Chapter Three
DAISY WASN’T LIKE MOST GIRLS her age. Instead of spending weekends at parties or malls, she preferred to hole up in her studio, paintbrush in hand, music blasting loud enough to drown out the world.
Her circle was small—Anna, her family, and her art—and she didn’t crave anything more.
The fleeting friends of high school could never fill her the way creating did.
Her gift had been clear since childhood.
When Daisy was five, her Aunt Devya, an artist who ran a small gallery in Tribeca, arrived from New York with a Royal she didn’t want him to embarrass her in front of Jameson.
Or pick up on the huge crush she had developed.
But in biology class, Jameson still found ways to make her laugh, to tease her, to look at her like she was the only one in the room.
“We are coming over tonight,” Jameson said one Tuesday in October during class.
“For practice?”
“Well, yeah, and for dinner.”
Daisy didn’t know whether to react with excitement or despair. She was excited to have him over for dinner, but she wasn’t thrilled that he would have to entertain an entire evening with her father.
Daisy’s dad was usually gone when the boys practiced; otherwise, there would be no band practice.
While Daisy loved her father, he could be very hard on his children or anyone who wanted to pursue activities outside of what he deemed suitable.
So she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Philip Daniels spend an evening with a bunch of band boys.
“Sweet,” she mumbled, “you guys sure are over a lot, huh?”
“Does that bother you?”
Her eyes went wide. “No! Not at all, I love it when you’re there… Errr, I mean when all of you are there.”
He smiled while Daisy’s cheeks flushed.
“You should come out of that cave of yours more often and watch us practice… I think I’d do better with you watching.”
She blushed. “And why is that?”
“Because I feel like I want to do, well, better when you’re around. You may be the key to my success, Daisy Daniels.”
“You are so full of it!”
“Just once—just come watch us practice once and I promise I’ll never ask again.”
She feigned reluctance, but little did he know, she had already been sneaking listens through cracked doors. His voice had stunned her the first time. It was velvety yet rough, carrying more passion than seemed possible for sixteen years of life.
“I don’t know if Sean will let me.”
Her brother took his role as “band manager” very seriously. So far, he had gotten them a total of zero gigs, even though he was constantly saying he “had something in the works.”
“Don’t worry about Sean. I’ll handle it.”
That night, when she finally stepped into the garage mid-song, all eyes swung toward her.
“Can we help you?” Sean sniped.
Jameson didn’t falter. “I asked her to come,” he said, deflecting Sean’s glare. “I wanted someone with an ear for music.”