Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Daisy, Now
The door to the outhouse slams shut, and my dad’s girlfriend, Oona, waves wildly at us, her fingers glistening with hand sanitizer. Despite her size, she possesses the stamina of a pack of huskies.
“Be nice, alright?” my dad mutters.
“I am.”
“You know what I mean.”
Guilt pricks me, because as they pulled into the dirt parking lot, I was disappointed she was joining our father-daughter sunrise hike.
God, I could really use another one of those hugs from Max right now—burrowing into his arms yesterday was like wrapping up in my favorite blanket.
His unflinching grip on me gave me the safety I craved, and his lips skating over my forehead…
The way he pressed his mouth to my skin was purely innocent, but the flashback makes my lower belly flare with heat.
“Ready?” Oona prances over, and honestly, no one should have this much energy this early. She slips binoculars over her neck and gives me a toothy smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting this morning. We wanted to squeeze in a meditation.”
“Big meditation guy now, huh?” I ask my dad.
He makes a noncommittal mmm in reply and folds up a trail map. “I’m a bigger fan of the weekly massages we book. If you ever want a rec, Oona’s got some good ones.”
My mom and dad had been together since their school days, but Dad still found love effortlessly after she passed.
My parents and Oona were part of a hiking club, and after Mom’s car accident, Oona slipped into my dad’s life in such a covert way that I didn’t have the brain space to question it.
One day she’s bringing him a casserole, and the next we’re out bowling and they’re making lovey eyes at each other.
I don’t want him moping around forever, but seeing him with someone new pokes a bruise that won’t go away.
We start down the trail, a fiery summer glow inching across the sky. I love the desert in these peaceful morning moments, the quiet ones before the world wakes up.
“Nice workout pants,” Oona says, piercing the silence like a bubble popping. “Where’d you get them?”
“Thrift store.” I examine them, searching for some kind of obvious logo. “I don’t know which brand.”
“They’re very chic. How’s the hotel?”
“Busy.” As much as I find joy in keeping my mom’s legacy alive, I’d enjoy some time not in work mode. My dad never involved himself with The Mirage, either, because it’s the reason my mom dragged him out here, so I offer nothing more on the topic.
“How’s…oh, who was that man you were dating? Alex?”
“We broke up. A while ago, actually.”
Oona winces. “Sorry to hear that.”
We fall into silence as Oona leads the way, and my dad thumps me from behind with his trekking pole. Be nice. I am nice to Oona; she just asks the wrong things.
“Um. I have a friend in town.” I turn back to Dad. “Max.”
“Who’s Max?” Oona asks.
“Really?” His eyes light up with recognition.
My dad and I never had deep conversations.
No sex talk, no emotional stuff, nothing.
My parents were living apart when I returned from Dublin, so there’s a chance my mom never told him a thing.
But that doesn’t explain the flash of wariness that crosses my dad’s face.
He turns to Oona. “Max was Daisy’s best friend from when she was a kid.”
“Oooh.” Oona drags out the word and nods. “Are you two still close?”
“Kind of,” I say. We reach the end of the trail and find a couple of boulders for a makeshift breakfast nook. Oona lays out blankets for padding while my dad sets out tea and fresh fruit. “We’ve hung out a few times, and there’s this combo of knowing each other but also not, if that makes sense?”
Oona’s head bobs up and down. I haven’t had an honest conversation about Max’s return to Harlow with anyone. Gwen has her own past with him, so discussing Max is as simple as a stroll through a minefield. Even my dad has his own preconceived notions. At least with Oona, she has an open mind.
“They were inseparable growing up,” my dad says, reaching for the baguette on Oona’s lap. “Always wondered why you two never went steady. You dated a bunch of stinkers back then.”
“That’s not kind, Richie,” Oona says with a scowl.
“I’m sorry. But he obviously liked you, and at least in high school, he was a good kid.”
“Just because he was a nice guy doesn’t mean Daisy needed to date him.”
“Thank you, Oona,” I say, touched to see her stand up to my dad on my behalf.
“I thought you had a tiny crush on him.”
Despite the morning chill, my body heats. I sometimes dared to consider something more with him—that moonlit dance, that transatlantic flight—but I always pulled myself together.
“We were, and are, just friends,” I say. Friends do forehead kisses. Friends do lingering stares in barns.
“Hm,” Oona says, buttering her bread. “Friendship is its own kind of love. And going from friends to lovers is difficult. All those feelings of kinship turn into something else. When your father said we should date, I needed to think about it. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to lose him as a friend.”
“Charmed you anyway.” My dad smiles at her.
I divert my eyes from their locked hands and examine the sunrise instead. We finish breakfast and enjoy the sky transforming into a brilliant blue. Crisp and clear today. My dad whips out his map and inspects it.
