Page 96 of Book and Ladder
Instead of Clementine, my eyes land on Daisy. She’s holding a wadded up bunting in her arms and laughing with a group of volunteers. She pivots and our eyes lock. She shutshers. And then she turns slightly and moves on as if she never saw me.
Okay. So, we’re ignoring one another. Can’t really blame her. After all, I’ve been avoiding her for days.
“Patrick!” Clementine shouts out to me. She’s carrying a clipboard and striding across the lawn like a woman on a mission.
I meet her halfway.
“I’m so glad you could make it. I need you to …” She glances at the list on her clipboard. “Ah. Yes. Hang the bunting from pole to pole. Daisy has it. You can check with her. I’ve already told her how to attach the rope to each support.”
Well, shoot me. Shoot me now. I want to ask for another assignment, but I imagine that will go over as well, or worse, than it does when I beg off something with Captain. So, I just say, “Okay,” and then I gird myself and walk toward Daisy.
She’s standing near the bottom of a pole, looking up at it as if it’s going to bend down so she can tie the bunting to the top.
I walk up behind her, close enough to catch the faint hint of cinnamon. My hand itches to brush the loose strand of hair from her cheek, but I fist it at my side instead.
“Some jobs call for the little giant,” I say.
She jumps and spins around. “O’Connell!”
I raise one brow and stare down at her. “Clark.”
“What are you doing here?” She crosses her arms, bunching the bunting against her chest.
“I’m on setup duty. You?”
“Avoiding you.” She smirks, but a blush rises on her cheeks.
“How’s that working for you?”
“Not as well as I’d hoped.”
“Hold that thought.” I raise my pointer. “I’ll get a ladder.”
“No.” Daisy shoves the wad of bunting at my chest. Her hand barely brushes across my shirt, but it’s enough to recall the heat of her palm there when she kissed me—and pushed me away just as quickly.
“I’ll get it. You stay here … and … just … Stay. Here,” she sputters.
“Got it. I’ll just stay … here.”
She narrows her eyes at me. My heartbeat thrums rapidly beneath my balled fists. She doesn’t have a clue since I’m playing it way cooler than I feel.
I watch her storm off, trail Joe Stevens, and refuse his offer to carry the ladder. Then she half-drags, half-hauls it toward me, chin set. I let her—though every instinct in me says to close the distance and help.
“Shut it, O’Connell,” she says when she’s about ten feet away.
“Consider it shut, Daisy.”
Her eyes narrow again.
She opens the ladder and then extends one arm. I unload part of the bunting into it, holding onto the other half.
“You had to volunteer to hang the bunting? You couldn’t … I don’t know … Maybe set up the bandstand?”
“Clementine asked me to help you.”
“Hmph.” She turns and steps up the ladder.
I sort through the tangled bunting, attempting to make it easier for her to find the end.
