14. Weston
14
Weston
“ I probably should have told you this, but I have a fear of heights.” Daisy’s gaze moves from me to the rocky cliff face, then back again.
I smile. “It’s perfectly safe, I promise. I’ve walked it many times.” Admittedly, I didn’t tell her the trail is challenging in places. After she spent two days locked in her room, I was desperate to get her outside. I know she’s hurting from Jess’s careless actions, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her sitting alone in her room for a minute longer. When she finally came out this morning, I threw together some food, stuffed the Nikon and a few towels in my backpack, and casually told her I was going for a walk. I was relieved when it took little to convince her to join me. What she needs is a distraction, something to make her forget Jess, and I know that getting her to shoot is the best way.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“But… I’m not dressed for rock-climbing.” Her gaze drops to her sundress, a beautiful, buttery yellow that makes her pale skin glow in the sun, that makes every freckle on her bare shoulders and arms stand out like constellations. She’s right, it’s not the ideal outfit for hiking across the rugged shoreline and onto the secluded beach and meadow at Sullivan’s Cove, but when she entered the kitchen this morning looking like a golden angel, I couldn’t tell her to go change. I could barely take my eyes off her, as inappropriate as it may be. I’m used to seeing her in a plain tee and black jeans at Joe’s, hair pulled back from her face, but since we’ve been away, she’s let her hair down—both literally and figuratively. She’s always friendly and upbeat at Joe’s, but this Daisy is different. More real, more raw. I’m seeing a side to her that I didn’t know was there. A side I probably shouldn’t see, and yet, I can’t make myself look away.
“You’ll be fine. We just need to be careful on the rocks.” I motion to her sensible Keds. “You’re wearing good footwear, and that’s all you need. Trust me, it will be worth it for the other side.”
She narrows her eyes, a hesitant smile playing on her mouth as if she’s considering whether to trust me. “Alright,” she says at last. “You lead the way.”
That she’s smiling at all feels like a win. I grin, hiking the backpack up on my shoulders and stepping around her to begin the journey up the jagged rock face. To our right, the cliff rises steeply to houses above; to our left, the surf pounds the rocks, sending a salty mist over us as we climb. I’ve walked these rocks so often I know the terrain well, but the surface is unstable and takes some getting used to, and I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure Daisy is okay.
We reach a particularly tricky part as we begin our descent onto the secluded beach, and after stepping off a high rock, I pause and turn to offer a hand to Daisy. She glances at my outstretched palm, then at my face, swallowing. The waves crash loudly below us, but I can’t hear anything above the roar of my pulse as her skin comes into contact with mine. Her gaze locks on me as she carefully lowers herself down the rocks, hand tightening in my grip. I should be watching her step, making sure she’s steady, but I can’t tear my eyes from hers.
This is a mistake, though. She catches her foot on a rough piece of rock and loses her balance, stumbling forward. I catch her just in time, my heart hurling itself against my ribcage as I steady her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed and breathless, nodding. “Yes. Thank you.”
I release her and tear myself away, practically jogging down the path onto the sand. Anything to put some distance between us.
Daisy reaches me a moment later, a little out of breath, but smiling. “It’s beautiful here.”
I follow her gaze across the teal-colored water, shimmering in the midday sun like millions of diamonds scattered from here to the horizon. It laps at our feet, quiet and gentle in this sheltered cove, in contrast to the thundering of the surf against the rocks around the bend.
In contrast to the thundering of my heart.
I tug the backpack off and set it on the sand, near the dunes. There’s no one here for miles because there’s no direct road here. Most people prefer to swim on the main beach and don’t make the trek to this side, which is why I prefer it here. I get the vast expanse of ocean, land, and sky all to myself.
Pulling the camera from the backpack, I busy myself with removing the lens cap and pretending to polish the lens, reminding myself why we’re really here. Daisy needs cheering up after what Jess did. I still can’t believe my son was stupid enough to bring another woman home. Stupid and thoughtless. And God, when I saw Daisy in a ball on her bed after he left, fighting tears, I didn’t think—I just went to her. I was propelled to her side by a need to comfort her. In a way, I feel partly responsible. I mean, it was my idiot son, wasn’t it?
