Chapter 3
THREE
DAISY
Me
Boarding now
Mom
*Mom liked a message*
Have you seen Zac’s retainer?
Me
Did you check in the cupboard over the sink?
Mom
Got it, thanks sweetie!
Safe flight
I stare at the woman across the reception desk, my brain refusing to process what she’s just told me. “There has to be some other option.”
“I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. The north quad had a flood over Christmas, so we’ve had to reallocate everyone. Every bed is full. I can refer you to a private landlord if you would prefer to stay somewhere off campus.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Once the remodeling is done, we can look to move you into a private dorm.”
That could take months. “I’m only here for the semester.”
“At least you know it’s only temporary then.” She smiles politely, but it doesn’t erase the bite in her words. I get the feeling I’m being dismissed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
I swallow the protests threatening to spill at the realization that I’m stuck living with the asshole from last night, and remind myself the real reason I’m here. “Do you know where I can find Tarah Striker’s office?”
She points me in the direction of the building across the quad. I step out of the administration office and wrap my coat a little tighter around me, shielding against the wind as I follow the signs for the art department.
Everything at Southbay University is built in grand stone architecture. Walking across the snow-covered quad feels a little like strolling through a fairytale.
Tarah’s office is on the second floor of the art department.
I take a deep breath and flick my hands at my sides, trying to get them to stop shaking.
This is ridiculous. She chose you. You have nothing to prove.
Except I do. It feels like everything I’ve ever secretly dreamed of hangs in the balance. I take another breath and roll my shoulders back. It takes me another second to will myself to raise my hand, knocking on the office door of the literary department.
There’s a thud on the other side followed by a muffled “Shit.” I lean in closer, trying to listen through the thin wood. Is this bad timing? Am I interrupting her? I glance at the clock at the end of the hall. She definitely said eleven, but I could have gotten the date wrong…
“Come in.”
I push open the door, peeking in. The office is tiny. The desk in the middle of the room is piled high with stapled pages and overcrowded bookshelves line the back wall. But it’s the petite woman crouched next to the desk gathering up loose pages who catches my attention.
She glances up when I enter the room, bypassing a tall stack of books that looks ready to topple over. The beaming smile that pulls at the corners of her lips is enough to get the nerves in my stomach to release their tight grip.
“Daisy, I’m so glad you managed to find it!”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Dropped some pages, it happens.” She waves me off as she gathers them up and pops them onto her desk. “I would apologize for the chaos but that would imply it’s not normally like this.” She grins. “I keep thinking I should do something about it, but I like being surrounded by books.”
“I like it.”
“Good, have a seat.”
It’s hard to believe that the woman who has written some of my favorite novels over the last two years is currently in possession of my manuscript.
“I heard about your living arrangement.” She frowns and I still.
How would she know? Please tell me the asshole hasn’t texted it around to the entirety of the student body and faculty.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to get you into a single room.” Tarah sighs, sounding so tired that I instantly feel like I need to reassure her, my tendency to people please rearing its head. “I would offer you to stay at mine, but I doubt you’d want to crash on our couch with a toddler around.”
“It’s fine, really. It’s just for a few months anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod, keeping my face straight. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well in that case, let’s talk business, shall we?
” She grins, turning her attention toward her laptop.
She twists the screen my way and I recognize the draft I submitted with my application.
“I loved your first three chapters. I’ve made some suggestions for changes I think would work.
I’ll send them over to you. Have a look and then we can chat it through once I’ve read your full manuscript and have a sense of the story. ”
“I’m only halfway done,” I admit, hoping she won’t be disappointed that I haven’t made any progress in the four months since I sent it.
“That’s okay. Send me what you have and then we can work through it as you write.” The only thing keeping me from bolting out the door is the genuine reassurance in her voice.
“I was surprised you chose me,” I admit.
“Why?”
“You’ve never chosen a contemporary romance manuscript before. I felt a little stupid sending it in to be honest.”
“There’s nothing stupid about romance,” she says, “The world needs more reasons to believe in love, don’t you think?”
