"Warn a girl," she says, looking out at me from her elevated perch. We're nearly eye to eye, and she looks so pretty in my truck, sitting there in her pink floral print skirt falling to mid-calf, the ivory sweater buttoned halfway with the silky looking top underneath.
What would it be like to gather the hem of her skirt in my grasp, run my hands over the smooth expanse of skin below? I don't need to go higher than her knee. I'll settle for her calf.
Torture has never really been my thing though, so I force myself to stop thinking of her this way.
Leaning slightly left, I look over the back seat and give Slim Jim hislie downcommand. He obeys immediately, and Daisy says, "His commands are in German?"
"Some, but not all." I close her door and round the back of my truck, jumping into the cab. Wisps of plum hit my nose, followed by notes of something smoky, and maybe amber? Whatever it is, my salivary glands are exploding. How am I supposed to spend time in this enclosed space and survive? Daisy smells too good. Mouthwatering.
"So," I say a bit on the loud side, too forcefully, like that one word can push away the intoxicating scent of the women three feet away from me. I start up the truck, backing out of the space, and ask, "How is wedding planning going?"
I've been waiting around to see if there would be any kind of fallout from my interaction with Duke at my house a couple days ago, but it's been radio silence.
Duke and Daisy's wedding is almost the very last subject I want to talk about, but she was at a wedding dress fitting before the library, and not asking about it seems odd, like it's being left out on purpose.
When she doesn't immediately answer, I glance over. Her hands are on her lap, her right hand twirling her engagement ring.
"Sunshine?" I prompt, shifting into drive and starting forward on one of the side streets.
Daisy looks over, something in her eyes that's impossible to decipher. "Wedding planning is going fine," she answers.
"Sounds like it," I answer, a little more gruffly than I intended.
"It is," she insists, but she sounds tired. It makes me think of the way she and Duke parted on Saturday night, the lack of warmth and care, giving no indication they are anything special to one another.
"Aren't you excited to be getting married? You've found your true love, right?" Honestly, I hope she has. I'd rather she be sublimely happy. "Not many people can say that."
"True love," she echoes, laughing softly, a disbelief in the notes. "The stuff of fairy tales."
My face scrunches. A whole-hearted believer in love of the truest kind, Daisy was always staunch in her position. Downright stubborn. Who is this woman beside me, dismissing the notion? Without thinking, I blurt, "You don't believe in true love any—" I cut off, shaking my head. "Sorry. I misspoke. Too many thoughts in my head at once." I clear my throat, trying again. "You don't believe in true love?"
Daisy doesn't catch my slip of the tongue, thankfully. "There is no such thing as true love. No knight in shining armor."
Of everything Daisy has said to me since I've been back, this might be the most concerning. The Daisy I remember loved love. She hosted weddings for her stuffed animals. The question was never 'what are you dressing up as for Halloween', but 'which princess will you be?' Whomever she chose, her dad dressed up as the prince. Without fail.
"Come on," I urge, side-eyeing her. "What about Sir Galahad? Charlemagne? Hector of Troy? All fabled men considered bastions of chivalry."
She scoffs. "Their mothers probably wrote their bios."
"We should all be so lucky," I respond. In my head, I hear the old Outback steakhouse tune that played on radio commercials around Mother's Day.No one ever loves you like your mum, mum.
I keep that little ditty to myself, even though I know Daisy will remember it, the way it would get stuck in our heads as we tromped around her farm, singing it. Instead, I push her a little harder on the topic of true love. I can't let it go, not without digging deeper. There's a lot more to this story, I know it.
"Is there a specific reason you hold this position?"
"I believed in true love once, when I was a child." I spare her a glance as I drive. She gazes out the windshield, eyes glossy."Turns out, it was a product, sold to me by books and movies. All those fairy tales, you know? And watching my parents. So stupid. Naïve."
I open my mouth to interject, to defend her against herself, but she continues and I decide to be quiet.
"I didn't only believe in true love, I assumed it was there, waiting for me, distant but on my horizon. It wasn't a hope, but an eventuality. Acertainty." She sighs. "But then I learned a few lessons the hard way."
My fists curl around the steering wheel. Something about the way she says this tells me I was right, there is more to this story, and it has to do with someone hurting her. Someone who is not me.
"Did someone hurt you, Sunshine?" We've lived a good portion of our lives without one another. It's not only possible, but probable, somebody hurt her along the way. But the question is, how much? In what way?
"Why do you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
