But now—
Now, I am striding up a hill in Hampstead Heath, and the sight before me is so bloody breathtaking that I nearly falter.
The sun is beating down, catching on Daisy.
She’s there, in a flowing hazel dress that—even from this distance—I know matches those wide, expressive eyes. And because she’s Daisy, she’s found a patch of wild daisies, little white petals poking through the grass like they bloomed just for her.
She’s kneeling on a picnic blanket, fussing with food, lost in her own world, oblivious to how she’s yanking the whole damn universe into her gravitational pull—the light, the air,me.
My heart clenches.
She turns, sees me, and her smile—
God, that smile.
It’s blinding, the kind of smile that could bring a man to his knees.
The past few weeks have been easy. We moved past the fight regarding the nightclub, past the tension, past my own self-imposed hesitation.
After she showed up at my house, crying, apologizing, being so damn vulnerable, something inside me melted.
Daisy’s been bending over backward to respect my schedule, tiptoeing round it like it’s sacred.
But I don’t want her walking on eggshells. If she wants to go to nightclubs, I want her to go. I want her to live loudly, to dance and laugh and drink bad cocktails and be every bit the whirlwind she is.
I find myself seeking her out after the most grueling shifts. And every single time, she is the highlight of my day. She’s fun. She’s light. She makes it so damn easy to breathe that I almost forget what it feels like to be consumed by exhaustion.
We are slipping into something steady. A rhythm that neither of us questions but both of us are learning to rely on, it seems.
We’re learning what the other needs.
And today, Daisy knew I needed something—even if she didn’t know exactly why.
Her expression shifts the moment she sees me, her bright, carefree energy dimming in an instant, her feet already carrying her toward me before I can say a word. “Edward, what’s wrong?”
I blink, and—bloody hell—there’s a tear leaking down my face. I don’t cry—not since those months after Millie went. I swipe it away quick, chuckling to cover the heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry. Caught me off guard.”
She slides her arms around my waist, her brows knitting together, worry pooling in her eyes.
“It’s Millie’s birthday today,” I say. “I suppose I’m a little more susceptible to being caught in the chest with emotions.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “What? Why didn’t you say? Oh god.” She flaps a hand at the spread behind her—champagne glinting in the sun, cheese and olives piled on a blanket with dips and snacks. “I’m so sorry, this doesn’t seem appropriate now.”
“Hey.” I stop her before she can spiral further, cupping her face, thumbs smoothing out the worry lines. “It’s not that. And I don’t even know why I’m—” I shake my head, huffing out something vaguely resembling a laugh. “Millie would be bloody delighted that I’m not holed up alone, brooding over a whiskey like some tragic bastard.”
That earns me a small, hesitant smile.
“Okay,” she murmurs, nodding. “That’s good. Because I know how hard you work, and this”—she gestures at the undeniable effort she’s put into our picnic—“this is my version of a prescription for Dr. Cavendish. A mandatory Daisy-date, designed specifically to force you to relax.” Her lips twitch, playful now. “And you have to do exactly as I say today, no arguments, because I’m the boss.”
I arch a brow. “Sounds suspiciously like coercion. What exactly does your expertly crafted relaxation plan entail, Miss Wilson? I’m assuming I can no longer call you Daisy, seeing as you’re the boss now.”
She smirks, tugging me toward the blanket. “Boss Lady is fine for now.”
Against all odds, my body has already started to loosen. I let her pull me down beside her.
“Rule number one,” she says. “Shoes off.”
I glance down, noticing for the first time that she’s barefoot.
