Chapter 18 Daisy #3
"Existed, apparently. Chaucer's very discerning about his enemies."
"I'm in the same category as the mailman?" He presses a hand to his chest, wounded.
"You're in a worse category. The mailman only came once a day."
Adam groans and drops his head into his hands. "I'm going to win that cat over. I don't care how long it takes."
"Famous last words."
"I'll bring salmon next time. The good kind, from that place on Fifteenth—"
"You're trying to bribe Nell's cat with gourmet fish." I can't keep the grin off my face.
"Is it working?"
"It's pathetic, is what it is."
He grins at me across the table, and I feel that little flip in my chest that I'm trying very hard to ignore.
"How's the store?" he asks.
"Busy. Always busy. Nell finally hired someone for weekends, so I actually get days off now."
"Who'd she find?"
"College kid named Jonah. He's terrified of the cash register but very enthusiastic about shelving."
"Enthusiasm counts."
"That's what Nell said. She's training him on inventory next week, which should be entertaining. Has Bev forgiven your lasagna commentary?"
"Apparently her lasagna is better when I'm there to insult it."
"What did you say about it?"
"I called it aggressively cheesy." He reports it with the gravity of quarterly losses.
"It was aggressively cheesy. There were four types of cheese, Adam. Four."
"She took it as a challenge. She says next time she's using five."
"That's insane." I'm laughing before I can stop myself.
"Ruth called it a crime against dairy."
"Priya's defense is tomorrow," he says, sobering slightly. "Eleven o'clock. The whole club's going."
"I know. She texted me about it this morning. Three times."
"She's nervous."
"She's been working on that thesis for two years. Of course she's nervous."
"The committee's tough, but her research is solid. She knows her material backwards and forwards." He fidgets with his napkin. "We were going to make a sign, but Ruth said that might be too much."
"A sign."
"With glitter."
"Ruth was right. That's definitely too much."
"I thought so too." He looks up at me. "Are you coming?"
"I have a delivery coming in the morning," I say. "Refrigeration unit for the back room. The old one finally died. But text me how it goes?"
"I will." He smiles. "She's going to be brilliant."
The pie arrives (apple, warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream) and we eat it slowly, sharing forkfuls across the table. We're just two people having dinner. Talking.
A woman stops at our table on her way out. She's younger than me, maybe mid-twenties, with bright pink hair and a Margin tote bag over her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she says, "but you're the book club guy, right? From the videos?"
Adam blinks. "I—"
"My roommate showed me the clips. The one where you read that confession with all the sticky notes in your book? I actually cried." She clutches her bag. "You're like, famous in certain corners of TikTok."
"I'm not—" Adam starts, then stops. Looks at me. Looks back at her. "I'm her husband," he says, nodding toward me. "She's the book club mastermind. I just show up and try not to embarrass myself."
The girl's eyes go wide. "Oh my God. You're married? To each other? That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
"It's really not," I say, but I'm smiling.
"Well, I hope it works out." She catches her partner's eye across the diner, then lowers her voice. "Sorry. I'll let you eat."
Two people at the next table glance over. Maureen brings the check without comment, and I could kiss her for it.
Adam's face is the color of the ketchup bottle, and I bury my face in my hands, and somewhere between the awkwardness and the relief of being left alone, I start laughing again.
Through the diner window I catch a familiar ponytail beside a parked car. Kendra looks away before I can be certain she has seen us. I point her out to Adam; by the time he turns, she is walking down the block. We make a note of the time.
He walks me home. The night is cool, early fall settling into the city, and our shoulders brush as we move down the sidewalk. I'm hyperaware of every shadow, every parked car, every figure we pass, but none of them are Cole. None of them are anything but ordinary people living ordinary lives.
"I had a really good time," Adam says as we reach the Margin's front door. "I know that sounds like something you say at the end of a date when you're trying to be polite, but I mean it. I can't remember the last time I laughed that much."
"The dinosaur nuggets helped."
"The dinosaur nuggets were a strategic choice."
"You ordered off the kids' menu by accident."
"And then I committed to it. That's called follow-through." He's smiling, but it softens as he looks at me. "Daisy."
"Adam."
"Can I—" He stops. Swallows. "I want to kiss you. But I don't want to assume anything. I know we're still… I know there's still a lot we need to figure out—"
I kiss him.
His hands are in my hair immediately, tilting my head back, and mine are under his jacket, pressed flat against his chest where I can feel his heart pounding. He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his expression, God. His expression. Like I'm precious. Like I'm worth waiting for.
"Hi," he says softly.
"You keep saying that."
"That was—"
"Yeah."
He kisses me again, slower this time, his thumb tracing my jaw, and I feel it everywhere. Butterflies, actual butterflies, like I'm seventeen instead of thirty.
"I should go," he murmurs against my mouth.
"Probably."
"You're making it very difficult."
"Good."
He laughs, low and warm, and steps back. His hair is messy where I ran my fingers through it, and he looks younger somehow. Lighter.
"You still have pie on your collar," I tell him.
"Saving it for later." He's still smiling as he backs away, as he turns and walks toward his car. "Goodnight, Daisy."
"Drive safe."
Upstairs, showered, in pajamas, I stand at my window and look out at the street below. It's quiet now, the diner crowd dispersed, the sidewalk empty except for… My breath catches. There's a man at the end of the block. Hooded. Standing under the streetlight. He's not moving.
I watch him for a full minute, two minutes, three. He doesn't shift, doesn't look at his phone, doesn't do anything a normal person would do while standing alone on a city street at ten o'clock at night. He's just watching.
My hands shake as I call the police and give them the street and his description. I can't identify him from here. I stay inside with the door locked while they send a patrol, then call Nell.
While I wait, I open my settings. Find the location sharing that's been off since I left. The one Adam set up years ago for emergencies, for late nights at the office, for all the times we were supposed to be partners and weren't. I turn it back on.
I text Adam too: A man outside. Police are coming to check. I've turned sharing back on. He calls at once and stays on the line. I don't have to decide whether I'm frightened enough to deserve an answer.
The man under the streetlight walks away before the patrol turns into the block.
I stay at the window until the officer calls to tell me the street is clear. It takes much longer to stop shaking.