Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Beckett
On Saturday afternoon, I’m on my way out the door when a florist van pulls into the driveway.
“I have a delivery for Daisy Larsson.”
“I’ll take it.” After I scrawl my signature on the device, the delivery guy hands me a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. Two dozen by my count.
I carry them into the kitchen and set them on the counter. After a brief internal debate, so brief it can hardly qualify as a debate, I pluck out the card nestled in the blooms as if I have any right to read it.
Daisy isn’t home. She’s doing a portrait session with Callie and her boyfriend today.
Apparently, it’s a big deal that they’ve declared themselves an official couple and they want to commemorate the occasion.
You would think they were exchanging vows by how excited Daisy was for her friend. “It’s their second chance,” she said as if I didn’t understand the enormity of this momentous event.
To which I responded, “ If it didn’t work out the first time, there was obviously a good reason. It’s only a matter of time before the reason for their first breakup rears its ugly head and everything falls apart again.” That earned me a shake of the head and an exasperated sigh from Daisy before she strode out the door.
She hates it when I try to instill logic, and completely refused to accept that I made a very good point.
There are no do-overs in life. One strike, you’re out.
Anyway, the flowers…
My gut is telling me the douchebag sent the roses, and would you look at that? I was right.
Daisy—
You’re still my ride or die, and I don’t want to live without you.
Just give me one more chance. I know we can get it right this time.
I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.
Love, Finn
Who does this clown think he’s fooling? He obviously doesn’t have a fucking clue what being someone’s ride or die entails.
By definition, it means you’ve pledged your undying loyalty to that person.
Douchebag cheated on her— multiple times —thereby proving that he’s the furthest one can get from being anyone’s ride or die.
You’re a cheater, dude. You don’t have a loyal bone in your body and you don’t get another chance.
But it just goes to show how delusional he is to think he can make up for his actions by sending some measly flowers.
Red roses, to boot. How fucking predictable. What an unimaginative bore.
Doesn’t he know her at all? Daisy is not a red roses kind of girl.
Daisy is an array of rare, exotic blooms. A field of wildflowers. A unique flower to represent each personality trait.
Chaotic and colorful. Messy and unpredictable. Knowing and innocent. Sweet and dirty.
And what does he mean, he’ll be waiting for her?
Will he be sitting outside her front door? In her bed ?
Does he have keys to her apartment?
Fucking hell. I’ll bet he does. That would be just like Daisy to give her ex-boyfriend a set of keys.
No way around it. The flowers have to go.
I lift the lid off the swing bin and stuff the roses inside, bending the stems so they’ll fit better and shoving them all the way down so they’ll never see the light of day.
After pulling the bag out of the container, I crush them under the sole of my boot and tie the bag handles into a knot.
Some of the stems poke through the plastic so I snap them off, shove them back inside and double bag it just to be safe.
Fucking thorns. I suck a drop of blood off my skin as I carry the bag outside and toss it into the wheelie bin.
You’re garbage, dude. You never deserved Daisy.
On the off chance that Daisy will rummage through the wheelie bin, I cart it to the edge of the property for garbage pick up day and head back to the house.
Job done. All traces of those red roses are gone and forgotten.
The lengths I’ll go to ensure I’m not caught is almost laughable.
But if you ask me, I’m doing Daisy a favor.
That douchebag doesn’t deserve another chance.
“You’re still selling it?” Ledger asks in surprise as he sets a plate of tacos in front of me.
I take a bite of the fish taco and shrug. “Why wouldn’t I? That’s always been the plan.”
“Seems a shame after all the work you put into it,” Caiden says. “And for what it’s worth, you look a lot happier now than you did back in July. Sure you won’t reconsider?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I have an apartment in San Francisco overlooking the Bay and plans for another startup. What am I going to do with a vineyard?”
“Live on it. Run it. Drink wine. This time you can do it legally,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll never forget that time we drank that bottle of wine in the stables.”
“I’ll never forget how you threw up all over my sneakers,” Ledger says. “Never could hold your liquor.”
Caiden scowls. “I would have been fine if you two assholes hadn’t made me chug it and then run a lap around the stables.”
“That’s on you for succumbing to peer pressure,” I say with a shake of my head.
Ledger nods in agreement.
“No.” Caiden points at me. “We were playing Truth or Dare. None of us ever chose Truth. What did we even have to hide at twelve?” he says with a snort.
“Remember how Daisy covered for us?” Ledger says with a smile. “She was such a cool kid. Never ratted us out. She always tried to take the blame too.”
Yeah, she did. I forgot about that. Even as a kid, she was so fierce. So fucking loyal. She once told me she would sooner cut off her own arm than tattle on me.
In return, I always tried to be there for her. I remember dragging my friends to the grade school talent show because Daisy was in it and her mom had no interest in attending school functions. So I wanted to make sure someone was rooting for her.
