21. Daisy
21
Daisy
W eston’s front door closes behind me, and I stand on the stoop, the light of summer evening painting the street a pretty gold. My throat is tight as I think about what just happened. How is this fair? That I had a taste of him, only for that to be yanked away?
I never should have told him I’m a virgin. That’s what did it. He realized I’m too inexperienced, and it freaked him out. I can’t blame him because it’s true; I have no idea what I’m doing. No doubt my clumsy kissing in the darkroom made that abundantly clear, and when I said I wanted to feel him between my legs…
My face heats with shame. What came over me? I’ve never been so brazen in my life.
But that’s the way I am with Weston. I don’t recognize myself, my thoughts. I don’t recognize the way my body reacts around him, the need that pulses through me. The way I want him so badly that I can’t think of anything else, can’t eat, can’t sleep.
And I’ll never get to have him.
I knew this all along, but after seeing the darkroom, after the way he pulled me back against him when I pressed my mouth to his… a tiny spark of hope flared to life in my chest. I got greedy and wanted all of him.
But he’s worried about the age gap between us.
I’m forty-three, about to be forty-four…
Of course he thinks I’m too young. I’m only two years older than his son, for Christ’s sake, and nothing in the world will ever change that.
I look down at the Nikon in my hand, my heart thudding hard. I don’t want to take his camera and go shoot without him.
But I also don’t want to go home right now.
I’m forty-three, about to be forty-four…
His words play through my head again as I absently descend the steps. He must have a birthday coming up. I wonder if Jess will do something for him. That seems unlikely, and a knot forms in my chest as I think about him spending his birthday alone.
But I can’t let myself think about that. He doesn’t want me in his life anymore, and I understand. I hate it, but I understand.
“Daisy?”
I pause on the bottom step, blinking out of my reverie. Violet stands in front of me, her head tilted curiously.
“Oh. Hey.” I clear the rust from my voice and paint on a smile.
“What are you doing here?” She motions to Weston’s house behind me, and I glance back over my shoulder.
Nothing, just having my heart broken .
“Uh, a friend lives here,” I say vaguely.
“You know Wes?”
I did .
“I…” I look back at her in surprise. “How do you know him?”
Violet laughs. “I live here.” She gestures to the building next door, and something on her hand catches my eye. It’s a ring.
“Oh my God.” I reach for her hand, and she giggles.
“Oh, yeah.” She extends her arm so I can see. It’s a round cut emerald with tear-drop diamonds on either side, on a tapered white-gold band.
“Holy crap,” I breathe. “That’s beautiful. Congratulations.” I glance up at her beaming face. “When did this happen?”
“When you were out of town. Kyle actually tried to do it at Joe’s. He wanted to keep a table by the wall free, but he wasn’t counting on you being away. His plan kind of fell apart.”
I croak out a laugh. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly! I heard you were off with a rich boyfriend at the beach.” She grins, nudging me, and heat crawls up my neck.
“How did you…”
“Jaya told me. At Joe’s.”
How the hell did Jaya know what I was doing? Celine must have blabbed, but she should get her facts straight. It’s not Jess who’s made all that money. It’s his dad.
“I remember you telling me last year you were interested in an older guy who came into Joe’s,” Violet says, lowering her voice. Her gaze slides back to Weston’s house, and her eyes shimmer. “Now it makes sense.”
“No—” I grab her arm and usher her away from Weston’s stoop, further along the street. “I was dating his son, Jess, but that… didn’t work out.”
Violet’s brows draw together. “Right. I think I saw him a couple times. But what happened to the older guy you mentioned?”
Against my better judgment, my gaze strays back to Wes’s. “Oh, it… He… It didn’t work out.”
Violet follows my gaze, understanding softening her features. “I see. Did you know that Jess was his son?”
“Not until it was too late.”
“It’s never too late,” Violet murmurs.
I straighten my spine. “Well, it doesn’t matter because even if Wes could get past that, he told me…” I shake my head, biting down on my tongue. He’s her neighbor, for God’s sake. An interesting coincidence, sure, but that means I can’t really talk to her about him, can I? “Never mind.”
