CHAPTER 1
Daisy
(TEN YEARS AGO)
Dear Diary,
The most unbelievable thing happened yesterday. I saw Chase. My brother. Well, former foster brother. But that’s not what’s most shocking. It’s where I saw him—his photo was on the side of a bus in an advertisement for a blockbuster movie.
Chase, my brother who protected me, cared for me, told me bedtime stories, is now Chase James, the latest Hollywood movie star. I never knew what happened after my asshole dad beat him senseless and social services removed him from our house. But even though it’s been five years since I saw him last, I recognized his face right away.
I can’t stop thinking about Chase’s turnaround. If he can make his dreams come true, maybe I can too. I want a better future, one far away from my jailbird dad, my mom, and her loser boyfriends.
And most of all, I still want things I can’t have. Like success and someone to love me.
(NOW)
“At least I went out in style,” I say and flip my store sign to Closed for the very last time, trying to inject carefree humor into my voice.
I turn the key in the lock and take a few steps back to survey my now-empty and bankrupt vintage boutique in the early morning light. I’ll miss the pale-turquoise Victorian in San Francisco’s Noe Valley. It was also my home since I’d lived above the shop. All that’s left of my boutique is the Daisy & the Vintage sign that fronts it.
“God, it was really something,” my best friend and neighbor, Olivia, says, gazing into the empty windows. Her dark hair blows in the cool June air.
If I close my eyes, I can still picture it. The faux-crystal chandelier. The velvet chaise lounge I’d thrifted in the perfect shade of gold. The gilt mirrors, retro art, and my collection of perfume bottles and hat boxes from the 1800s. And especially, all the beautiful clothes.
She turns to me, her gray eyes concerned. “Are you sure this is for the best, Daisy? You poured your heart into this shop.”
I did. I loved researching the fashion of various eras and spending every spare moment exploring estate sales and secondhand stores, church charities and flea markets. I loved the thrill of finding a designer item for a song. A rare Pucci print. A Chanel handbag that just needed TLC.
And I especially loved repurposing some of my finds into Daisy Designs, giving the material a fresh new life. A dressturned into a shirt. A gorgeous fabric into a handbag. An unfortunate trend into timeless chic.
I loved it all, except the day-to-day managing of a business. Which, it turns out, is a bit of a problem when you’re an entrepreneur.
“You were the one who was always warning me this could happen if I didn’t keep better track of my profit and expenses.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of leaving yet another dream behind, of starting fresh. Rising like a phoenix is getting old.
“You know I’m not cut out for business. I’ve been barely hanging on for years,” I say with a breezy attitude I don’t feel.
I thrive in chaos and creativity, not spreadsheets. I could never wrap my brain around inventory and accounting, no matter how hard I tried. So I was just skating by with random strokes of fashion genius and flashes of marketing epiphanies.
I’d hoped when I opened my store a few years back that I’d finally found something I could be good at.
Instead, this is just another failure.
“I wish you would let Chase give you the money to keep you afloat. He wants to help. All he cares about is your happiness.”
“I won’t let him bail me out again. I’m twenty-six and can’t keep letting my brother subsidize my life and business.”
My movie-star foster brother has been rescuing me for close to a decade, ever since one crazy night when I showed up at his mansion and begged him to take me in. Longer, if you count our years together when we were kids. And now that Olivia is engaged to Chase, they often gang up on me in an attempt to fix my life.
“That doesn’t mean you need to close your shop,” Olivia says with a frown. “You could hire someone to help you out at the store, maybe a business manager, so you can concentrate on the more creative aspects of the job.”
“Olivia, I know you mean well. But honestly, it’s too late. And it’s probably for the best,” I say with a smile that I hope doesn’t look brittle. “I tried. It’s time for a break and another reinvention.”
I smooth my blond curls, straighten my striped top and white capri pants, then pull sunglasses down over my eyes to hide the sting of tears.
I don’t cry. And I don’t dwell. I learned early that life is too uncertain to focus on what’s wrong. I make it through by cutting my losses and distracting myself with fun. With nights out and good friends. With cute guys and designer finds. Not necessarily in that order.