But once I’d lowered myself onto the mattress beside her, once I’d let myself touch her arm in an attempt to take back the hurt Jess had caused, I knew I’d gone too far. Because I didn’t just want to comfort her, I wanted to pull her close. I wanted to bury my face in her hair and breathe in her sweet, citrusy scent.
I shouldn’t have asked her to stay for the rest of the week. Of course I shouldn’t. But I can’t explain the panic that wound through me when she said she was leaving, and I meant what I said, that she still deserves a vacation. It felt like the least I could do for her after Jess’s behavior.
I glance back at Daisy, staring out across the ocean, lost in thought, and shame washes over me like a wave. Here I am, obsessing about my feelings for her, while she’s still hurting from my son’s actions. It might have been a few days, but that doesn’t mean she’s over it.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently. “After… everything?”
She glances back at me. “I’m okay.”
I fiddle with the settings on the camera, even though I can’t remember how the damn thing works. “You know, it’s okay if you need to cry, or… whatever. You’re allowed to be upset.”
She seems to contemplate this for a moment. “I’m… I’m not, really. Not upset.”
My brows draw together. I recall the way she curled on the mattress, the tension in her body as I sat beside her. The fact that she barely left her room for two days. Of course she was upset.
She catches my confused expression, shaking her head. “I mean, it was a crappy thing to do—”
“It was a crappy thing to do,” I cut in. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“Maybe I did,” she mutters, and indignation burns in my chest. “I wasn’t with him for the right reasons,” she adds. “And… I probably shouldn’t have come away with him.”
I’m not sure what she means by this, but I don’t press her to explain. “Either way, that doesn’t justify—”
“No, it doesn’t. But… I’m not really upset, so much as”—she carefully inspects her hands—“embarrassed by what he said about me in front of you.”
Ah.
Sick of you, Miss Uptight, who wants to fucking talk all the time instead of actually fuck…
Jesse’s words replay through my head, as they have since the moment he uttered them. I’ve tried not to pick them apart, because they’re none of my business, but I keep getting stuck on that last part— instead of actually fuck . Did they not sleep together? I know they weren’t at the house much, but I assumed they’d been at Daisy’s place.
I shake my head. Of course they were sleeping together. They’re young; they would have been going at it like rabbits. I bet it was more that Jess got sick of the fact that she also wanted to talk sometimes, too. God forbid.
I shove the thoughts from my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. Their sex life is their business, and Daisy has just said how embarrassed she is that I know more than I should.
“Don’t worry about it,” I mutter, waving a hand, as if I can somehow wave the entire topic out of my head. “I can barely remember what he said.”
She glances at me uncertainly, trying to read my face. I’m not sure if she believes me, but she seems to accept my answer.
“He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that in front of me,” I add, furrowing my brow. “Or at all, actually. You did nothing wrong.”
Daisy runs her eyes over my face, letting out a long sigh. “That’s not… entirely true.”
I gaze at her in disbelief. I find it impossible to imagine Daisy could have done anything to justify Jesse’s behavior.
She twists her lips to the side. “I…” She grimaces, looking away. “I was planning to end things with him, anyway.”
Huh.
I digest this information, refusing to acknowledge the flicker of satisfaction I feel at knowing she didn’t want to be with him.
I am the worst father on the planet.
“I’m sorry,” she adds quietly.
“Sorry? For what?”
She brings her gaze back to mine, eying me uncertainly. “I know you wanted us to be together, that you thought I was good for him, and I tried to make it work, really I did, but… it wasn’t right between us. I’m sorry for letting you down.”
My breath comes rushing out in shock. Is that really what she’s thinking right now, that she’s let me down?
“Daisy… I’m so sorry if you thought you couldn’t end things because of me. I never meant…” I shake my head. “That wasn’t fair that you had to carry that expectation.”
“I wanted to help him.” She shrugs, looking down at her hands again. “I tried to talk to him about his relationship with you, but he wouldn’t let me in. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Hey.” I set the camera on the backpack and take her gently by the shoulders, forcing her gaze to mine. I know I probably shouldn’t touch her again, but it feels imperative that she hears this, that she understands how serious I am. “It’s not your job to repair my relationship with my son. It’s not your job to make Jesse’s life better. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you had to take on that responsibility.”