Violet leans in closer. “For what it’s worth, I respect the girl code. You’re a friend and I’d never tell him anything you told me.”
I open and close my mouth, desperate to talk to someone about this. Desperate to get it off my chest.
“Okay,” I say at last. “He said he’s too old for me. I’m not… very experienced.” I rub my face, as if I can rub away the embarrassment. “I think he sees me as too young.”
“Vi!” a male voice calls from behind me, and I turn to see Kyle approaching. “Oh, hey, Daisy.”
“Hi.”
I shuffle away from Violet, hoping he didn’t catch anything I said. He leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, and Violet waves him away.
“I’m chatting to Daisy. Girl talk. You wouldn’t be interested.”
Kyle smiles wryly. “Right. Well, I know when I’m not wanted.”
He chuckles and ascends their steps before disappearing into the house. When I turn back to Violet, she’s looking at the camera in my hand.
“Ah, so you’re the photographer.”
My brows rise. “What?”
A smile plays on Violet’s mouth. “Kyle was over at Wes’s every night last week, installing a darkroom in his basement. At first, Wes said it was for him, but then he slipped up and said something that made Kyle think it wasn’t for him at all. That it was for a woman.”
I press a hand to my hot cheek. “Well, yes. Sort of. He did do that for me.”
“That’s pretty incredible.”
“Then he said we couldn’t see each other anymore, so…” I shrug, fiddling with the Nikon. “I don’t know what to think.”
Violet nods slowly. “You know he lost his wife a few years back, right?”
There’s a twinge in my heart. “Yeah.”
“Honestly, Daisy…” Violet sighs, twisting her engagement ring on her finger. “I don’t know a single guy who would go to the trouble of doing something as generous and thoughtful as making a darkroom for someone if they didn’t have feelings for them. Serious feelings.”
My heart swells at the thought. I want to believe that. I really do. But the sting of him telling me we can’t see each other anymore is still fresh.
“Just give him time,” Violet says gently. “He’s probably shit scared. Yes, you’re young, but look at me and Kyle. Age doesn’t stand in the way of love.” She gnaws on her lip in thought, before conceding, “It’s obviously a little complicated, with his son and all, but I don’t think it’s about your age, and as for inexperience, I doubt he cares about that. He probably likes it.” She chuckles, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “He’ll get there when he’s ready.”
“Maybe,” I murmur. I glance along the street, toward the Clark Street subway. The last thing I feel like doing right now is getting on that train and going home. Sitting with the gnawing feeling of rejection from Wes. Dealing with Denise.
Remembering the weight of the camera in my hands, I turn back to Violet. “Is there anywhere around here that would be good to photograph?”
Her eyes widen eagerly. “Uh, yeah. This entire neighborhood is gorgeous. What are you looking for?”
I lift a shoulder, faltering. I liked shooting the meadow and beach at Sullivan’s Cove, which is not an option here, obviously. But the light at this time of the evening is so pretty, and Violet’s right, the neighborhood is beautiful. Being a historic district, it’s full of nineteenth-century brownstones and townhouses that remind me of a different time.
“I have an idea,” Violet says before I can answer. “One sec.” She dashes up the steps to her place and calls to Kyle that she’s heading out for an hour, before appearing back at my side. “Let’s go.” I let her take me by the arm and tug me along the street. She’s so excited I can’t help but laugh.
“Where are we going?”
She slides me a mischievous smile. “To a secret little place that you have to photograph. You’ll love it.”
A giggle escapes me. My chest warms with gratitude at Violet’s attempt to distract me from Weston, and for a brief second, it almost works.
We cross the street, continue along for a while, then round a corner into a tiny side street I would have missed. It’s a short, narrow lane with a row of unusual buildings along one side. Buildings that look like garages, or something, but not from this time.
“What is this place?” I ask, curiosity making my fingers flex on the Nikon. The buildings are unique and beautiful, and the urge to capture them on film has me raising the camera to my eye before she’s even answered.