I’m about to agree with her, when a knock on the door interrupts us. A second later girl my age pokes her head in through the threshold.
“Vanessa, just in time.” Tarah smiles. “I want you to meet Daisy. My new protege.”
Vanessa sizes me up with a soft smile. “Those are some big boots to fill.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.” I laugh nervously. Two out of the five students Tarah Striker has worked with over the last few years went on to score a publishing deal at a “Big Five” publisher. I’m not delusional enough to think I’ll end up in that bracket.
“I asked Vanessa to show you around campus. I thought the two of you might get along,” Tarah explains, gesturing between us, and I get the sense that I’m being dismissed.
“Send me over the rest of the chapters you have ready and then we’ll set up a meeting to go over them.
I’m really sorry I couldn’t do more about the rooming situation. ”
“It’s okay,” I reassure her again when I stand, and it has the intended effect of making her look less worried.
“What was that about?” Vanessa asks when the door to Tarah’s office closes behind us and we make our way down the central staircase of the Arts department.
“I was trying to switch roommates, but everywhere is booked up, so it looks like I’m stuck where I am.” I sigh.
“What’s wrong with your current one?”
“He walked in on me while I was in the shower.”
Her eyes widen and she shudders. “That’s creepy.”
“Apparently the lock on our bathroom is broken.”
“Broken or dismantled?” she asks, the question dripping with suspicion.
I scrunch my nose. “Don’t even go there.”
She laughs and bumps her shoulder against mine, steering me down a snow-covered winding path that runs between two buildings. “Come on. I need caffeine and sugar. Sounds like you could use some too.”
“Perfect.”
The path ends on the sidewalk of the main street running through campus.
It is covered in snow, footsteps trailing in every direction.
Most of last year’s Christmas decorations are still up, strings of fairy lights weaving around all of the window displays, warding off the darkness that still clings to the late afternoon hours.
Southbay is cute. Even covered in downtrodden snow, the old city center has a charm to it that I haven’t seen anywhere else.
Vanessa leads the way to a small café halfway down Main Street.
There’s a dark wooden sign sitting atop it, with The Independent sprawled across it in white cursive lettering. She guides me in and my mouth waters at the smell of freshly ground coffee and toasted sugar.
“I’m thinking cinnamon bun, blueberry muffin, almond croissant, and a chocolate chip cookie to top it off,” she says, eyeing the pastry display and sliding her knit hat off her head with a mitten-covered hand.
“Are we feeding the whole town?”
“You can never have too much sugar,” she says matter-of-factly, and the next thing I know, she’s stepping up to the counter, rattling the entire order off to the girl behind it. She tops it off with two coffees before she skips off to the nearest table with me in tow.
I slide into the chair across from her and shrug out of my coat.
The Independent is all dark wood and warm earthy colors, and there are a dozen potted plants strung from the ceiling, branches either hanging down or winding along the wall.
In comparison to the snow-covered landscape outside, it feels a little like we’ve stepped inside a greenery.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you come here often?”
“Yup.” She grins and cranes her neck back to take in the copper light fixtures. “It’s the only thing that gets me through my three-hour psych lectures.”
“Tell me about it.” I snort. I took a psychology elective last year and it was the longest two months of my life.
“How was your first meeting with Tarah?”
“Terrifying and like a warm hug all at once.”
She laughs. “I’m pretty sure that woman doesn’t have an evil bone in her body, unless she’s red pen editing.”
I cringe at the thought. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that part.”
“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. If you made it this far, you’ve got a solid idea of what you’re doing.”
“Hopefully.” Although the idea of having someone else read the project I’ve been pouring everything into over the last two years makes my skin itch.
The barista arrives with a tray piled high with our coffees and pastries. She slides it onto the table between us, careful not to jostle it for fear of spilling the hot drinks.
“Tell me about your project,” Vanessa says when we’re alone again. I palm my mug, reveling in the heat seeping back into my cold fingers. “Tarah told me you’re writing a romance?”
I nod. “It’s a childhood friends to lovers. He’s always been in love with her, but she’s never thought of him as more than a friend until she returns back home after college and finds him engaged to someone else.”