Page 48 of Pushing Daisy
I’m okay.
Stella stopped by yesterday afternoon and we had a good chat.
It helped.
Sloan fights the rising panic as she thinks about Stella and Daisy together. She doesn’t even know what Stella looks like, but thoughts of the two of them together, touching, cuddling, agreeing to try again flood her mind. She swallows and closes her eyes tightly as she breathes out. When she feels a little calmer, she opens her eyes again and responds.
That’s good. I’m so happy to hear.
Anyway, would you like to meet up tomorrow for lunch to review plans?
Sure. Where?
Goblin Market? 11:30?
Sounds great
I’ll see you tomorrow
I’ll see you tomorrow
Sloan re-reads the text. Surely, she misread it, and there’s no little heart.
I’ll see you tomorrow
Holy shit! But what does it mean? Did she send it to her by accident? Was that little heart meant for Stella?
Sloan stands and begins pacing again, already counting down the hours until she sees Daisy again.
Sloan checks her watch for the third time in as many minutes, already tapping her toe in frustration.
She’s not coming.
She raises her eyes and looks around again, hoping to see the flash of purple hair coming her way. But there’s nothing. As she’s about to check her watch again and decide how many more minutes she’s willing to give Daisy before fully accepting she’s been stood up, she feels it. That faint vibrating thread coming from behind her. She spins on her heel and feels the air sucked from her lungs. Her magic sparks excitedly inside her as it senses Daisy’s presence.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find parking,” Daisy apologizes, out of breath.
“You’re lucky you arrived when you did. I was about to leave and head directly to the council to report you for negligence,” Sloan responds dryly.
“Well, thankfully, you don’t need to worry about that anymore.” Daisy winks at her before turning back toward the market interior. “So, what’s your favorite booth? Are you a noodle fan? A barbecue fan? A salad fan?” she asks, her face practically disgusted with the last suggestion.
“Definitely noodles.”
“That’s the right choice. I’m not sure we could be friends if you chose salad.”
Friends.
Her heart leaps.
“Hey, a good salad can hit the spot,” Sloan responds, feigning offense.
Daisy stops, turning to face Sloan as she gently grasps her arm. Her face is stone, and her beautiful blue eyes show a level of seriousness that sends Sloan’s stomach into her chest, awaiting some life-altering news. “No. Chocolate hits the spot. Soup hits the spot. Pizza hits the spot. Salad, by definition alone, never hits the spot.” She pauses dramatically for extra effect before bursting into laughter. “Oh my goddess. The look on your face.”
Her laugh is the song Sloan didn’t know she needed. It’s different from all the other laughs she’s heard. Light and melodic, filling every dark cave within Sloan that longs to come to life. It’s like the fresh spring rain, giving budding flowers the drink they need to survive. It’s the fuel Sloan needs to survive, and now that she has tasted this joyful sound, she never wants to stop.
They continue to mosey through the market, checking in at different stalls along the way to the food section. Daisy picks up a couple of bracelets and crystals while Sloan finds a new journal. The conversation continues easily, passing jokes back and forth as if they have been doing this for ages rather than two days.
They find the best noodle booth in the market, Slurprise, where Sloan orders her favorite tonkotsu miso ramen, and Daisy opts for a yakisoba bowl. A comfortable silence falls on the table as they take their first bites. Sloan’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head with how good it is. She momentarily forgets she’s not alone and in public, letting out a guttural groan of satisfaction. Opening her eyes, she sees Daisy staring back at her. Her eyes are heated, and her cheeks are beautifully pink with blush. Sloan catches Daisy’s throat bob.
