Page 30 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
“Well, good. At least if you get that, you can go back to—”
“No. I won’t,” Candace resolved. She straightened, meeting Daisy’s fierce gaze with one of her own. “Because of our history, because webothneed this, I’m not giving up. Besides, barring our little inventory hiccup, my campaign worked.”
“You can’t be serious…” Daisy shook her head. “This is some crazy rich girl shit.”
“I showed you my bank account. You know I’m one missed paycheck from living out of my car.”
“It’s a mentality. Can’t you get it through your head? You’re trash to me, Candace. Pure garbage. I don’t want anything to do with you!”
Garbage.
For a beat, they looked at one another, letting that declaration hang between them. The truth stung Candace. More than stung, as her pride and heart took simultaneous critical blows. Yet, it was not as if she were unaware of Daisy’sfeelings. Although the woman had thawed somewhat over the last two weeks, she never lost her frostiness. Still, it hurt to hear aloud, and to know that she deserved it.
Daisy was the first to falter, dropping the arms she raised in the air for emphasis. She slapped her palms onto her thighs and let loose the breath she’d been holding.
“Okay. Look, that was harsh…”
“But fair,” Candace conceded. “I’m sorry that’s how you see me, and that there might be some truth to it. What’s also true is that if you want your business to survive the summer, you need me. Garbage or not.”
“Why? To screw me over again? Thanks, no thanks. I’m going to have to spend my whole day off food prepping because of you.”
Candace angled on the bench to face Daisy. Legs together and slanted, ladylike, as her grandmother taught her, to try and project the poise she did not feel. She agreed, “My verbal communication could use some improvement. Previously, I worked with boomer-banker types who live in the technological stone age. I’m used to being the ‘young one’ who implements any strategy that has connection to computers or the internet. However, if you read the binder I gave you, it clearly outlined my individual steps to getting Bagel Bombs! up and running, which included how I planned to start our social media push.”
“Like that stupid Bomb Bonanza? Was that in your binder?”
“No. That came from a customer feedback thread.” She paused, and cocked her head. “You know what their biggest complaint was?”
Candace could see it; the chink in Daisy’s armor. Interest, fear, and, maybe, a bit of excitement. She wanted to know.
Smiling, Candace revealed, “They wish they could have more. So, I offered to give it to them in a limited promotion with every flavor. That wasn’t the first bonanza we sold today, and it won’t be the last.”
Pulling out her phone, Candace showed Daisy the barrage ofcomments and private DMs she’d gotten from people about the woman’s little counter cafe.
“TheyloveBagel Bombs!. So many people have reached out to share family vacation memories that involve eating your food. Some people mentioned that they might come back to Wonderwood for the first time in years to try and recreate some of that nostalgia. Meaning, they want to give you money.”
It was hard to tell what Daisy was thinking. The message she currently read was from an older widow who used to visit Wonderwood with her long-grown children. The woman talked about getting a “Bombtastic-Bob-Box,” and riding bikes along the boardwalk. Daisy stared at the message long enough that Candace felt the nervous need to talk.
“It’s a cute name for a promotion. That woman remembered it after all these years.”
In a far-off voice, Daisy told her, “Robert… Bob… was my dad’s name. That was his special—one each of Boston cream, Nutella and strawberries, plain, and a mystery pick. For some reason, he’d pick sundried tomatoes for the random one like 50% of the time if he made up the box. Used to drive my mom crazy because it was a specialty flavor. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten about it.”
“That’s a sweet memory. It sounds like your parents had a lot of fun running the cafe.”
“They did.”
Daisy gave Candace her phone back. The fingers that brushed hers were cold and shaking, so much so that she almost steadied them with her own. She hesitated, though, and instead clutched her phone to her lap.
For a while, they both watched Horace. The crustacean was half-buried in the briny water, having scuttled itself up to the human-made shoreline. The simulated waves that lapped up over its carapace shell were soothing, cutting through the silence.
Candace wanted to apologize again. She knew that she hadto, more explicitly, for everything she’d done.
‘Daisy,” Candace started softly. “Or, Zee, if that’s what you prefer.”
“Daisy is fine.” She said it quickly, as if she surprised even herself. “You’re not my friend, you call me Daisy.”
Candace swallowed hard. “Okay. Daisy, then. About what happened between us… I—”
“I’ll tell you. From my perspective, I’ll tell you what you did to me.”
