by Ivy Layne
Hawk scanned the group of us, and I wished for one crazy moment that Tenn, Avery, Quinn, and Brax were here, too. I had no doubt they had their own memories they'd like to burn to ash.
Parker came striding out of the house, her sleek blond hair streaming behind her, her arms overflowing with white satin and tulle. She tossed the mound of fabric into the fire where the flames licked and consumed, flaring higher as they devoured her contribution to rebellion.
Parker took a spot next to Sterling, wrapping an arm around her younger sister's shoulders. “I always hated my deb dress, too.”
Sterling looked up at Parker, her eyes wide. “Really? You looked like the perfect princess. I was overblown. Too obvious.”
She gestured to her figure, as lush and abundant as her mother's had been, even when she'd been a young teenager. “I looked like a porn star wrapped up in satin, but you were like a porcelain doll.”
Parker snorted. I didn't think I'd ever heard her make such an inelegant sound. She tightened her arm around Sterling and shook her head.
“I felt like a porcelain doll. I smiled and behaved myself and did what I was supposed to because that was the best way to keep Prentice's attention off me, but I didn't feel like the perfect princess. I felt like a tool. I think that's why I got married before I graduated from college. I didn't want to come back here.” She looked back up at the house where her husband had disappeared. “I thought it would be an escape.”
“But it wasn't?” Sterling asked quietly, her eyes on Parker's face and the shadows that hid there.
Parker only sighed and watched the fire burn.
The air smelled of burnt hair and chemicals. Not quite as comforting as a campfire. Now that the stench really hit me, I rethought my plan to find marshmallows.
A throat cleared and I turned to see Daisy standing there, a covered dish in her hands and a confused look on her face. In the late afternoon sun, her cherry-cola hair was a burst of color, streaks of hot pink and auburn twined together, her curls pulled back with a wide band to bare her face.
Hope was behind her, wide eyes taking in the scene. Hope looked far better than she had the last time I'd seen her, her face rosy with health instead of green. She must have had a good nap.
“What's going on? Is that a bear on fire? And curtains?” Daisy looked up at me. “What are you guys doing?”
“Just a little spring cleaning,” I said.
“Are you sure that isn't going to reach the woods?” She eyed the flames nervously.
“Hawk went to get a hose, but I think we’re clear. There isn't any wind.”
I'd thought Hope would head straight for Griffen, but she stood behind Daisy, typing on her phone. Maybe sensing my attention, she looked up. “You should take Daisy for a walk in the gardens.”
The three of us looked behind me into the mostly dead, very overgrown remains of Heartstone Manor's formal gardens. Hope gave me a pointed look. She was up to something. I didn't know what, but I couldn't wait to find out.
“That's a great idea, Hope.” I hooked my arm through Daisy's elbow, steering her in the direction of the gravel path to the gardens. “Did you stop by to see me?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes.
Stopping in the shade of a tree, Daisy turned and held out the covered dish. “I baked you a pie. To say thank you for the flowers.”
“You didn't have to.” I stepped closer and plucked the covered dish from her hands.
“I wanted to. The flowers were beautiful.”
“I'm glad you liked them,” I said, holding on to the dish with my free hand, the scents of fruit and sugar drifting up now that we were far enough away from the bonfire. “What kind of pie did you bake me?”
“Mixed berry,” she said, shifting her weight as if preparing to flee.
I hooked my arm through hers again, drawing her deeper into the gardens. Everything back here was a mess. My father had let them go and Hawk had been too busy to move his small landscaping crew back here. Someday they'd be restored, but for now, they were at the bottom of Griffen's renovation list.
I led Daisy to a wrought iron bench, and we sat in the shade of a tree looking out over the scrubby remains of Heartstone Manor's formal gardens.
“Why mixed berry? Was that the pie of the day?”
Daisy glanced up at me and thought for a minute before saying, “You struck me as a man who appreciates variety and a little tart with his sweet.”
