Either way, going home was prudent. Even necessary. A wise move to save her future and her heart.
Unlocking the door of her flat, she dropped her bag to the floor and collapsed in the overstuffed chair she’d found at a rummage sale. Home. Peace. Quiet.
“I’ve missed you, flat.” The Princess Charlotte, while beautiful, had nothing onherplace, with the eclectic furnishings, handwoven rugs, and art from local artisans.
But she didn’t have time to lounge. With only an hour to get ready, she needed to utilize every minute. The lot of them usually met at eight, so Daffy planned a grand entrance around eight-fifteen. No one, not even Ella, knew she was home.
Her mail went straight into the rubbish, and her roses were one day from joining the mail. Nevertheless Daffy watered them one last time, and as she set the vase on the counter, two petals fluttered to the floor.
Tossing them in the bin, she spotted the box of things Mum brought round from the garage and read the attached note.
“Dad found this while cleaning the garage. I found that old diary of yours in here. That being said, you’re getting married. Don’t keep junk. The less you take to your new place the better. You’ll accumulate closetsful by the time it’s all said and done. Live lean. It makes life so much simpler.”
Love, Mum
(You’d never know we had the big cleanse of ’09. How could we have collected so much stuff in such a short time? I blame your father. Really I do.?)
Daffy dropped the note. Mum found the diary? But it’d been missing for so long. Shoving the box contents around, she dug to the bottom, looking for the leather book which held her story, her young dreams.
But it wasn’t there.
Daffy pulled out a framed photo of her with Nana and Papa and set it on her kitchen island.
“Miss you both.”
Then she dug out three empty frames. They used to hold photos of that lying snake, the cheater Rex Childress.
Ah, her stuffed bunny. Poor thing. She slept with it every night until well past thirteen. Daffy tucked it under her arm to put on her bed when she went in for her bath.
She removed books, ribbons, theater tickets, and a pair of socks she stole from a chap at uni—what in the world?—but not the diary.
Daffy read mum’s note again. “I found that old diary of yours in here.”
She must have meant she didn’t find it because it wasn’t here. Not even close.
Well, she had Bunny. Daffy set the pink, stuffed toy against her pillows and apologized for abandoning her. Then she soaked in the tub and tried to imagine everyone’s reaction when she showed up at the pub. She’d missed Thomas. Well, a little. No, more than a little. She missed his familiar scent. The strength of his embrace, the taste of his lips on hers.
Choosing her finest night-on-the-town clothes—black slacks with a tailored white blouse, Jimmy Choo heels, and her leather coat—Daffy hurried through the Clemency District under blooming cherry trees and glowing street lamps.
Once inside, she gazed toward their table, expecting to hear a burst of laughter. But the pub overflowed with patrons and she couldn’t get a clear look.
From the stage, two women sang a classic standard, “Dream a Little Dream,” and mesmerized the patrons.
Daffy passed their favorite server. “Are they here, Gypsie?”
“Well, look at you. Where you been?”
“Working in Dalholm. Hadsby Castle.”
Daffy squeezed between the tables, nodding at familiar faces. But when she arrived at the large table in the corner by the windows, it was occupied by strangers. Four chaps and three ladies.
One of them peered up at her. “Can we help you?”
“No, thank you. I just thought my friends were here tonight.”
“Sorry, love, but we’ve had this table the last two weeks. Hope we didn’t displace you.”
“Of course not.” She backed away. “First come, first served. Sorry to have disturbed.”
