Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Beckett
A few hours later, the X-rays confirm that it’s a sprain, and Daisy leaves the hospital with a compression bandage on her wrist, her arm in a sling, and a scowl on her face.
“I told you it would be a waste of your time,” she mutters, fastening her seat belt.
“Better safe than sorry.” I reverse out of my parking spot and pull onto the road. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. For caring.” She quickly averts her gaze and stares out the side window like thanking me cost her a lot.
Instead of thanking me, she should be blaming me for putting her in that room in the first place, but those words never leave her mouth, and I don’t think she blames me at all. Which only makes me feel guiltier.
“Can we stop at the store on the way home? We need milk and coffee, and I need to buy tampons.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure.”
By the time I pull into the parking lot fifteen minutes later, Daisy is fast asleep, so I cut the engine and wait a few minutes, hoping the lack of motion will wake her.
When she doesn’t even stir, I leave her sleeping and go into the grocery store alone.
After filling my cart with chocolate and ice cream and enough oranges to ward off scurvy, should she ever be shipwrecked on a deserted island, I head to the feminine hygiene aisle.
The array of choices is so mind-boggling that I have to consult Google for answers.
How the fuck should I know if it’s a heavy flow or a light one? First day of her cycle or the middle of the cycle?
I’m so clearly out of my depth that I spend a good five minutes just staring at the shelves.
Fuck it. I grab jumbo boxes of every size and brand available and toss them into my cart until they are piled high.
Job done.
If there’s ever an apocalypse, Daisy won’t have to worry about running out of tampons.
I turn to go when someone calls my name.
Callie gives me a big smile as her gaze lowers to my cart. “So, I’m guessing you’re shopping for Daisy.”
“Well, they’re certainly not for me,” is my brilliant response.
She laughs. “Weird how we’re synced up, isn’t it?” Fantastic. Now I can chart Callie’s menstrual cycle, too. “You should get these.” She tosses a couple more boxes into my overflowing cart and chooses one for herself. Just the one .
“I’m all set. Thanks,” I say, pushing my cart up the aisle and veering right, away from Callie.
But she falls into step with me and pushes her cart alongside mine, continuing the conversation. “How’s Daisy’s wrist?”
“Sprained.”
“Ugh, that sucks. She’ll go stir-crazy if she can’t work on the vineyard. She’s used to always being on the move,” Callie says. “Traveling the world. Seeking new adventures. You’ll have to keep her entertained.”
“I’m sure she can entertain herself.” I scan the checkout lanes to see which has the shortest line and make a beeline for the one at the far end with only one person before me.
“She texted me from the hospital before the doctor saw her,” Callie says. “It meant a lot to her that you took time to be there for her. She was worried that she was wasting your time and keeping you from something more important.”
“She said that?” I don’t know why I’m questioning it. Daisy said as much in the car. But I didn’t realize she was so worried that she would feel compelled to mention it to Callie.
Now I’m wondering if I acted impatient or gave her the impression that she was wasting my time.
“Not in so many words. I read between the lines,” Callie admits. “But I get the feeling she’s used to handling things herself. It sounds as if she’s been on her own for a long time, but she plays it off like it’s no big deal, you know? So, what you did was really nice. Well…see you tomorrow.” She backs away and gives me a little wave before pushing her cart up an aisle to resume shopping.
I’m still thinking about Callie’s words when my phone pings with a text.
Grayson
Is this a good time to talk?
I do need to talk to Grayson.
We’re getting a lot of pressure from the board and our investors to sell to the highest bidder, a vast corporation that wants to swallow us whole and refuses to negotiate.
We turned them down last year, and now they’ve come back with another offer.
But this isn’t the right time for that conversation so I text back.
Nope.
As soon as I pocket my phone, it starts ringing. I let the call go to voicemail, but he calls again.
If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling just to annoy me, so I swipe my thumb over the screen. “Which part of no did you not understand?”
“I feel like you’re ignoring me.”