“You'd be right. And maybe I should be embarrassed to say so, but I'm hiding this pie, so I don't have to share it with everyone else.”
Daisy laughed, the sound a relief after the tension of the past few hours. “I wouldn't want to share it either. I'm greedy when it comes to pie.”
“Would you think less of me if I tell you I've been hoarding your brownies?”
I'll admit I asked just to get another laugh out of her. She didn't disappoint me, the sound of it soaking into my soul just as the first laugh had. I could spend all day just making this woman laugh.
I looked down to the curve of her lip, the length of her gracefully crossed legs. I wanted to run my hands over all of her smooth skin. I liked to make her laugh, but I'd like it even more if I could do it while we were naked.
One thing at a time, I reminded myself. She still wasn't sure she wanted to be here. The last thing I needed was to scare her off before she made up her mind, which made my next move debatable. But there was no reward without risk, and Daisy was worth taking a chance.
“Why don't you stay for dinner?”
She shifted on the bench, putting more space between us. “I—I wouldn't want to impose. I didn't think about it being so close to dinner. Grams is handling closing, and I thought I'd run over here and give you the pie after Tenn said you were here and not at The Inn, but I couldn't impose for dinner.”
“Do you have other plans?” I probed.
“Not really, but I'm not dressed to eat dinner… here.” She looked over her shoulder at the imposing rear view of Heartstone Manor. Even with the gardens a mess, the house was beautiful, towering above us, the wings extending to the sides of the main building like arms embracing the gardens.
“We don't dress for dinner anymore.” I thought of Parker in the cocktail dress she'd worn the night before. “Well, most of us don't dress for dinner. Sterling was wearing pretty much the same thing you are.”
Daisy wore khaki shorts and a pink polo shirt with the bakery's logo embroidered on the chest. She looked casually professional and far more presentable than the way some of us had shown up to dinner.
“Hope will be there. She didn't have a great day. She's been sick as a dog, and I'm sure she'd love to see you.”
I wasn't above using Daisy's friendship with Hope to get my way. I didn't know why she was so gun shy, but I had every intention of finding out.
First, I had to get her to trust me.
Chapter Fifteen
royal
Why don't we go back in the house, I'll stash this pie somewhere secret, and we'll get you a glass of wine. Or beer. Or whatever you want. Except the vodka Sterling used to start that fire.”
“She poured vodka on it to get it started?” Daisy laughed again. I was getting addicted to the sound of her laugh, the spark in her eyes when she was amused. “It's fitting, I guess. Sterling pouring out the vodka to burn—what did she burn?”
“Her debutante gown. And the vodka.”
“And you? What did you burn?”
“The trophy of a bear my father lied about killing. When I was a kid, I always wanted to set that bear free.”
“And now you have. Did it feel good?”
I stretched out my arms along the back of the bench, one hand landing barely an inch from Daisy's shoulder, and tipped my head back to look at the sun-dappled branches above us. “Yeah, it did. It felt fucking great.”
; “Good.” Daisy leaned her head back to rest against my arm and joined me in staring up at the tree. “Why did you decide to start a bonfire in the yard? Why now?”
I found myself telling her the truth. “Ford took a plea deal. No trial. No search for the real killer. Just murder one on his record and the next chunk of his life in prison.”
Daisy sucked in a breath. “I'm sorry.”
“And it's weird,” I went on, hardly aware of what I was saying but feeling like with Daisy I could spill out the jumble of emotions inside me. “It's weird because I know it's not my father's fault. He was the one who was murdered. Obviously, it's the fault of whoever killed him and set Ford up to be blamed. But still, it feels like this is on Prentice. It feels like he did this to all of us.”
“And he's dead, so you can't get back at him. But the bonfire's a pretty good substitute. Isn't it?”
“I think it might be, yeah.”
We sat in silence, soaking up the warm air and the sounds of birds and insects, the rustle of the tree leaves above our heads. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hawk point a hose at the bonfire. He was all business, no appreciation for mayhem. Probably a good addition to the Heartstone Manor team considering the rest of us, but I could have let that fire burn all night.
