Page 39 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
At 8 AM on the dot, Candace pulled up along the curb in front of Daisy’s house. She considered pulling right back out. Last night, after Daisy and she snuck out of the long-closed nature center following their sort-of reconciliation, they parted on better terms than she thought possible.
Notgood,but better off than they were when everything was left unsaid.
Now, it was time for Candace to put her metaphorical money where her mouth was.
Candace checked her reflection in the vanity mirror before exiting her car. Worry stared back at her as all the ways she messed up andstill couldmess up played in an endless loop through her imagination cinema. She hated this movie, the one where she was the villain in Daisy’s story as well as her own.
What if I get in the way?
Chaotic as it was, Daisy had a process and method to managing her business. Would she be angry at Candace trying to insert herself again? Think she was being pushy?
Or was Candace just making up excuses because she was afraid of rejection? A therapist session was in her future, but for now she had to move forward. Daisy was counting on her.
Send the script back for rewrites, Candace told herself. She was the one in charge of her actions, and it was time to take responsibility.
Sighing, Candace closed the mirror shutter with a snap. At least costume department was doing their job for this metaphorical movie. Despite her limited wardrobe, there werea few pieces she kept from her regular rotation in case she had a special occasion… such as surprising her boss/partner in a desperate bid to garner goodwill.
Candace almost felt like her old self wearing her favorite sleeveless blazer and pencil skirt. Seafoam tweed with gold accents, it matched her eyes and was tailored to fit her like a glove. She pulled her hair up into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail, with two elegant locks left free to frame her face. In this outfit, strutting in her tan kitten heels, she’d never failed to turn heads and leave slack jaws in her wake.
Maybe it would be enough to stop Daisy’s scowl.
Walking up the mismatched stone pavers to the gray-blue slatted wood of the bay cottage’s tiny covered porch, Candace could feel her heart pound harder. Not in a nice, fluttery manner, but like a trapped animal. Her step faltered as she missed a paver thanks to her shaking legs. Stopping, she took a moment to collect herself.
Candace had always felt emotions intensely. It was her Scorpio energy, Demi said. Her uncle berated her for it, called her weak and a typical woman. So, over the years, she had gotten better at controlling the outward display.
Breathing techniques were a helpful part of her coping arsenal. Through yoga, therapy, and a zealous need to research everything that interested her, she picked up several different types over the years. Alternate nostril breathing was her favorite for centering. To start, she shimmied her skirt up so that she could sit down on a paver, cross-legged. She set the coffee caddy on the ground, then pinched her nose with her thumb and pointer finger. Then, she alternated which nostril she plugged as she breathed in and out at a timed pace.
Thankfully, Daisy did not have a doorcam to catch the odd behaviors. No bell, either.
Once she gathered herself, Candace tried the brass knocker and waited.
And waited.
As long as Daisy had not moved from her childhood home,Candace was sure she was at the right place. Years ago, Demi pointed it out to her while wearing a sly, knowing grin.
Daisy’s golf cart was nowhere in sight, but the house had an attached garage, so it was reasonable to assume it was stored there. The landscaping was minimal, with tall bay grasses and shrubbery like prickly holly bushes. Nothing was too unkempt, but there was little personality—not even a garden gnome. The place seemed so…bland. Not like the cool, witty, artistic Daisy she knew.
Maybe she was wrong, or…?
No, Candace thought.This is it.
In the end, it was the smell that made Candace certain.
A familiar, bready scent caught Candace’s nose. Her empty stomach rumbled with anticipation. She took a long, savoring breath of toasted flour as she followed the invisible trail around the side of the house. There, past a narrow yard where the only thing of note was an outdoor shower stall, she continued to the back.
It was a small area. Just as sparse as the front, it was secluded by a high wood fence and tall spruce trees. A double-panel glass sliding door with no curtains or cover allowed Candace to see right inside.
Her jaw dropped.
Holy bagels.
It was an open lower level, so from where Candace stood she could see straight through from the kitchen to the living room to the locked front door. A TV faced her on the far wall, playing an old rerun ofTheSimpsons.
The main appliances, countertop, and sink were located in the right corner of the room closest to the sliding door. Every burner of the stove was active, from big boiling pots of water to what looked like curry in a saucepan. A behemoth, rustic farmhouse central table took up the majority of the space, and each inch of it was occupied by a bagel bomb or bagel bomb component in various states of completion.
The bread-stravaganza was impressive. Candace countedten trays with at least twelve different flavors. That, however, was not what she stared at. Once her eyes found Daisy, she could not look away.
And not just because the woman was half-naked.
