We fall quiet, waiting for the other to speak, and then we exchange quiet laughter.
"Ladies first." I wave my hand, motioning like the floor is hers.
Her head tips an inch, sunlight spilling over her honeyed tresses. "You said 'there it is.' What were you talking about?"
"Your fire."
"I don't have fire."
"Sure you do. I remember that very well from a couple nights ago."
Her pretty mouth twists. She doesn't believe me. Or, and this is more likely, she doesn't want to believe me. Doesn't want to entertain the possibility, because the outcome isn't one she'd like to face.
She looks so uncomfortable that I let it drop. "Were you apologizing for calling me a standoffish asshole?"
She eyes me for a solid two seconds, then I see it in her eyes. A spark.
"Actually, I was apologizing to your dog." Her cheekbones lift, her smile mischievous.
Something in my chest rejoices.
It's me, Penn.
How I wish I could shout the words.
I bend my ear to Slim Jim. "What's that?" I cock my head like I'm listening, then straighten. "He says he accepts your apology."
"How gracious of him. Now, I?—"
Sal shuffles from the store. He's carrying a metal bowl and a bottle of water, a paper bag clutched in his opposite hand.
"Good morning, Daisy. Saw you out here, so I asked Adela to get your mother's order prepared."
Daisy sends a million dollar smile his way. What would I give to be on the receiving end of one of those?
My last almond Snickers bar?
All future ability to call Hugo rude names?
The option to block telemarketers?
The answer is obvious and immediate.All three.
"How's that wedding planning coming along?" Sal asks Daisy. Without waiting for an answer, he adds, "You sure looked beautiful at your engagement party."
Air streams tersely from my nose, earning me pinched eyebrows from Daisy before she turns back to Sal. "You're sweet. Nothing layers of makeup and plenty of hairspray can't accomplish."
Sal hands the bowl and water bottle out to me. I busy myself with filling the dish for Slim Jim, and Sal presses on about the wedding. "Kathleen says you went with the chocolate cake and the Grand Marnier frosting."
That gets my attention. Unless something has changed, chocolate is Daisy's least favorite cake flavor.
It shouldn't matter, but it does. It most definitely shouldn't matterto me, but it does.
It's cake. Who the fuck cares?
"Hmm?" Daisy says in response to Sal, her far-off tone taking my attention from Slim Jim and his water.
She's staring at me. At the scars on my rib cage, cascading down and across the right part of my stomach. Raised and mottled and lumpy.