“So, do you want a glass of wine before dinner?”
Daisy looked up at me, considering. “I think I might, yes.”
Out of nowhere, Hope appeared, Sterling and Parker behind her. Parker lugged a wicker picnic basket and Sterling carried what looked like a bottle of white wine in a marble cooler and two wine glasses.
Without a word of explanation, Hope spread a blanket across the grass under the tree, Parker set the basket on the corner, and Sterling arranged the bottle of wine beside it, laying the two glasses gently on the blanket.
Parker sent me a gentle smile and Hope winked before they turned to go. Sterling said, “Enjoy,” with that laugh in her voice I hadn't heard often enough. Then she was gone along with the others, leaving Daisy alone with me.
Daisy stared at the blanket and picnic basket with wide eyes. “What just happened?”
“I think they were the picnic fairies. And I think we're going to owe them a big thank you.” I stood and reached for Daisy's hand. “Shall we see what they brought us?”
I left the pie on the bench and joined Daisy on the blanket, picking up the wine that one of our picnic fairies had thoughtfully opened and re-corked. Daisy pulled out crackers and cheese, neat slices of cured sausage, and a small container of olives. Next, she withdrew two individual quiches, still steaming from the oven.
“Wow.” My stomach rumbled as I surveyed our haul of food. “No dessert. I guess that means I only have to share the pie with you.”
I handed Daisy a glass of wine and took the small plate of crackers, cheese, olives, and sausage that she'd prepared for me.
I waited until she was munching on her own cheese and crackers before asking, “Tell me about your family. I saw your mom is working at the bakery now. Are you two close?”
Daisy took a long sip of wine. “Not really. I'd like to be. I wish we were. I'm closest to Grams. She pretty much raised me.”
There was a lot of history in that statement. I wasn't used to digging into the heavy stuff on the first date. Really, I never dug into the heavy stuff with the women I dated. With Daisy, I wanted to know. I wanted to unravel the mystery of her family and J.T. I wanted to know all of her secrets.
“Why didn't your mom raise you?”
Daisy hesitated. I wanted to know, but not if she didn't want to tell me. “If you don't want to talk about this, that's okay.”
“It's not that. Well, it is, but like I said before, it's complicated.”
“I'm a good listener,” I said, “but I meant it. If you don't want to talk about it, we can talk about something else. But if you don't want to say because you're afraid of what I'll think… Just consider that when you showed up, the Sawyer family was burning their father's treasured possessions. We're pretty fucked up over here. There probably isn't much you could throw at me that's worse than the skeletons in our closets.”
I managed to startle a laugh out of Daisy, giggles chasing the pensive expression from her face. When she could talk, she said, “Good point. Basically, here it is. My dad is one step up from a con artist on a good day. He's insanely charming, and handsome, and he's excellent at talking himself out of trouble. Which is good because he's also excellent at finding trouble.”
She nibbled on another cracker, lost in thought. I waited, not wanting to push now that she was talking.
“When I was a kid he was always on the move, always looking for the next big score, the business deal that was going to make us rich. My mom loves him. She believes in him. He lets her down over and over, and she always thinks this time it'll be different. The way Grams tells it, my dad got a job offer when I was just a baby, and she was supposed to watch me until they got settled. They didn't come back for two years. By then, Grams didn't want to give me up.”
Daisy took another long sip of wine before she spoke again. “Honestly, I doubt they asked her. They love me. I know they love me. They're just not very interested in parenting. Grams was everything I needed.”
“I know all about being raised by someone who isn't into parenting,” I said. “Prentice was pretty much hands-off. He let his wife of the moment take care of us, and Miss Martha did her best, but Prentice didn't take much interest unless it was to berate us for something. My own mom barely stuck around after she had Avery and Tenn. Apparently, having twins wrecked her figure, and she wasn't going to ruin the rest of it raising us. Prentice wrote her a fat check, and I never saw her again. He married Darcy a month later.”
