“Sheismarried,” Daisy corrects me. “To Jesus.”
“Is that how that works?”
“Yes, but come on, we can talk about this?—”
“Wait, is that whatyouneed to be happy?” I’m not sure why I have to know her answer right now, but I do.
She smirks. “To become a consecrated virgin? Or to marry a man who wants to make out with me at a high school football game?”
“The second. And to have babies,” I clarify.
“While I’m grateful for my friends and family, yeah, I’d still love to get married for real and have kids one day,” she says.
“But I thought you wanted to be independent?”
She shrugs shyly. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think independence is overrated.”
“Hmm,” I hum thoughtfully. “Wait, can you even have children? Safely, I mean.”
Her eyes flicker away, but she answers the question. “My neurologist says I should be able to handle pregnancy, so long as I take a few precautions. It’s the postpartum time that’s more likely to be dangerous, so I’d need a lot of help from my husband.”
“Oh. Well, that’s … good.”
“Yeah, sure,” she murmurs, continuing up the bleachers.
“So once you and I go our separate ways, you’ll start dating … in Camellia?” I blurt out the question without thinking, and my stomach instantly turns at the thought of having to see Daisy with someone else. I imagine it’d be just as disturbing as when Loren and Blake first got together. Maybe even … worse.
Daisy’s answer pulls me up from that dangerous rabbit hole. “I suppose I’ll have to start dating if I want to find a loving and supportive husband. Although at this point, I’d settle for someone who takes care of me half as well as you do, as long as I can squeeze a little PDA out of him every now and again.”
“You shouldn’t have to settle,” I say flatly, ignoring the way the very idea of being forced to watch her with another man makes me see red. “We’ll find you another one of those douchey Bourgeois brothers. You deserve the annoyingly wholesome yet inappropriately handsy man of your dreams.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me. “Well, since you’re volunteering to help, it’d be nice if he was a Catholic, too,” she adds, and I let out a short laugh as we reach the others.
Loren turns and plops Charley into my lap as soon as I sit behind her, and I’m instantly reminded of how much I love being an uncle. I lift Charley to nibble at her neck and belly, making her giggle. It’s the sweetest sound in the world.
Daisy nudges me before she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Deny it all you want, but I still think all that stuff would make you happy, too.”
“What?”
She smirks as she reaches out to tickle Charley, and I can’t help the way Charley’s belly laugh makes me melt again. “You wantthis,” Daisy repeats. “Babies.”
I shrug and try to keep my expression neutral. “So I like kids. We get along. They’re easier to figure out than adults. That doesn’t mean I’ll never be content without having them.”
“That’s exactly what it means, Landry,” she replies.
“I’m a pediatrician and an uncle. I’m already surrounded by babies. I don’t need a soulmate to make me happy. I have a fulfilling careeranda family.” I gulp and avoid her gaze, but it’s not because I’m lying. I’m worried she’ll point out the holes in my plan, especially since she knows exactly how my family feels about me.
“Mm-hmm. And what happens once you retire? What are you going to do when these girls grow up and go off to live their own lives, just like Lilley’s kids will? Who’s going to keep you company when you’re old and lonely?”
I frown as I stare at Charlotte. It’s hard to imagine her growing up and moving away or starting a family of her own one day, but it’s likely it will happen. I sit her in my lap and kiss the top of her head.
“I’m a single doctor who never spends his money. I’ll use my fat retirement checks to pay people to take care of me. And my great nieces and nephews will visit me on occasion to secure a piece of my inheritance, regardless of how grumpy and senile I get.”
She snorts and pats my shoulder affectionately. “Maybe I’ll encourage my future grandkids to check on you and try to weasel their way into your will, too.”
“You keep mentioning all these children and grandchildren,” I say, shooting her a side-eyed smile. “But you know it’s gonna take more than a little PDA to make some of those, right? Better choose your second husband wisely.”
I watch her carefully as she gets visibly flustered. “Just when I think I understand you, you go and say something like that. And you claim other people are hard to read,” she tells me.