Daisy did a little comedy skit that had us howling.
Shit. She was a funny kid.
“How much time do you have left?” Ledger asks, jolting me back to the present.
“Four days. It’s the final countdown.” I finish the taco in three more bites and take a pull of my beer.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Ledger says.
“We probably won’t see him for another decade or two,” Caiden says.
“Nah. We’ll stay in touch.”
Reconnecting with my old friends has been one of the more positive things that came out of this whole arrangement, so I don’t want to lose contact with them again.
Ironically, all three of my friends will be in Sutton Ridge now that Grayson bought that inn and is currently looking at real estate.
“So what about you and Daisy?” Caiden asks when Ledger moves to the other end of the bar to serve a customer.
“She’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine.” That was the plan all along but now I’m not sure how I feel about it.
That douchebag will be waiting for her when she returns to New York, so I’ll have to entice her to stay an extra week and fly directly to Madrid from here.
That way, she’ll save herself the hassle of an extra flight and avoid seeing the douchebag.
Two birds, one stone, perfect plan.
“So that’s how you’re gonna play it, huh?” Caiden strokes his jaw. “You’re just gonna pretend you and Daisy aren’t perfect for each other?”
I wouldn’t call us perfect. “That’s a stretch. I’m not sure you could find two people more opposite than me and Daisy.”
“Opposites attract.” Caiden points his beer bottle at me. “You should ask her on a date.”
“A date?” I say it like it’s a foreign word.
“Take her out to dinner. Maybe a movie…”
“We eat dinner together every night. And trust me, no one needs to pay good money to sit through a movie with Daisy. She talks right through it, narrates the whole fucking thing.”
Shit. I’m even going to miss that. I’m going to miss a lot of things about Daisy.
But her life is in Brooklyn and in all the cities she travels to for work, and my life is in San Francisco so there’s no point in dwelling on it.
Not like we ever had a future. We’re not even in a real relationship.
We’re just two people who made the best of a less-than-ideal situation.
Friends with benefits. A casual fling. Nothing more.
But maybe a night out isn’t such a bad idea. We could both use a change of scenery.
No need to label it as an official date.
Now I’m googling date-worthy restaurants and reading Yelp reviews for a tapas place that has a romantic patio like a lovesick teenybopper.
A romantic patio?
Who even am I?
Oh right. I’m the asshole who cut his hand on the thorns of the roses her ex sent.
The same asshole scheming ways to keep Daisy in Sutton Ridge to avoid seeing the ex.
Caiden says something and I grunt in response. No idea what he said. I’m too busy scrolling.
And just like that, I have the whole evening planned.
What better way to appreciate a movie than at a drive-in? Daisy will get a kick out of that. It will speak to her retro-loving heart. And I’m confident that watching Pulp Fiction with Daisy will be an experience like no other. She’ll dissect the characters’ goals and motivations, discuss the fashion, the music, and the cinematography, and put her own unique spin on the storyline.
After firing off a text informing Daisy that we’re going out tonight, I pocket my phone and throw some cash on the bar for my lunch. “I need to get going. I’ve got some errands to run.”
“Whoa.” Caiden holds up his hand like a traffic cop. “I just remembered that bet.” He holds out his palm and wiggles his fingers. “Time to pay up.”
I shoot him a scowl. “I never accepted that bet. What I do with Daisy is my business and none of yours.”
With a shake of my head, I stride to the door.
Does he think we’re still in high school?
“Called it,” Caiden crows.
“Have fun on your date,” Ledger calls.
I hear them laughing as the door closes behind me.
If you’re going to do something, there’s no point in half-assing it.
Which is why I show up at the front door with an enormous bouquet of flowers and a gold-foil box of hand-dipped chocolate-covered strawberries and orange peels.
Don’t ask me why I’m ringing the bell like I’m here to pick up my prom date, but it’s easier than trying to unlock it with both hands full.
The door swings open and Daisy’s smile slips. “What is this?”
“What does it look like? I got you flowers.” I thrust the bouquet at her. It’s so big she needs to use both hands to hold it. I can barely see her face behind the blooms.
“You got me flowers?”
I grab one of the terracotta urns from the front steps, the only vessel large enough to hold all the flowers, and trail Daisy to the kitchen.
After filling the urn halfway up with water from the faucet, I set it on the island.
Daisy places the bouquet into it then steps back, tilting her head to study it. She makes a few small adjustments until she’s happy with the arrangement then turns to face me.
Her brows knit. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean, am I okay?” I hand her the box of chocolates, fairly certain that I’m not okay. Those roses from her ex pushed me over the edge.
