Damn Emma. It’s just like her to meddle.
All I wanted was a peaceful visit to Piper’s Peak. It’s a place that’s always felt like a sanctuary to me. I need to decide what to do with my inheritance, this house that my brother wants to sell. And to write the songs that don’t seem to want to be written.
Oh, and to figure out what to do with a dog I’ve somehow adopted.
As if Archie senses me thinking about him, he wriggles in my grasp.
“So are you giving Archie a spa treatment?” I ask archly, gesturing to the mud. I hold the dog away from my shirt and stride toward the doors that lead to the pool and gardens. A vast view of the Atlantic spreads out beyond.
“I was giving him a bath, until he bolted and thought rolling around in the dirt would be fun,” Daisy says, following me to the patio.
I set down Archie, and Daisy squeaks, “Don’t! He’ll go straight for the white pool lounge—”
Archie hops up and spreads out on the lounger.
Daisy sighs. “You know how many times I’ve scrubbed those damn chairs?”
I shake my head at the dog. “I guess I should switch all the furniture to brown?”
She nods. “To the color of mud. Archie is fond of it.”
I tip my head. “I’ll call someone.”
“You might want to add some color besides the brown. Didn’t you say this was your grandmother’s place? Was color painful to her? Like, did she have deep trauma associated with it? A badbreakup with a painter?” She leans toward me, her eyes shining. “I need to know the story.”
“That wasn’t my grandmother. Her style was bold. When she was sick, my brother hired an interior decorator to ‘refresh’ some rooms.”
Daisy makes a tsking sound. “That explains it. The aggressively tasteful decor in the living room doesn’t match the rest of the house. At least they didn’t touch the architectural features. The staircase is wild. So dramatic. And the gilded crown molding and stained glass is fabulous.”
“The house was built by my great-grandfather. He named it after my grandmother when she was born. It’s seen better days, though. It needs major renovations.”
I want to ask her again why she’s here. Her little act earlier didn’t fool me. There’s no way she got bored one day and took up a career in pet-sitting. But I doubt I’ll get any straight answers from Daisy. She might give the appearance of a flighty chatterbox, but she’s a vault for subjects she doesn’t want to discuss.
I’ll call Chase tonight and dig into what happened.
“You don’t seem to have the same fear of color.” My lips twitch as my gaze rakes over her. Like me, she’s now covered in mud. But beyond the brown, she’s a riot of color, from her golden curls that are arranged in messy twin braids to the gauzy pink cover-up she’s wearing over her swimsuit. I try to ignore all her skin on display.
“Why, thank you. I try.” She gives a twirl and bows. It’s such a typical Daisy move that something twists in my gut.
I’m reminded of how she was always there for me that first summer. I was petrified that my dad might be right, that I didn’t have what it took to make it on my own. But Daisy arrived in my life like a hurricane, and even at her lowest, she made everything lighter, forever teasing and challenging me.
Just like she’s doing now. She tilts her head. “Color has never been my problem. It’s staying within the lines that’s hard. See, that’s your trouble, Ryder. You never want to play outside the lines. It’s very un-rock-star of you.”
She’s right. People think of me as some cavalier bad boy. It’s a persona I’ve perfected, so few people realize that I’m a control freak. I show up to every rehearsal, do every interview, go from sunup to sunup because let’s be real, the life of a musician doesn’t stop at sundown.
But the one thing I can’t control is whatever alchemy gave me my music. That’s a fickle bastard. And the more worried I am that the ideas will stop flowing, the more they dry up.
I meet her sea-blue gaze, then my eyes shift lower to her full lips and witchy smile.
This is going to be a long few weeks. I look at my watch. “I have a call with my manager. After, I’ll get settled, and then we need to talk.”
She shrugs. “Sure, boss man. It’s time for my walk with Archie anyway.” She raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Archie, you filthy animal. We have to clean up first.”
The dog bounces excitedly, as if he understands her.
“Did you teach him English?”
She grins. “He’s like all men. He responds well to attention and liberal treats.”