“You’re like a jealous lover. So clingy,” I tsk, just as the woman ringing up my order announces, “These tampons are on special. If you buy two?—”
“I’m good with what I have.”
She hums. “Well, okay, if you say so. But you could save some money.”
“Why the fuck are you buying tampons?” Grayson says. “Did you grow a vagina?”
I swipe my card over the reader and tuck it back into my wallet. I have no idea why I answered his call. “I’ll call you later.”
I cut the call, grab my bags, and stride out the door with a year’s supply of tampons.
This is what I get for putting Daisy in a room with enough water damage to sink the Titanic—a trip to the ER, a tampon-buying excursion, and a little reminder from Callie that Daisy isn’t quite as tough as she lets on.
And apparently, it’s now my job to entertain her.
“Should I just mute the volume and let you narrate the movie?” I say.
“I mean…you could. But why would you?”
She looks genuinely confused, like she doesn’t realize she’s been keeping a running commentary since the movie began.
Daisy isn’t even facing the TV. She’s leaning against the arm of the leather sofa, legs kicked out in front of her, with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
“Who wouldn’t agree to be the getaway driver for a crime boss to protect someone they love?” she muses. “ Of course, he’s going to say yes. He literally doesn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. He made the wrong one.”
“Oh, right. And I guess you would just say…who cares what happens to my girlfriend. Let some asshole put a gun to her head for all I care.” She stuffs a handful of buttered popcorn into her mouth and shoots me dagger eyes. “You’re so heartless. It wasn’t even his fault. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Sucks to be him. A fictional character in a movie .”
“Something like this could easily happen, though,” she argues.
“On a film set in LA, sure, happens all the time.”
She tosses a piece of popcorn at me. Or at least she tries to hit me. Turns out Daisy isn’t nearly as ambidextrous as she claimed to be.
She tries again, but the popcorn veers to the far right and flies over the back of the sofa. I lunge across the seat, scoop up a handful from the bowl, and settle back in my spot on the opposite end of the couch.
“You can turn the sound back on now,” she says. I toss a piece of popcorn at her face without even bothering to take aim. It hits her square in the forehead. The next one hits her top lip. She plucks it from her lap and pops it into her mouth. “I want to see if anyone dies.”
Not sure she needs the sound for that. If she actually watches the movie, she’ll see if anyone dies, but I don’t bother arguing. She’ll only pick holes in my logic and make some ridiculous argument to show that I’m wrong and she’s right.
“Try again.” She opens her mouth wide, and I have no idea why I’m playing these juvenile games, but I toss a kernel of popcorn and get a hole in one.
“Hey! You’re good at this.” She beams as if I’m competing for a gold medal in an Olympic sport.
Her mouth opens again, and on command, I toss another piece of popcorn into it like I’m feeding seals at the zoo. “It’s a pretty easy target.”
“If we ever go to a fair or a carnival, I’m going to make you win me a prize.”
“Those games are all rigged,” I say. “They’re just waiting for some poor sucker to come along who tries to impress their girlfriend by spending a hundred bucks and walking away with a shitty prize worth five measly dollars.”
“You’re such a cynic,” she says, tucking her cold feet under my thighs like they fucking belong there. If she weren’t injured, I’d smack them away. “I guess we don’t have to question why no self-respecting carnival worker would ever let you walk away with a stuffed unicorn.”
Fuck. She’s funny. No one has ever made me laugh as much as Daisy does.
When the movie ends, I walk her upstairs, and we stop outside the bedroom I moved her into earlier.
She puts her hand on my arm to stop me from leaving and rises onto her tiptoes.
Then she presses her lips to my throat and kisses my Adam’s apple.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she says with a shy smile, biting her lip. “Thanks for everything. Good night, Beckett.”
“Good night, Daisy,” I say long after her bedroom door closes.
The backs of my knuckles brush the column of my throat as I stride down the hallway.
I can still feel her lips on my skin.