Chapter 19
The woman holding his hand was a predator wearing a silk dress. Thallos had spent enough years navigating social waters to recognize the signs. The lingering touch. The calculated flutter of lashes. The way Daisy Bloom held his gaze just a beat too long, her smile just a little too warm.
He extracted his hand smoothly, letting none of his assessment show on his face. "Daisy, then. I hope your journey was pleasant."
"Oh, trains are never pleasant, darling.
But the destination makes up for it." Daisy's attention swept over him with the kind of appreciative inventory that would have been flattering if it weren't so obviously performative.
"My goodness, Marigold, you certainly have excellent taste. A satyr! How exotic."
The word hit him wrong. Calculated to seem complimentary while reducing him to a novelty.
He glanced at Marigold. She stood rigid beside her mother, her picnic basket clutched against her chest like a shield. The joy he'd seen in her eyes when he'd walked in had been replaced by something tight and wary.
The tension filled the room like smoke, invisible but impossible to ignore. The set of Marigold's shoulders. The way her fingers had gone white around the basket handle. The careful blankness in her expression that he was beginning to recognize as her armor.
"Exotic is one word for it," Thallos said mildly. "I prefer 'local.' My family's vineyard has been here for three generations."
"Three generations!" Daisy pressed a hand to her chest as if he'd announced something remarkable. "How wonderful. Marigold, you didn't tell me your young man had roots."
"I—we haven't really discussed—"
"I hope I'm not interrupting your plans." Daisy's voice dripped with innocent concern. "Mari mentioned a picnic. How charming! Although"—a delicate pause—"I did just arrive. It would be such a shame to spend my first day in Harmony Glen all alone."
He watched the trap close with something approaching admiration.
Daisy wielded guilt like a master artist wielded a brush—subtle strokes that built into an inescapable picture.
Say no, and Marigold would be abandoning her newly arrived mother.
Say yes, and the private picnic they'd planned would transform into something else entirely.
Marigold's face had gone pale. "Mom, I'm sure you're tired from traveling. You could rest and we could—"
"Rest? Darling, I've been resting for hours on that dreadful train. What I need is company. Good conversation. Maybe a tour of this adorable little town to get reacquainted?" Daisy turned to him, her smile soft and helpless. "You'll show me around, won't you? Since you're local and all."
"The town does have a great deal to offer visitors," he said, keeping his voice pleasant. "The Sanderson sisters do an excellent walking tour on Saturdays. It's very comprehensive."
"How sweet. But I'd much rather spend time with family.
" Daisy linked her arm through Marigold's, the gesture possessive despite its apparent affection.
"And new friends. Dinner! We should have dinner.
My treat—well, perhaps not literally, I've had the most dreadful luck with my accounts recently, but we can sort that out later—the point is, we should all get to know each other. Don't you think so, Mari?"
Marigold looked at him. Just for a moment, her mask slipped, and he saw the exhaustion beneath it. The resignation of someone who had weathered this storm before and knew exactly how it would go.
*You can say no,* he wanted to tell her. *You don't owe her anything.*
But the words wouldn't help. He could see that clearly enough. Whatever history lay between Marigold and her mother, it had roots too deep to be severed by a single refusal. Daisy had arrived with five suitcases and a lifetime of expectation, and Marigold was already buckling under the weight.
"Dinner sounds fine," Thallos said. "Where would you like to go?"
Daisy gave him a radiant smile.
The Moonlit Spoon occupied a corner of Main Street that caught the evening light perfectly.
Its exposed brick walls and warm wood accents had made it a local favorite, and its menu balanced comfort food with enough sophistication to satisfy the occasional tourist. He had suggested it as a neutral ground—public enough to keep the conversation civil, familiar enough that he'd have allies if needed.
He should have picked somewhere else.
"This is darling." Daisy swept into the restaurant like she owned it, her designer bag swinging and her heels tapping against the hardwood floor. "I don't remember eating here while I was living in Harmony Glen."
"You were only here for three months," Marigold said quietly.
