She hastily replied, “Turkey sandwiches with homemade cranberry sauce.”
“Huh, how oddly specific.”
The painting was a piece from their youth, a symbol of what they once were and could never be again. Two kids, wildly carefree and so in love that it had broken them.
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Good work today, Jess.”
“Thanks! Oh, should I send them an invite to the party Friday?”
“No!” Daisy shot upright. Too harsh. “I mean, the list is finalized. No changes.”
“Not even for Jameson Kingston?”
Especially not him.
“No. Not even him.”
Jess was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “Whatever you say, boss.”
“Thanks again, Jess. See you next week for your shift. Have a good weekend.”
“Same. Bye.”
Daisy set the phone aside and curled into her pillow. Before sleep claimed her, she whispered a prayer: that she would never,eversee Jameson Kingston again.
But even as she said it, deep down she knew she would.
Chapter Seventeen
IT WAS QUIET, WAY TOOquiet for a Monday morning in her apartment. No chirping birds outside her window, no usual chatter. Just silence. It was a pleasant surprise, one Daisy graciously welcomed. When she pulled back the curtains, she wasn’t met with the sight of Mama Bird and her four minions. The nest was empty, abandoned. Either the birds had moved on to their next home, or they were simply off doing whatever it was birds did.
Daisy hoped they hadn’t moved on just yet. She and Amelia didn’t even get to say goodbye. They wouldn’t have left without a little warning.
Of course they would. They’re birds. They don’t give a shit about us.
Daisy scoffed at her inner dialogue. She chose to believe the bird clan did, in fact, give a shit about her and would come back one day to bid them farewell. They gave her an odd sense of peace, a sense of home.
After starting a pot of coffee, Daisy padded into Amelia’s room, where the little girl was fast asleep. She watched herdaughter’s chest rise and fall and listened to the soft snore bubbling out of her mouth.
There it was. Daisy’s whole world lay right before her. There wasn’t a single thing she wouldn’t do for that little girl. She had her completely wrapped around her finger. Daisy brushed Amelia’s wild hair from her face and gently kissed her forehead.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Amelia pulled from Daisy’s embrace and turned to the other side of the bed. This battle played out practically every morning. Daisy would wake Amelia for school, and Amelia would turn away and try to slip back into sleep. Her daughter’s sleeping habits had been wonderful when she was an infant. Amelia started sleeping through the night at three months old, a miracle by many standards. But the miracle had soured with age. She was the queen of sleeping in and refused to wake before her time.
“Amelia, come on, baby. You need to get up for school.”
Amelia grumbled and threw her arms over her head.
“Don’t make me count to three.”
When she still didn’t move, Daisy began the countdown. “One… get up, sweetie… two… Amelia, you better not make me say it… okay, here it goes… three.”
Then Daisy went in for the tickle, Amelia’s least favorite form of torment. Amelia laughed and tried to wiggle free. Daisy tickled until she was on her feet, then let go and watched her run into the bathroom.
Daisy shook her head, grabbed a cup of coffee, and went to get ready herself.
After dropping Amelia at school, Daisy headed to her studio. Since Jessica only worked Tuesday through Friday, Daisy was on her own. She unlocked the front doors at precisely nine and headed up to her office. After setting her belongings on her blonde oak desk, she armed the outdated security chimethat notified her if anyone entered the gallery. Mondays were slow; sometimes tourists wandered in, sometimes phony art enthusiasts asked mundane questions with no intention of buying. She rarely made a sale on Mondays, which was why she was content holding down the fort.
