3. Chapter 3
three
DAISY
Opening the oven door, I reach inside with oven mitts and pull out a cake tin. The aroma of chocolate, vanilla, and sugar fills the small kitchen.
Sally sits on a stool at the faux-marble counter and grabs a fork to dig into the spongy cake. I slap her hand away. “Sorry, this one isn’t for you. It’s for my dad. He’s having guests at his house tomorrow after Sunday service.”
The fork clatters on the counter. “You could’ve at least baked two.”
Smiling at her disgruntled expression, I turn back to the oven, pull out another tin, and slide it in front of her. “Would I let you miss out?”
“You’re the best.” She claps with glee. I pick up a fork, and we both dig in, even though we should wait until it’s cooled.
“Mmm.” Decadence bursts into my mouth. Chocolate cake, the richer the better, is my weakness. “So good.”
“I would have sex with it if I could.” Sally’s eyes roll back as she forks a still-steaming piece into her mouth.
Laughing, I point my fork at her. “Are you going all American Pie on me?”
“No, I’d rather the real thing. Are you sure you don’t want to go out dancing instead of doing a class on how to grow herbs? Your monthly pick sounds boring. We could be dancing with some hotties in a club and maybe get a little action afterwards.” She playfully wiggles her eyebrows.
I shake my head. “We’ve gone dancing before, so it’s not ‘trying something new’. You’ll love learning how to grow herbs.”
Sally pulls a face like she’s not convinced. “What use do we have learning how to grow basil?”
“Just think how great our food will taste when we cook with fresh herbs.”
“And where will we put these plants?” She waves her arm around. “Our apartment is as big as a shoebox.”
“The windowsill?” I suggest.
We both glance over to the window where we already have cereal boxes stored. Sally turns back and raises an eyebrow.
“I’ll think of something.”
Sally groans and bumps her head up and down on the counter. “Why are you doing this to me? I thought we were friends.”
Ignoring her comment, I pat her soothingly on the back. “Just think of how many skills we’ll have when the year is over.”
She lifts her head and frowns. “Thank God you only get six choices.”
***
The next day, I juggle the boxed chocolate cake and a pot of thyme and parsley from last night’s herb planting class into Dad’s house.
All evening, I listened to Sally moan and groan about how boring the class was, and how, if I ever pull another stunt like that again, she’s disowning me as her friend.
I will never admit that it was a little on the snooze side.
Put a plant in dirt. Is there really any need for a class?
Once, I loved doing those kinds of activities, but after last month’s tattoo stunt, everything pales compared to it.
Although, I can’t work out if that’s because of the excitement of getting a tattoo or because of the man who dared me?
I still can’t believe I haven’t looked into having it removed.
Something about having the tall, dark, and dangerous-looking stranger’s name on me is exhilarating.
It’s a little reminder of the most reckless thing I’ve done in my life.
I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
How can I when I see his name every time I undress?
I wonder if he thinks about me too. I dismiss the thought immediately.
Of course he doesn’t. He didn’t even want to tattoo my name on his body. That still stings. He deceived me.
Walking toward the kitchen, the basil slips from the top of the cake box and tilts toward the floor.
“Here, let me help you.” A man rushes to my side and stops the pot from crashing to the ground.
“Thank you.” I smile. This must be one of Dad’s guests.
He takes the other pot from the top of the box.
“No problem.” He smiles back. One deep dimple creases his right cheek.
Dark blonde hair is neatly combed back from his face.
“I’m Evan Whitlock.” He introduces himself.
“I’m here with my parents. They like to drag me to these meetings like I’m ten years old. ” He rolls his eyes playfully.
“I’m Daisy Barlowe.” We place the cake and plants on the counter.
“Yes, I know. Pastor Barlowe showed me your photograph in the living room.
Inwardly, I groan. Evan is handsome. Looks put together in his well-tailored gray pants and navy sweater.
He’s probably a lawyer, dentist, or doctor.
They’re the occupations Dad seems to favour.
This wasn’t a get-to-know-the-new-members-of-our-congregation, it’s another setup.
It’s only been one month since Jeremy and I broke up.
I wonder if Evan is aware that he’s the next victim?
“My dad mentioned you’re new to L.A.” I take out a serving tray from a cupboard, unbox the cake and place it on top.
“I’ve lived here for six years. It’s my parents who’ve moved here from Oregon. They want to be closer to their grandchildren.”
I reach for the coffee cups on the side of the counter and pause. “You have children?” Maybe Dad isn’t setting us up.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “No. I don’t have kids. They’re hoping for them soon. They think being close will put the pressure on. They’re going to have to wait a while, considering I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I giggle as I put the cups on the tray. Next, I add small plates and silverware. “You know this is a setup, right?” I’m going to have to have a talk with my father and get him to stop. This is embarrassing.
Smiling, he dips his head. That one dimple is actually adorable, but just because Evan is cute doesn’t make this right. Although my father could have done a worse job with his choice.
“I had my suspicions when my parents insisted I meet the lovely Pastor Barlowe and his daughter from their new church. Then, I’d barely walked through the door before he showed me your photo and sang your praises, and my suspicions were confirmed.
It’s not the first time my parents have pulled something like this. ”
“My dad is the master of matchmaking. He won’t be happy unless I’m married with three kids before I’m thirty.” At twenty-six, he thinks time is running out. I’m happy to wait for the right man, but unfortunately, the longer I’m single, the harder he pushes.
“My mother cries and tells me she’ll be dead before she ever gets to experience the love of a grandchild.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, not able to hold back a giggle. “Oh, that’s such emotional blackmail.”
“Yep.” He laughs.
Taking a pot of coffee that’s been percolating, I place it next to the tray. “Well, I guess we'd better go face them.”
“I bet they’ll have a marriage contract written up by the end of the afternoon.” He grins.
“You joke. But it’s highly probable.”
Evan picks up the tray. “Ready?”
I pull in a deep breath. “Ready.” I pick up the pot of coffee and carry it into the living room.
After being introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock by my father, I pour the coffee, offer them cake, and take a seat.
For the next hour, we chat. It comes as no surprise that Evan is an obstetrician.
Big tick in Dad’s book. I have to admit, Dad has done well this time with his choice.
As first impressions go, Evan is handsome, intelligent, funny, and easy to talk to.
Except every time he smiles at me with that cute dimple, I can’t help thinking about another man.
One who has nothing ‘cute’ about him. He's the complete opposite of Evan. A man my father would never approve of. He could be the top brain surgeon in America, yet Dad would see the harshness in him and deem him unsuitable. I even think he’s unsuitable.
Evan is more my type. Not tattoo shop man.
I have to get his name removed as soon as possible.
That way, I can stop thinking about him.
A few times, Evan gives me that cute dimple smile. No spark of electricity hits me, but it does give me a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Who knows? Maybe Evan Whitlock is the man I’ll eventually see a future with.