the manageable kind, one that pricked at the back of her head and faded away eventually. Retrieving the compress and pack from the floor, where she’d tossed them, she checked the time and gasped—quarter past eleven. In the morning .
“What the hell?”
Leaning against her kitchen counter as she sipped on her water, Daisy realized that she’d slept through most of the day before. And what was supposed to be a quick snooze on the couch turned into a full-blown sleep. Once she was steady on her feet, she climbed up to the loft and checked her phone. Eden had texted to check in and let her know they had everything under control in the shop that day as well. Might as well make the most of my day off. After going through the rest of her messages, she stripped out of her clothes and had a shower.
With her sunhat and gloves on, she walked through her garden to check on her plants. She’d been briefly introduced to flowers in New York, but it was only once she got to Greenville that she learned the magic of plants. Magnolia, her grandaunt, taught her how to nurture and love a plant as it grew. Since then, she’d fallen in love with digging in the soil, planting seeds and watching everything bloom.
With her audiobook playing through the Bluetooth speakers in her greenhouse, she repotted orchids, having finally bought the perfect sized pots for them. Then checked on the succulents that seemed to not thrive at the shop but did well under her care. While she didn’t cook a lot, Daisy was growing tomatoes and zucchini along with some carrots and broccoli. Last year, she’d added peaches and strawberries to her growing space. She even had a small section dedicated to herbs. Her greenhouse wasn’t very big, but it was filled with colors and scents that comforted her. Even with her nose being sensitive to fragrances soon after a migraine, she found it soothing.
Working with plants always made her lose track of time, but it was one of the most calming things to do. Especially when she was coming down from something that had shaken her up. After watering her plants, she went back into her house to wash up. Changing out of her baggy gardening attire, she pulled her hair back in a messy fishtail braid and climbed into her truck. The drive took her all of twenty minutes and she was lucky to find a spot not too far from her destination. She slipped on her oversized denim jacket and tucked the mustard cap over her hair.
The minute she stepped into One Fell Scoop, Daisy wanted to leave. There were so many people and the overstimulation made her fingers twitch. Except she was craving ice cream and could already smell the waffle cones. Popping in her AirPods, she joined the line to place her order. If it was any other day, she would have been okay with the number of people. But coming off a killer migraine, this was a lot. Flipping the collar of her jacket up, she burrowed into it as her audiobook played, picking up where she’d left off while she was working. The firefighter was seducing the single dad again, tempting him with everything that she had to offer and he was absolutely falling for it.
Smiling to herself at the flirting between the characters, she surveyed the people around her. The group of teenagers ahead were sampling everything, laughing and having the best time. She was envious of their freedom because she never had that relationship with food at their age, always measuring and overthinking everything she ate.
Even though she’d been so young, she could remember the way her mother and maternal grandparents berated her about what she ate. The first six years of her life were spent being told that she was too dark, too ugly, too chubby and would stay that way if she didn’t do something about it. It was only later, after her father brought her to New York, that Daisy understood food was meant to be enjoyed.
For a while, she inhaled everything that was set in front of her. Nonna Ames, Rafferty’s grandmother, was the warmest person she’d ever met and also made the best food. She loved eating with the Ames family and enjoyed learning about different cuisines. Until the kids at school started making fun of her. It was similar to the words her mother used to say and it struck a chord.
She started to ration her food. She pretended to eat everything on her plate, but actually found ways to move things around to look like she’d had her fill. She joined the track team, believing that if she ran every single day, it would keep the weight down. She set a goal and did everything possible to reach that and maintain it.
Including standing on the weighing scale in her father’s bedroom as she nibbled.
That’s when Rafferty caught her.
There was no logic to why she’d done that, but in her mind it was the best way to know how much she was consuming. To her young and hurt soul, it made sense. Especially when every bite was accompanied by a familiar sound of disgust that echoed in her head.
It had been years since that incident and even now, she cringed thinking about that day. She no longer divided her food and didn’t overthink what she was eating, but there were often fleeting thoughts about whether or not she was ‘good enough’. Her body had changed drastically over the years and she was finally happy with the way she looked. However, she had one full-length mirror in her house, not entirely trusting her thoughts to be positive when she stood in front of it every day. Thanks to all the work she did at the shop and in her garden, as well as pole dancing classes with Monroe, she’d built up muscles.
While she wasn’t that chubby unhappy kid anymore, the unease about her body still lingered.
It took time and patience, but she loved herself and thanked her body every single day.
The line moving forward brought her back to the present and she peered into the display to see if she wanted to try something new. There were always interesting flavors added to their menu and while they tasted nice, she never deviated from her usual order.
When it was her turn, she smiled at the bored teenager behind the counter and pointed at the flavors, “Could I try the Butter Pecan and Blueberry Cheesecake, please?”
With an all-suffering sigh, they swiped tiny spoons through her choices and handed them over. She stepped to the side so the next person could place their order while she sampled the flavors. Pecan was her favorite kind of pie, so that was always a safe bet. And it was definitely impossible to mess up blueberry cheesecake flavored anything. She didn’t even care that she moaned, joining in the sounds on her audiobook.
Hold on a minute…
Her eyes popped open to find everyone staring at her.
“ The sound of her moaning spurred me on as I lapped at her wet cunt, tongue and fingers working in unison to push her over the edge. ‘That’s right, baby, come for me. Mess up my face, flood my tongue,’ I growled, eyes fixed on her ? —”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she gasped and fumbled as she pulled the phone out of her back pocket and hit pause. Her face was hot and stomach churned at the knowledge that everyone —little kids, teenagers, and adults—had heard that. Swallowing hard, she tugged her cap lower and pointed at the PB & J. “Can I have two scoops of that in a cup, thank you.”
Stepping around the counter, she hid in a small dark space and kept her head down. With her audiobook closed and her phone buried in the depths of her bag, Daisy tried to make herself small. Of course this would happen to me today, of all days . Shaking her head, she breathed slowly and closed her eyes. This was the kind of nightmare that all audiobook listeners had, and she wasn’t even a little surprised that it happened to her.