“Hunts Lane,” Violet says beside me. “These are carriage houses.”
“Carriage houses?”
She nods. “Built in the 1860s and used as horse stables. Look at the architectural details, like the brickwork above the arches.”
I lower the camera for a moment to take them in more clearly. The first two buildings in the lane are a pair of redbrick two-story homes, with black wooden double-height doors curving into a graceful arch at the top. They look to be used as garages today, but I can imagine where the horses would have entered. The rounded windows and front entryways on each side mirror the large middle arch, their rooflines extending to two points directly over the arches, marking the pair of buildings perfectly symmetrical.
I can’t quite explain why, but the photographer in me loves it.
I lift the camera again and find a position that best frames their symmetry in the evening light. A few adjustments of the settings, and I capture their beauty with a press of my finger. It sends a burst of warm, buzzing energy through me, and I turn back to Violet with a grin.
“Look at these,” Violet says, leading me further along the lane.
The next row of carriage houses is just as pleasing to the eye. Not as grand as the first two, but understated in their elegance. Two stories of white painted brick with four rows of matching black doors, capped by arched black framed windows with window boxes bursting with greenery. The contrast between the black and white—and the vibrant foliage in the boxes—has me lifting my camera quickly.
I spend a little more time adjusting the settings on the Nikon to get the contrast exactly right, and experiment with capturing the buildings from either end, since they’re too long to fit inside the frame head-on. It allows me to play with the perspective and the angles of the flat roofline, and the excitement continues to fizz inside me as I capture the details. I’ve never photographed buildings before, and definitely nothing so beautiful, with such a unique history.
“There’s more,” Violet says, motioning behind me.
When I finally drag my gaze from the structures in front of me, I see she’s right. There’s an entire row of carriage houses extending along the lane. I can hear the hooves on the cobbles as I picture the area bustling with people and carriages a hundred and fifty years ago. One building in particular catches my eye, and I rush ahead, gripping the Nikon. Violet laughs as she follows me.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it? I love the shutters on the windows.”
I nod, lifting the camera to frame the shot. The weathered and worn facade of the brick building is definitely in need of some love, but the patina only makes it more beautiful. The windows and their shutters, as well as the carriage and front doors at the ground level, are painted in a soft cornflower blue. Window boxes spill over with white daisies, their yellow faces hidden as their petals close for the night. I take a few more pictures in the fading light, promising myself I’ll return to shoot the house in full sun.
I turn to Violet, feeling fuller than I have in a long time. “Thank you so much. I never would have thought to come here.”
She grins. “I love looking at the carriage houses. It feels like stepping back in time.”
I nod vigorously. With a sigh, we meander out of the lane and head back toward Violet’s house. The Nikon is warm in my hand, and I look up from the sidewalk to take in my surroundings in a way I never have. My gaze travels across the brownstones, noticing architectural details I’ve passed over before. When I view the neighborhood from the perspective of a photographer, there’s so much to see, so many intricacies to capture. I’ll have to come back to shoot the rest of the neighborhood.
I skip along beside Violet, buzzing with energy. I can’t wait to develop these shots, and…
My thoughts grind to a halt as the events from earlier in the evening come back to me. The feeling of being in that darkroom, knowing Wes had gone to the trouble of doing that for me.
Just give him time… he’ll get there when he’s ready.
Violet’s words come back to me as we weave through the streets of Brooklyn Heights.
Maybe she’s right. When I think about the way Wes kissed me this evening, I know he has feelings for me. And he made me a darkroom… Well, I’d even go so far as to say he might have “serious feelings,” to use Violet’s words.
But… I shake my head as we approach Violet and Weston’s building on Fruit Street. He also asked me to keep my distance, and I want to do that, to respect him, but I also don’t want to give up on us.
Not yet.
I pull Violet into a hug, thanking her for this evening and congratulating her again on her engagement. Then I head home, an idea formulating in my mind. Weston’s birthday is coming up, and I can work with that. I won’t push him for something between us when he’s clearly not ready, but I won’t let him spend his birthday alone, either.
I just have to figure out when it is.