"Such a shame I didn't discover this quaint little place, but I'm sure you love it." Daisy patted her daughter's arm with absent affection. "You've always had such simple tastes."
The hostess, a naiad named Coraline who he knew from the chamber of commerce, led them to a table by the window. She caught his eye as she handed out menus, her expression sympathetic in a way that suggested the entire restaurant staff had already assessed the situation.
Small towns. Nothing stayed private for long.
"So," Daisy said, settling into her chair, "tell me everything. How did you two meet? When did you start dating? Is it serious? Mari never tells me anything, you know—I have to hear about her life secondhand from the most peculiar sources."
"We met at a chamber of commerce meeting," Marigold said. "We're co-chairing the Summer Dance Festival together."
"Of course. How… practical." Daisy's laugh tinkled like glass.
"Though I suppose that's very on-brand for you, sweetie.
You've always been so focused on business.
Do you know Thallos that even as a teenager she used to make spreadsheets for her birthday parties.
Guest lists with dietary restrictions and everything. Who does that at fifteen?"
"Someone organized," he said.
"I always say that life is meant to be lived, not catalogued.
" Daisy waved a dismissive hand. "I tried to teach her, I really did.
But she never listened. She always had her nose in a book or her hands in the dirt.
Do you know she used to cry when I'd forget to water her little garden? Actual tears. Over plants."
Marigold had gone still in the way that meant she was retreating somewhere inside herself. Somewhere safe.
"Plants are important to her," he said. "She has a gift with them."
"Oh, I know. She got that from her father, God rest him." Tears suddenly appeared in Daisy's big blue eyes. "Such a sensitive man. Absolutely useless in a crisis, but sensitive."
"Mom."
"What? I'm just saying. He was the same way.
He took everything so personally." Another tinkling laugh.
"If it hadn't been for that I would have wondered if you were even mine.
Though of course the labor was quite memorable, so I suppose there's no doubt.
Twenty-two hours, Thallos. Twenty-two. And she was such an ugly baby.
All red and wrinkled and squalling. I told the nurse there must have been some mistake—"
"I'm sure she was beautiful," he said. "Babies always are."
"Are they? I suppose I wouldn't know, I was so out of it after that labor." Daisy fanned herself with her menu. "Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. You two. Tell me more about how you got together. Is it very romantic?"
Marigold finally spoke, her voice tight. "We've been working together on the festival planning. We got to know each other that way."
"How… efficient." Daisy looked at him over the top of her menu. "You must find that refreshing. Someone who approaches relationships with a clear plan rather than all that messy emotion."
"I find it wonderful," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "I admire how thoughtful she is. How deeply she cares about everything she does."
"Everything is very black and white with her," Daisy sighed. "No room for spontaneity. No room for passion. Even as a teenager, she was so serious. You should have seen her face when I'd bring someone home—like I'd dragged the devil himself into her room. No sense of fun at all."
The muscles in Marigold's jaw were working. Her hands, folded on the table, had gone white-knuckled. He reached over and covered them with his own. *I'm here,* he tried to say with the touch. *You're not alone.*
The waitress, a young brownie named Pippa, arrived to take their order. Daisy made a production of asking questions about the menu, declaring herself "tragically confused" by the options and eventually settling on a salad after substituting almost every item on it.
"I'm afraid my health has always been a little delicate.
I have to be so careful about what I eat.
You wouldn't believe the trouble I had with my last chef in Mumbai—absolutely no understanding of dietary restrictions.
I told him, I said, 'If you can't accommodate my needs, then what good are you? ' Poor man nearly cried."
Marigold ordered a sandwich without meeting the waitress's eyes. Thallos did the same, though he added a bottle of the restaurant's best red wine. They were going to need it.
"I really don't know how you do it," Daisy continued once Pippa had left. "The responsibility of owning a business was just too much for me. It's a miracle you haven't collapsed under the weight of it all."
"I like the work," Marigold said, almost too quietly to hear.
"Of course you do, sweetie. You're just like your father in that way. Always taking on more than you should." Daisy patted her hand. "You should have told me you were struggling. I would have found a way to help."
"I'm not struggling."