“And your mom just never came back? Mine wasn't around a lot, but at least I see her now and then.”
“She's married to some guy twice her age. They live in Palm Beach. And Darcy was a great mom while we had her.” I felt my throat close as the words left my lips. I looked down into my wine, not wanting Daisy to see the grief I knew was in my eyes. All these years later and I still missed Darcy like a hole in my heart.
“I'm sorry about your mom,” Daisy said. “And Darcy. Hope told me Darcy was wonderful.” Daisy shot a quick look at my face and changed the subject.
“I kind of always figured my mom stuck with my dad because he needed taking care of more than I did. And I'm grateful they left me with Grams. With Grams, I had hugs, and food on the table, and school. Grams taught me to bake and tucked me in every night. Grams taught me to dream like my dad, but she also taught me how to work hard and make those dreams come true.”
“She sounds amazing.” I wished we'd had a grandmother like Daisy's when we'd been kids.
“She is,” Daisy agreed.
I took her empty plate, slid her quiche onto it, and handed it back. “Finn complains about every cook we have, but I think this one's not too bad. Fingers crossed the quiche is good.”
“It smells fantastic,” Daisy said and took a bite. I took one of my own. Maybe the quiche wasn't as perfect as one Finn might have made, but it was pretty damn good. We ate in silence for a few minutes.
I wanted to ask about J.T., but I didn't want to push my luck and remind Daisy of her kind-of, sort-of, not-really a boyfriend. I'd save that for another time.
“So, Grams taught you to bake? Sweetheart Bakery has been open as long as I can remember.”
“She taught me everything I know,” Daisy said. “I wanted to go to school for it, the culinary program that J.T.'s in at Tech, but there wasn't money and then Grams needed more help at Sweetheart, so I never did. I did get an Associates in business—I did night classes at the satellite campus in town—and that's probably been more helpful in running the bakery than culinary school would've been anyway.”
“Do you wish you'd gone? Do you still want to?” It must be h
ard to watch J.T. chase a dream she'd wanted for herself.
“Kind of?” Daisy looked up at me through her lashes. Popping a bite of quiche in her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully. “When J.T. talks about his classes I want to know everything he's learning. But the schedule is a killer. I'd have to leave Sweetheart and Grams can't run the place on her own. I wouldn't want her to. And the truth is it's not practical. Even if I saved up for the tuition, it's not a program you can do part-time, and I don't need a fancy degree on my resume because I already have a job. Sweetheart Bakery isn't going to buy me a Ferrari, but we do a pretty solid business.”
She shrugged. “Culinary school is one of those things I dream about but I'm not working for. I think I'm too practical for that.”
“If he works for you, how did J.T. swing the tuition? Is he loaded down with student loans?”
“He's paying tuition with blood money.” Daisy shook her head. “His parents kicked him out when we were in high school. They didn't talk to him for years, but they came back a while ago, said they felt terrible and missed him, and they wanted to make it up to him. They still barely see him, but they forked over the cash for his tuition, so that's something.”
“Why'd they kick him out?”
Daisy shook her head again. “Some things aren't mine to tell, you know?”
“I do.” I had a suspicion, but I wouldn't push. “When are you going to start adding on to the bakery?”
I'd figured that would be an easy question to lead us away from J.T.'s secrets, but it looked like I'd hit a sore spot. Daisy's thick lashes lowered, and she took another bite of the quiche.
Interesting. She'd gone quiet at the bakery when Grams had been talking about her plans for expansion. There was something wrong there, but I'd pried enough already.
“It smells like Hawk made them put out the fire.” At the obvious change of subject Daisy's eyes cleared of worry. The air had cleared as well, the odor of burnt hair and chemicals faint but present all the same. The last few minutes it had cleared, chased off by the scent of wildflowers and damp grass. Much better.