Her breathing becomes shallow as her dark gaze bores into mine. The beach around us falls away, and I become aware of the softness of her skin under my hands, the heat emanating from her. Her loose hair lifts in the breeze, swirling around us, and for a moment I imagine it becoming a curtain, shielding us from the world, creating a place where we can hide together. A place where I can press my mouth to hers, draw her body close, and let my hands roam across every soft curve of her skin.
A seagull wheels overhead, its piercing cry snapping me back to my senses, and I inhale a shuddering breath, stepping back.
What the hell am I doing? Only a few days ago she was Jesse’s girlfriend. Yes, he ruined things, and yes, she wanted to end it too, but that doesn’t mean I can have her. I can’t betray my son by getting together with his ex-girlfriend, despite how hurtful and thoughtless he was. He’s still my son after all, and on top of that, I can’t be with someone my own son has been with. That’s just wrong. It goes against the laws of nature or something.
And even if none of that were true, there are other things standing between us. Daisy is young and full of life. She has her entire future ahead of her. Meanwhile, I come with so much baggage I need my own 747 to fly.
I turn away to stare at the sea, knowing I need to take a moment away from Daisy to get my head straight. The sun beats down on us, making my skin prickle with heat, but I know that’s not the only thing affecting me.
“I’m going in,” I mutter, tugging my shirt off and striding into the water before I have a chance to hear Daisy’s response. I dive into the surf and swim ten yards out, putting as much distance as I possibly can between us without vanishing into the Long Island Sound.
I’m about to swim a few laps to cool off when I glimpse Daisy on the beach. She hesitates before peeling her dress over her head, revealing that damned white string bikini underneath. Then she cautiously wades into the small waves with her head lowered.
I tread water, my gaze riveted on the creamy skin of her bare stomach, her thighs. I feel like a fucking pervert, but I can’t tear my gaze from her curves, from the smattering of freckles across her chest, her dark hair cascading to her waist, and the way her breasts perfectly fill out the tiny triangles of fabric. I could untie that bikini in one motion and pull it off. I could grab her by the waist and pull her into me and taste her—
Stop .
I tear my gaze from her figure and clench my fists under the water, but it’s too late. The image sends blood rushing south, and my cock stiffens in my trunks.
Jesus fucking Christ, I need to get my shit together.
You can’t have her , I remind myself. She can never be yours .
It takes ten minutes of furious swimming for my dick to get the message, and only when she’s back on the sand in her dress again do I stalk out of the water and pull my towel from the backpack, unable to look at her. Shame claws at me as I tug my shirt over my damp skin and snatch up the camera again. I’m so fucking irritated, letting myself get distracted from the reason I brought her out here. Today isn’t about me. I need to get out of my head and focus on what Daisy needs.
Turning to the ocean, I frame up a shot, trying to capture the way the sun reflects off the surface of the water. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but that doesn’t matter. I need her to be tempted by the camera. All I want to do today is to get Daisy to shoot one photo. One photo, and I’ll be happy.
After playing with the camera for a while, the heat becomes too much, but there’s no way I’m getting back in the water with her. I search for shade, spying some trees in the meadow that meets the reserve beyond the low dunes. Maybe we can sit there and get out of the sun for a while.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing for Daisy to follow me. I hoist the backpack onto my shoulder as we head through the dunes and into the meadow. The grass is knee high, a vibrant green, filled with white and yellow daisies.
Daisy gasps as we wade into the grass, and I set the backpack down under a gray birch tree.
“Wow. So many daisies,” she murmurs, plucking one with a melancholy smile. “They’re my favorite.” She holds the flower and gazes down at it, her expression so soft and unguarded that I can’t help myself. I lift the Nikon and snap a picture of her.
She blinks, glancing up.
“Is that because they’re your namesake?” I ask, watching her through the lens. I don’t take another picture, not yet, but I get the sense that having something between us might make her feel less exposed.
She breathes out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No. They’re not my namesake.”
I’m so busy watching her through the viewfinder that I don’t even process her words properly. Not until she adds,
“The truth is… my name isn’t Daisy.”