“There’s some abandoned mine carts off in that direction.” He points. “Want to check them out?”
“I should get back. Not all of us can be retired like you two.”
My dad clambers up and offers a hand to Oona. “Well, actually, we have something—”
“No, Pooks, let’s wait,” Oona says to him quietly. “Some other time.”
“I’d rather tell Daisy now.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
My dad turns to his girlfriend, curling one arm around her shoulders as he beams at her. “Oona and I, we wanted to share some news with you.”
The two of them look cheery, and a heavy pit forms in my stomach.
The way she’s looking at him. The way he’s pulled her close.
The nervous glances at each other and then at me.
Hosting weddings at The Mirage means I know how freshly engaged couples act, and I can guess what he’ll say before the words leave his mouth.
“Oona and I are getting married.”
The announcement knocks the wind out of me.
“Wow,” I manage. I’m drowning on dry land, and I’m not faking anything very well because they’ve both crinkled their brows in concern.
Digging deep into my heart, I summon all the happiness I can and paint on a smile to try again. “Wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”
“Really?” Oona’s face stretches into a huge smile.
“Yes. Congratulations!” I throw my arms around her to buy me a few seconds. Go away, tears. Go away. She pulls back, but I hold on to her for a moment longer before embracing my dad. He seems so happy, and I wish his wonderful news didn’t have a sharp edge to it.
The three of us hug once more, and I congratulate them again before hiking the path to my car.
The tears I’ve been holding onto cascade down my cheeks once I reach the safety of my truck.
I hate myself for crying over this. My dad deserves happiness, and Oona makes a good partner for him.
But I miss my mom. A laugh bubbles up at the thought of calling her right now to tell her how everyone is moving on.
Everyone except me.
Gwen’s pregnant. My dad’s remarrying. Even Max, with our complicated friendship rekindling—he’s had his life turned upside down, and he’s in the process of righting it.
And me? If I keep doing the same thing I’ve been doing, the hotel will disappear.
I won’t have the casita—the place I grew up.
No amount of missing her can save The Mirage.
This may not be the career I envisioned for myself, but it’s all I have.
I’m the only one preserving her memory, and I can’t lose something she loved so much without a fight.
I freshen up using the rearview mirror, swiping on lip gloss and redoing my ponytail. With the car in drive, the windows down to dry my eyes, and Sheryl Crow blasting through the speakers, I’m ready.
Big risks.
Driving past the hotel, I pull up to Max’s parents’ house and don’t even turn off the truck once I park. I can’t give myself a moment to reconsider.
After a few knocks, I wait. Nothing. I knock again, this time louder.
“Damn it,” I mutter and spin on my heels.
I pull out my phone to call him right as the front door opens.
My eyes scan Max up and down, and my neck warms when I notice his bare chest. He’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms and nothing else, with the long, lean lines of his arms and torso on full display.
His hair is a twister of short curls. He leans to one side with an arm in the doorway as he towers over me.
“Hi,” I say. “Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“Um.” I rip my gaze from his taut stomach and the trail of hair that begins just below his belly button. “Did I wake you up?”
“At six in the morning? Absolutely.”
“Sorry,” I say, whipping around. “Text me, okay?”
A warm hand encircles my wrist, whirling me back almost directly into his half-naked body. I’m so close I could lick the curve of his biceps.
“Is it Freddie?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
“No, he’s fine. I just…I wanted to tell you—let’s do it.” I give him one brisk nod. “The exhibit. The museum, I mean. At The Mirage.”
“Really?” He crosses his arms—and does Max Weber have the most subtly defined pecs? For the briefest of moments, I picture myself nuzzled against his chest, running my hands up his smooth skin and around his neck.
I steer my thoughts back on track. Max said that this project would be a risk, but I sense the weight of a risk greater than that, too. We’ll be working together, and I’ll have to let him back into my life. I’ll have to get used to him being here, and I’ll have to be okay when he goes.
The museum won’t just be for me, though. I’d be helping Max get back to what he should be doing, and that makes the leap worth it.
“What made you change your mind?”
I exhale and stand up straighter, taking in the zesty scent lingering on Max’s skin. “I guess I needed some time to come around to it.”
“When do you need those renovations done?”
“End of August?”
The whole summer. Just under three months for a lengthy list of repairs and a museum.
His gaze lingers on me, his expression unreadable, like he’s not yet ready to agree. My stomach flip-flops because maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe the timeline is too rushed. But then the corners of his eyes crinkle, and that cheeky smile on his lips makes me feel like I swallowed a butterfly.
“Alright, Daze. I’m in.”