“This will help. You know how you used to distract me when I’d get stressed about a deadline? Well, payback.”
She sighs. “I shouldn’t.”
“You should. Do you trust me?” I cross my arms over my chest.
She sighs, big and dramatic. “Yes, I trust you. Oh, fine.”
I help her up. Her touch sends warmth through me.
“Where are we going?” she asks. “Should I change?” She smooths her hair, twists it into an updo, and secures it with a drawing pencil in one gravity-defying move. It’s impressive.
I eye her blue slip dress. The silky material molds to her petite curves in a way that has me dying to push down the thin straps and let the fabric pool around her.
“You’re perfect.”
Desire makes my voice catch.
Desire and excitement to spend more time with her.
CHAPTER 35
Daisy
(TEN YEARS AGO)
Dear Diary,
Sorry for neglecting you for so long.
I know this sounds dramatic, but I didn’t truly mean to kill myself. At least, not really. I just wanted everything to stop for a while. When I was released from the hospital, I was sent to a treatment center for intensive therapy.
At any other time, I might have resisted all the psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists. But my experience scared even me. I’m so damn lucky to be alive, that I’ve been given a second chance to get it right. So I’m trying to do the internal work to sort my shit out. At least some of it. And I vow to make every day for the rest of my life truly count.
Soon, I’ll be in the suburbs of San Francisco to start my senior year.
Every day, I vow to think about Ryder a little less. But every day, I break that vow.
(NOW)
“This is the most perfect place I’ve ever seen.” I gasp.
“I told you to trust me.”
“You can plan every date from now on. I mean, the helicopter ride to Cape Cod was amazing. And then there was the ride in that fancy car. I thought we were just going to dinner. Which would have been enough, really. But I had no idea about your game. None,” I whisper in awe.
“Are you sure you like it?” Ryder asks, his confident expression breaking. “It’s a little nontraditional.”
“Are you kidding? I love this! I want to move in. To be buried here. You might not get me to leave. Ever.” I spread my arms, gesturing around me. “I’ll never doubt you again.”
At my words, Ryder’s face breaks into a smile that steals my soul.
“I’m glad you like it.” He looks down. As much as I love joyful-smile Ryder, I love unexpectedly shy-and-bashful Ryder even more.
“But how did you find this place?” I ask, running my fingers over a bolt of 1960s jersey knit. I gasp at a sapphire silk. Everywhere I turn, I see colors and textures and patterns more divine than the next. “I mean, Ryder. You brought me to a vintage fabric warehouse,” I say and, on impulse, throw myself into his arms.
And damn, those arms feel so, so good. I want to stay here all day, ogling and fondling him. But there’s all this fabric to ogle and fondle as well.
He buries his face in my hair and then oh-so slowly lets me go.
