“She’ll be fine, Day. Maybe she should just tell her family they suck. She’s a big girl,” I strain out the martinis. The Reaper has sold more this week than any special we’ve run in five months. I can’t tell if I hate it or love it. But making them will be the death of me.
“You are so dense! She doesn’t want to hurt them. She takes care of everyone else's feelings, who takes care of hers?” Sunday snaps as I arrange the drinks.
I take care of her.The thought is intrusive—violent. It sits at the back of my throat, threatening to expose me. I swallow roughly and sigh.
“Why are you pushing this so hard?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be allstay away from my brother?”
“When have I ever been like that? Kaia’s been in love with Bobo since…” Sunday can’t even fathom the math. “Besides, you and Rhea are roommates. You’re friends. Aren’t you?”
She doesn’t say it like an accusation; it’s more of a statement designed to push me into doing something stupid. Sunday disappears with the drinks, and I have fifteen minutes of silence from her nagging before she slips behind the bar and starts again.
“I’m going to fire you if you don’t leave me alone.” I groan and slide two beers to the bar top for the guy in front of me as Sunday leans against it to catch my eye line.
“Going as her date for the HSAs is something a friend would do; it’s not like you have to stick your lightning rod anywhere,” Sunday complains.
“Are you delusional?” I hiss under my breath and start to wipe down the counter aggressively to get the image out of my brain of Rhea…
Naked. Rhea naked.
“All I’m saying is that she could use the support,” Sunday whines, brushing her hair behind her ear and turning to help the girls at the end of the bar, calling for help. She circles back around, and those green eyes burn a hole into my back.
“Don’t all the Hillcats go? That’s her support system. She doesn’t need arm candy, Day.” I hesitate. “She’s just… lonely.” It slips from my mouth, and it’s meaner than I expect it to sound.
“One, you are not arm candy.” She looks disgusted, “and two it’s different, everyone brings someone. Family, a partner, a friend…” she says.
“So set her up with a date.” I groan and turn away from her, but Sunday isn’t done with me yet.
“You picked her up from the last blind date. Men are horrible, Bri. They don’t care about what the night means to her. They just want her horizontal so they can forget that she’s taller than them,” Sunday snaps.
You’re making it really hard to keep my distance from her, and you have no idea.
“She’s winning an award this year, they get told in advance so they can prepare something just in case. She knows she’s winning it and still expects no one to show up for her. It’s not about the fanfare, Brighton,” she snaps, and I know I’m in trouble when she uses my full name. “Be her friend.”
“I didn’t ask for any new friends,” I say, my response short and cold.
Sunday stares up at me for a moment longer before she’s called to help at the table, but the lingering effects of that pleading stare stick to my skin and bother me long after she’s gone.
Daisy doesn’t even talk to me on the way home from school. She grabs a donut from Boone as she stomps through the kitchen, offering him a sweet thank you before disappearing upstairs without even a wave goodbye. I hate not knowing what I’m doing wrong.
“At least she’s eating?” Boone leans against the counter, eyes tracking the hallway she disappeared into. He holds out the tray, and I shake my head. “Alright. She’s theonlyone eating. What is wrong with you?”
I shake my head because it’s nothing Boone can fix, but he’s going to try, and it preemptively annoys me. I’m Daisy’s Dad, and I should be able to figure out what’s going on in her head, but every time I try, she shuts me out. Sometimes it’s easy to blame her mom—even though I know I shouldn’t—because it’s the simplest excuse to slip into.
“She’s been like that for two weeks. She’s even making me drop her off at Cosy’s. I don’t even get to walk dogs with her anymore.” I confess. “The most I get out of her is a thank-you for making her lunch.”
“Manners are intact, that’s a good start,” Boone responds, throwing a heavily tattooed hand through his hair. “This is going to piss you off, but… she’s acting like you.”
“You’re right, that does piss me off.” I snap and turn my head to look at him properly.
“Means she’s got good integrity,” he backpedals.
“I don’t like not knowing. What if it isn’t me? What if something else is going on and she doesn’t feel safe enough to talk to me about it?” I grumble.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” he asks.
“No, Iwanther to talk to me,” I emphasize the issue for him as a few of the kitchen staff start arriving for the dinner wave.
“Yeah, you’re impossible,” Boone sighs. “Give me ten. I’ll make her a quesadilla, and you can try bribing her for information.”
