First of all, she acted like her mom came up with the phrase “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” That saying has been around for centuries.
Second, Daisy had just as much training—if not more—than Brittany.
Third, Brittany’s tips didn’t work for everyone. If Daisy used half the pinks and corals Brittany did, she’d look like a yam.
She worked to keep her face neutral as she turned back to face the crowd. As her eyes scanned those seated, she found Teri. It was almost easy, because she was one of the few women who weren’t wearing makeup. Daisy expected to see her frowning or at least impassive at what Brittany had to say. Instead, she was nodding.
Nodding along with Brittany.
That was just not right.
Daisy had sort of an out-of-her-own-head moment. She could see the people on stage and the crowd, but things were clearer, slower, giving her time before the next question to change her answer or add to it. She recounted her words, looking for a place to edit. Like she could splice in a new sentence or two. No, she’d said what she believed and would let it stand.
Time sped back up and the next question was asked, this one for the cookie guru in the middle.
Daisy crossed her ankles and angled her knees. She’d done and said the right thing, but something felt very wrong—like a paradigm shift in the universe. She didn’t like the feeling, because it also came with a sense that she’d lost.
It was because she’d had to deal with Brittany. That must be it. Daisy turned her attention back to the panel and learned all about why she shouldn’t grease a cookie sheet if she wanted thick cookies.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beckett awoke to his phone played “You’re a Mean One” from The Grinch. Better to take the call when he was half asleep than when he was fully able to be annoyed. “Morning, Dad.”
His dad squinted at the screen. “Are you still in bed?”
Why, oh why did his parents have to be tech savvy? He’d give anything for a stubborn old man who insisted on posting letters that Beckett could toss without reading. “Yeah, Dad.” He checked the time. “It’s seven thirty here.”
“You should be up and going. Attack the day.”
Since all he had planned was answering the list of questions Vivian sent him for their post-makeover segment and taking the orphaned puppy for a walk, he didn’t feel like attacking anything. “Did you need something?” He ran his hand through his short hair and down his beard. It was time to buzz it. After several days, he found that he liked the shorter beard. There was something refined and dignified about it.
“Your mother wanted to talk to you.” The screen flashed to the ceiling and then the back wall, where it stayed.
Beckett closed his eyes to keep from getting motion sick. “Then why didn’t she call me?”
“Because you don’t answer my calls,” his mother said, coming onto the screen.
Because all you do is complain about Dad.Not that he could blame her. Unless you did something Doug’s way, you weren’t doing it right.
“You look respectable.”
“Thanks,” he deadpanned.
“But I must say that your recent activities have cast a dark shadow on the family.”
By family, she meant the two of them. “I can’t imagine how.”
“This whole makeover was ridiculous.”
“You just said I look good.”
“But did you have to lower yourself by being on that silly makeup channel?”
“Lower myself?” Beckett kicked his legs free of the blanket and sat up. “Mom, Daisy’s channel is amazingly successful.”
“It’s amateur at best.”
“No, it’s lucrative and she’s accepted as a leader in her field. She’d done more for FreeWater than all our other fundraisers combined.” His parents contributed yearly to the foundation—bragging up their son’s commitment to bettering the world and taking a nice tax break too. He meant to dig at what they’d done—meant to let them know Daisy was the better person. He could tell because when he talked to his parents, he was often angry and always felt like his hands were dirty. When he was with Daisy, he was lighter, lifted up by her natural grace and the way she saw the best in people—even him.
