Beckett balked. “Fifteenyears?”
Daisy shrugged apologetically and handed him a hair elastic. Not one of the office supply elastics he usually wore, but a girl’s elastic. He eyed it warily while contemplating the fact that he could add that many years to his face just by using this little thing. What bothered him even more was that he cared. He never cared about his looks when he was in the field—and, truth be told, most of the time when he was in the office. It wasn’t that he didn’t brush his teeth or bathe. It was just that things like haircuts and shaving were low on the priority list when there were people who had to walk three hours to get drinking water. But sitting in Daisy’s pristine bedroom, looking at her glowing skin, pressed white button-up shirt, and all her composure—he wanted to look … nicer. Somehow, he felt like he wasn’t living up to his potential.
Is that how women felt when they watched her channel? Did she hold some kind of superiority over them because of her natural beauty? His stomach went sour and gurgled at the thought that he was going to turn these women against the men in their lives. Depending on what Daisy said in this video, women would be ripping apart well-loved and worn-in shirts and running up credit cards. This was going to be a disaster. “Daisy …?”
She was reading through a printout and making notes in the margins. She didn’t look up, but he noticed how her full lips pressed together slightly as she said, “Hmm?”
“What’s your angle?”
“We’ll talk right at the camera, but if you’re nervous you can talk to me.”
“What does he have to be nervous about?” asked Vivian. “All he has to do is sit there and look grungy.”
“I’m not nervous,” lied Beckett. “But I am worried that this will give women the wrong idea.”
This brought Daisy out of her preparation. Her bright eyes blinked with innocence. “What idea is that?”
Beckett stared into her deep chocolate pools, noting the way her brow wrinkled slightly. He was once again reminded of how untouched she was by the world at large. He wasn’t going to be the one to burst her bubble. And, she also had no idea what she could do to a man. His palms were moist just from staring into her eyes. “Never mind.”
“Okay, let’s run through the introduction once. I’d like to you smile and wave or even say hi—whatever feels natural. This isn’t live and we’ll edit, so don’t feel any pressure to perform.”
“Right.” He rubbed his hands down his pajama pants.
Vivian clicked away at the keyboard and then she nodded to Daisy. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Daisy checked herself in the monitor. She pulled equal sections of her luscious hair over each shoulder, brushed a piece away from her lips, and smiled. Beckett was so caught up in the whole process, noting the way she popped her lips, that he barely heard what she said.
“Hello, friends! It’s so good to be with you this morning. You may have noticed we have a visitor. This is Beck.”
She lifted a hand, indicating he should respond. His mind caught on the fact that she’d used his childhood nickname in front of eleven million people. He stuttered out, “H-hello.”
She smiled warmly at him, causing his heart to double in beats per minute.
Daisy wasn’t in a hurry. There was no commercial break to get to or anything. She just talked like she was talking to her friend who happened to live inside a tiny camera on her desk.
“Beck is a hero. He’s not the type that fights supervillains—although he probably could do that too.” She squeezed his bicep and giggled.
A zing went through Beckett’s arm and across his chest like lightning, making him jump.
Daisy didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t pay attention to his jumpiness. “Beck works for FreeWater—a worldwide organization that works to provide clean drinking water to small villages. He travels all over the world digging wells and irrigation ditches to improve the quality of life of hundreds of people, mostly women and children, each year.”
She turned to him. “Beck, what was your favorite assignment?”
Beckett sucked in his bottom lip while he contemplated his answer. “I’d have to say working in the jungle village of Santarém.”
“Why?”
“The Santarém people are recovering from a territorial war. The ratio of women to men is 4 to 1 and there are twice as many children. The women had to walk seven miles to get fresh water. They did this with toddlers and babies strapped to their backs and, because of the additional weight, were only able to carry enough water for one day. You should have seen their feet. They were tough but also sore and sometimes misshapen because they’d been broken and healed incorrectly.
“Giving them a fresh source of water, right in the middle of their village, freed them from that struggle. They spend their time gardening now, and can provide more food for their growing children without the heavy weight of wondering if they could continue carrying water every day.”
Daisy stared at him for a moment, her mouth parted slightly.
Beckett cleared his throat and scratched under his beard. He was awfully aware of Daisy’s mouth this morning—a fact that bothered him like an itchy tag in a new shirt.
“I want to help,” Daisy whispered. She turned towards him, revealing the truth of her words. Beckett put his hand on her knee and she brushed her leg against his.
Vivian cleared her throat. “We’re still rolling.”
