I don’t even realise the word has slipped out of my mouth until her head snaps in my direction and the smile slowly melts from her face.
Fuck.
I wait for her to say something. To snap at me. To tell me to never call her that again. But she doesn’t. Instead, she faces forward, rests her head back against the seat and closes her eyes. I take that as my queue and pull away from the curb.
The drive to her house is short-lived and before I know it, I’m turning into her driveway. Daisy doesn’t open the door straight away and I hold my breath as I wait for her next move.
She picks invisible lint from her jeans, her voice so quiet I almost miss it as she mutters, “do you want to come in for coffee?”
It takes every single ounce of strength a man can muster to keep the smile off my face. “I’d love a coffee.”
It’s after eleven at night. I don’t give a fuck about the coffee. I just want to spend more time with her.
She dips her chin once in a quick nod and climbs out and I don’t waste a single second before I turn off the engine and follow her.
We’re silent as she unlocks the front door and leads me into the hallway where she, much to my disappointment, removes her shoes. I follow suit and begin toeing off my boots before pausing, second guessing myself.
Does taking off my boots make it seem like I’m expecting to stick around longer than she wants me to?
I frown. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by making myself too comfortable.
I’m mid internal battle when Daisy chuckles. “You can take your shoes off, Killian.”
My face heats as I look at her through lowered lashes, embarrassed that she can read me so easily. With a simple nod, I kick my boots off and follow her into the living room.
The living room that I helped decorate.
Without thinking, I say, “I was stood in this exact room when I found out you were visiting.”
Daisy freezes and looks at me over her shoulder. “You were?”
“Mm-hmm. I was painting that wall right there.” I point at the wall now sporting a large mirror.
She follows my gaze and stares at the wall like she’s seeing it for the first time and a strange part of me hopes that every time she looks at that wall from this day forward, she’ll think of me.
“That’s the night you came storming into The Boot all guns blazing?” she asks, her tone holding a teasing lilt.
I purse my lips and rock back on the balls of my feet. “Wasn’t my proudest moment.”
“Hmm.” Daisy watches me carefully. “I’m going to make the coffee. Make yourself at home.”
When she rushes from the room, I take the opportunity to snoop. Photo frames line the fireplace, each image containing one or all four of the women who live or have lived in this house, along with a few of Reign.
There’s a stack of books on a side table below the lamp that Daisy flicked on when we walked in here and the cover of one catches my eye. It’s familiar and I pick it up, reading the back to see if anything jogs my memory.
“What are you doing?” Daisy’s voice startles me, and I turn to look at her, still holding the book in my hands.
The second she realises what I’m holding her entire face heats. And then, it hits me.
With a shit eating grin, I hold the book up. “You still read this?”
Flustered, she places the mugs of coffee down on the table and straightens. “That’s none of your business.”
She reaches for the book but at the last second I pull my hand back, holding it out of her reach and smiling down at her. “Ah-ah,” I tsk.
“Killian, give me it,” she says desperately, still trying to reach for the book.
“I just want to have a little look. Jog my memory a little,” I wink, which only riles her more.
