Page 8 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
“We’re good here,” she called to the teens already starting to record the scene. “Shoobie stepped on a nail. Anyone wanna help?” Thankfully, the threat of humanitarian work got therubberneckers to move along. She breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Daisy might be bitter, but she wasn’t heartless. She pulled a napkin from the counter dispenser and handed it over. An awkward beat passed while Candace tried, and failed, to clear her clogged nose with dignity.
“Hey,” Daisy started. “I’m not going to apologize, but are you oka—”
“No!I’m not okay, not even close! IhateWonderwood! It’s an awful place.”
“Huh. You’re allowed to be wrong, I guess. If it’s so terrible, go somewhere else.”
Another fresh flood found its way to Candace’s face. She mastered her emotions herself this time with a few controlled breaths. Her wounded expression soured.
“If I had any other choice, I would.”
Candace huffed for emphasis and tossed her sunflower locks over one shoulder. Daisy didn’t watch how the light caught on the sleek strands, and shedefinitelydidn’t feel a rush as the scent of lilac shampoo hit her nose. When Daisy said nothing in response, Candace slumped.
“Not that you would care, but my life is a mess. I got fired from my dream job, and now I’m unhirable.”
“Oh. Bummer.”
“Yeah, ‘bummer.’ So this is my last option. I have to suck it up and beg for help from the one person I swore to never go to again.”
“Hitting up Uncle Moneybags, huh? Must be nice.”
“No,” she snapped, but seemed to catch herself. She took a deep breath through her nose and added, “Sorry, but it’s not ‘nice’ owing Peter Perry, even if you’re related to him. It might even be worse because he feels like he’s somehowallowedto make me miserable because we share some DNA. He’ll hold this over me for the rest of my life.”
Regret hit Daisy. She recalled the scared young girl she met so long ago and imagined what their home life must havelooked like. She started to apologize. With a shake of her head, Candace stopped her.
“It’s alright. Privilege with strings is still privilege, I know.”
“Yeah. But it does sound like it sucks. You’re allowed to complain.”
“Thanks. Everyone thinks he’s wonderful. ‘Wonderwood’s Wacky Uncle,’ who revitalized the boardwalk. Living with him, having the same name, is different.”
Plainly, Daisy said, “He’s an asshole, and this place would be better off if he fucked off.”
Candace giggled in a musical burst. A rush of deja vu hit Daisy, and her heart did a little skip.
“He is, isn’t he? It’s nice to hear someone say it out loud. I’m not just taking his money, to be clear. I’ll pay him back every single cent as soon as I can. I might not technically be a banker anymore, but I can still manage money. In the meantime, I get to relive some of the worst years of my life.”
Pausing, Candace snatched another napkin from the dispenser and blew her nose; unladylike, a little gross, and wholly human, which was disarming for Daisy to see.
She continued, “That’s the reason for… whatever this was. I’ve been burying a lot of emotions, and being here dredged them all up.”
“ ‘Tide ‘tis time’s temptation; let it be and ride the sea.’ ”
Candace looked at Daisy like she had two heads because why wouldn’t she? It was an old fisherman’s limerick, something Daisy’s mother used to belt in a silly, sing-song voice whenever Daisy was having a bad day. She could not remember the last time she thought about the phrase, but words left her lips before she registered it happening.
In a rush, she explained, “It’s a sailor’s saying. Weird, I know. It’s—”
“I like it.” A small, thoughtful smile curved Candace’s lips. She mused, “It’s a bit like saying ‘go with the flow,’ which I need to hear sometimes. Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
Candace’s smile flickered and shifted from a genuine action to a practiced one. She started to turn away. “Well, then. Sorry for bothering you.”
Daisy couldn’t say why. On impulse, she filled their largest insulated to-go cup with coffee and placed it on the counter before Candace. The woman blinked her somehow still perfectly mascaraed eyelashes at the steaming object before her.
“On the house,” Daisy offered with a shrug. “I know a thing or two about owing Peter Perry money. I get it.”