She lifts the lid and peeks inside then sets the chocolates on the counter and continues quizzing me. “Did you catch a deadly disease? Have you been given six months to live?” She presses her palm to my forehead. “Do you have a fever?”
“They’re just flowers. Stop making such a big deal out of it,” I say gruffly.
“These are not just flowers .” With a sweep of her hand, she gestures to the flowers cascading from the urn—peonies, snapdragons, delphinium, sweet pea, baby’s breath, ferns, trailing vines…the floral arrangement takes up most of the island and there’s not a goddamn rose in the bunch.
“This is the entire Garden of Eden. Did you leave any flowers for the rest of Sutton Ridge?”
I scoff as I check my phone messages. “Who gives a shit about the rest of Sutton Ridge?”
“What’s the occasion?”
You. You are the occasion.
But do I say that? No. “We’re nearly at the end. We’ve come through this alive and in one piece.” I pocket my phone and spread my arms. “I think that surviving this whole mess calls for a celebration, don’t you?”
Her face falls, but she quickly recovers and flashes me a bright smile. “Yeah, of course. That’s the perfect reason to celebrate.” She leans over and inhales the scent of the flowers. “Thank you. These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever received. In fact, I think it’s the first time anyone has ever brought me flowers,” she says with a light laugh.
Actually, it’s the second. Your ex-boyfriend sent you flowers but you wouldn’t know that because I destroyed them before you had a chance to appreciate just how unoriginal your ex is.
“I thought they looked like you,” I say.
“They’re gorgeous.”
“Like I said…”
She blushes. “Stop being so sweet. You’ll give me the wrong idea. Let’s just be us.”
I’m not even sure who that is anymore. I used to know what “us” looked like but that was before I got the bright idea to ask her out to dinner and buy out an entire boutique. Speaking of which…
I clear my throat. “I got you something else.”
Her brows shoot up. “More gifts?”
“Only because I ruined your dress.” I jog out the front door, grab the shopping bags and garment bags from the back seat of my car and carry them inside.
Daisy is standing at the door, gaping. “Did you buy out the entire store?”
Close enough. “If you don’t like them, you can return them and get whatever you want.”
“I…this is…it’s too much. You don’t have to buy me presents.”
“Like I said, I owed you a new dress.”
I carry them up the stairs and pile everything on her bed. When I’m done, you can’t even see the bedding—that’s how much shit I bought.
We both stare at the spoils of my shopping trip for a few moments without saying a word.
Not sure what there is to say about this . I might have gone a bit overboard.
When I described Daisy to the saleslady, she knew exactly who she was because she sold her the white sundress.
So I told her I’d take one of everything in Daisy’s size, and while she ran around the store gathering items of clothing, shoes and accessories for my approval, I sat on a velvet chair checking my emails and drinking a cappuccino.
“I was only joking about the dress,” Daisy says.
“I’m loaded, princess. I could buy you a hundred designer dresses and a closet full of shoes and it wouldn’t make a dent.”
Now I’m bragging about how much money I have?
Just how fucking low will I go?
I can tell by her expression that she’s not impressed.
In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s pissed.
“Sorry to break it to you but I’m not the gold digger you thought I was,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “So you can take this all back.” She glares at me, eyes shooting daggers. “I don’t want any of it.”
I love it when she gets all feisty but if she thinks I’m going to cave to her demands, she’s got another thing coming. “Get over yourself, princess. I’m not taking it back. If you don’t want it, you can take it all back. Or donate it to charity. Do whatever the hell you want with it.”
I grasp her chin in my hand and force her eyes to meet mine. “But don’t do it just to spite me or to prove some kind of point. I know you’re not a gold digger.” I brush my thumb over her lush, pouty lips before releasing her. “I was disabused of that notion pretty early on.”
She relaxes her shoulders, her gaze darting to the bed and chews on her lip. “So what’s with the grand gesture?” Her gaze flits over my face. “You don’t owe me anything.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Maybe I just like giving gifts.”
“Do you?” she asks skeptically.
Only to the people I care about. Of which there are only a few. And now, apparently, you are one of them.
I shrug again and back away toward the door. There’s no need to make a bigger deal out of this than she already has.
She smiles. “This is a whole new side of you. Is this your love language?” she teases.
I roll my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. Be ready by seven.” I spin and head out the door.
“Beckett?” I pause, my hand on the doorframe. “Thank you. I was just a bit overwhelmed. It wasn’t necessary but it was really nice of you.”
Nice is not a word anyone would use to describe me.
Most of my actions are either driven by guilt or revenge.
But I just tip my chin in acknowledgment and then stride down the hall.
Why did I do this?
But there’s no real need to question it.
The answer is obvious. I was trying to one-up that douchebag. Not because I’m jealous, but because I hate cheaters.
Let’s face it, the guy’s a loser. It would be beneath me to be jealous of him.