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So far, that had not proved to be true.
This morning, I’d been sent out by my family to pick up an order of pastries from Bettie’s. We’d been burning through a pie every two days—every night after dinner, someone would inevitably shove a piece of pie in my face, likely in the hopes that it would cheer me up. They, of course, wouldn’t leave me to eat pie alone, and as such, everyone’s pants were a little tight. Except for Grant, who had the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old, the bastard.
I walked into Bettie’s to the ding of the bell and Brenda Lee playing from the jukebox, a little bit lighter for being in public. As much as I hadn’t wanted to see anyone, it was nice to pretend for a minute that things were normal and my heart was still in my chest instead of stomped to death under my childhood treehouse.
“Daisy!”
When I heard my name from a little girl’s mouth, I froze dead and turned, hoping I wouldn’t find Sophie. But there she was, in all her raven-haired glory, charging me like she hadn’t seen me in a year.
And behind her was Keaton, tall and dark and utterly devastating.
Emotion clamped my throat shut, and I swallowed hard, opening it enough to greet Sophie. I was even able to plaster on a smile for her sake, kneeling to catch her. She wrapped her little arms around my neck and squeezed.
“I miss you,” she said in my ear.
“I miss you too,” I answered.
“So does Uncle Keaton,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and squeezed her. “I miss him more.”
When she let me go, it was to launch into a story about dance class. I did my best to listen, but Keaton had approached, stopping close enough that I could smell the earthy scent that had once driven me crazy. Now it just made me miserable.
“Sophie,” Keaton started—Jesus, even his voice triggered a chain reaction through me, “I’m sure Daisy is busy and needs to get on with her day.”
Sophie pouted. Keaton extended his hand.
“Come on, squirt. Let’s—”
“Sophie Meyer,” Bettie called from behind the pastry case with a know-it-all look on her face, “come here and get yourself a cookie.”
Sophie glanced at Keaton for approval, and on his nod, she bolted for the case, planting both palms on the glass in an effort to maximize her inspection of Bettie’s wares.
We were almost alone, if not for the restaurant’s patrons, and without Sophie as a buffer, we were silent.
I broke the quiet with a smile and a tried and true, “How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” he said with an undercurrent of misery. “You?”
“Same,” I answered, hoping he knew I was miserable too. “Thank you for the referrals, by the way. I think Poppy’s got it narrowed down.”
“Good.” It didn’t sound like he thought it was good at all, proving what a terrible liar he was.
For a moment we shared a stretch of awkward silence, taking me back to the time before, when possibility hung between us instead of heartache.
“How’s business?” I asked, genuinely curious as to whether or not it was worth it.
“Better.” He started to say something, and my heart lurched in his direction. But he caught himself.
Tears stung my nose, and I looked toward Sophie so I wouldn’t have to face him.
“Daisy, I—”
His pain was thick in his voice, heavy on his face when I met his eyes. But before he could finish, Sophie came running up with two cookies in a bag under one arm and one in her free hand, a perfect crescent bitten off the edge.
Keaton sighed, smiling sadly at her. “Three? Really?”
Sophie shrugged. “I couldn’t decide, so Bettie let me have all of them.”
Bettie waved from behind the counter, just a twiddle of her fingers in the air.
Keaton raised a big, square hand of his own before extending it to Sophie. “You ready?”
She nodded, and rather than take his hand, she slapped the bag of extra cookies into it. “Bye, Daisy,” she said, then waved emphatically at Bettie.
Keaton still wore a sad smile, nodding at me once before shepherding Sophie out of the diner. I forced myself to turn around and head toward the counter rather than watch them walk away. I couldn’t hide how I felt in front of all those people.
Bettie waited patiently behind the register, her apple-red lips smiling. “Hey, Daisy. Three pies, ready to eat.”
She retrieved a bag from beneath the counter and set it between us before punching buttons on the register. “I’ve never seen worse puppy dogs in my whole life than you two.”
“Thanks for your help with that, Bettie.”
She shrugged, taking my offered cash and working on my change. “Easier just to face each other, isn’t it?”
“If you say so.”
One of her brows rose from behind her chunky, mint-green glasses. “You mean to tell me it wasn’t just a little good to see him?”
