Page 23 of Book and Ladder
“Sorry, Daisy,” he says with a friendly smile. “Can’t help being entertained by the fireworks show that always seems to blow whenever you two are within fifteen feet of one another.”
She smiles so warmly at him I barely recognize her. “It’s not you, Cody. Obviously.”
Why does he get a pass?
I get it. I know what I did. She doesn’t know why things went south that day. And she won’t let me explain. Never has. Can I explain away the damage? No. But if she knew the whole story …
“She’s something else,” Cody says, turning so his back is to the rest of the line.
“You can say that again,” I say, standing shoulder toshoulder with him so our backs form a wall with only inches between us.
“Nah, man. I mean, she’s amazing. Do you know what she did for Carli when their dog died last month? That dog meant everything to Carli.”
“No.”
“Daisy got up in the middle of the night, drove out to the Buckners’ ranch and sat with Carli while they put Blaze down. And then she stayed on all night—refused to leave Carli’s side. Just held her while she cried. That’s a loyal friend. Daisy had to open the bookshop the next day, but she didn’t put herself first. She always sets her own needs and agenda aside for everyone. She’s basically why that bookshop is still open. People have to drive out to it. It’s not downtown like the rest of our small businesses. She’s the heartbeat of that place.”
I don’t know why a pang of something like jealousy spears through me. It’s so visceral—the tension in my hands and stomach, the wave of heat rising up my spine—like my body knows to be jealous even though my brain refuses to be.
Why does Cody get to admire Daisy so freely? He’s not perfect. None of us are. But I’m the one she’s got the grudge against. Not that Cody ever stood Daisy up—or cost her something she had been working toward her whole life.
Cody claps me on the back. “You two really should get along better than you do. You both love books.”
“Yeah, well … some people just rub one another the wrong way, I guess.”
Cody shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s loosely aware of the history between Daisy and me. He probably thinks we’re both being immature and short-sighted. On more than one occasion he’s said, “Leave high school in high school.” If only it were that simple.
Cody and I get our orders and he leaves to head out to his family’s ranch where he lives when he’s not at the station.
I walk toward the back of the shop, squeezing between the customers in line and a table near the entrance. My arm brushes against someone and I turn to apologize. Daisy’s fiery eyes stare up at me.
“If you wanted to feel my muscles, you could’ve just asked.” I wink.
She shoots back without missing a beat. “If you’re hoping to feel how soft my skin is—you can’t.”
The fire in her eyes dances.
I lean closer, not sure what’s come over me. My lips hover by her ear, like I’m sharing a secret. “It’s very soft.”
She might shudder—or maybe it’s revulsion. I don’t stick around long enough to find out. I stride away to grab a seat at an open bistro table where I wait for my dad to arrive—like a convict, waiting for the executioner.
My father makes his presence known anytime he enters a room. He doesn’t need to speak loudly. His presence alone demands respect. We’re a study in contrasts. The best and most treasured parts of myself are hidden online. Everything significant my father achieves occurs in the public arena.
After ordering, Dad asks the barista to carry his coffee to our table, then strides through Sip and Repeat as if he just purchased this place. Maybe he did. The barista, Lissa, trails behind him like the cupbearer to the king, setting his coffee on the table and asking if he needs anything else.
I stifle an amused chuckle.
I don’t know how he does it. Anyone else would need to be on crutches to get a barista to carry their coffee.
“Patrick,” Dad says, settling into his seat and looking around the room as if he’s here on behalf of the Health Department.
“Dad,” I respond, taking a sip of my latte and sitting back in my seat.
My body still aches from work. I’m exhausted. The gasstation fire gave me an adrenaline rush. Despite the half-full coffee sitting in front of me, I’m ready to crash.
Dad takes a measured sip of his coffee. His eyes narrow slightly.
He looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I don’t know how this place stays in business. This coffee makes me homesick.”
