Vivian checked her smartwatch. “An hour and twenty minutes now. The numbers are even higher.”
“Holy cats!” Daisy fanned her face with the paper. “This is … is …”
“Amazing.”
“Overwhelming.” She twisted to the side and brought up the comments feed and scanned. “‘Great job! He looks so much better’ … ‘I was skeptical but he is better without the man bun’ … ‘I want to marry him’ … ‘There’s hope for my husband—we’re going to the barber’s today!’ … ‘President of the Keep Beck in the US club’ … ‘Death to man buns’ … ‘Bring Beck Back’ …
“They’re all in love with him.”
“Can you blame them? He turned out hot.”
Daisy’s head spun with possibilities. “We should do a special episode—maybe once a month—dedicated to men’s grooming. I know there’s tons of channels on the subject out there, but we can’t do the same thing all the time or we’ll grow stagnant.”
Vivian grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re killing me. Will you stop for a minute and enjoy this?” She gave Daisy a shake.
Daisy took a breath, wondering if she’d taken in oxygen since Vivian entered the room. “Okay.” She lifted and then dropped her shoulders dramatically. The realization of having twenty thousand-ish new followers in one morning wasn’t the big thrill Vivian treated it as such.
Was Daisy grateful? Yes.
Did she feel blessed? Yes.
Thiswasexciting—it just wasn’t as exciting as it should have been. Or would have been. Two months ago, all she focused on was her channel. She tracked the numbers religiously, thrilled each time she made headway. Now, it all seemed businesslike and impersonal. She dropped her face into her hands. The icy fingers of fear crept up her spine. What if she’d lost her passion for the work?
It’d happened to her mom. One day she was cropping, gluing, and glittering away at her scrapbooks, and the next she packed up her Silhouette and binders and moved to Florida.
“I’m excited, really. I’m just stressed about—life.”
Vivian’s lower lip pouted out. “I know.”
“You’re wearing lipstick,” Daisy blurted. “To my house in the very early morning. You never wear lipstick. What’s going on?”
“She put it on for Quinton even though I told her men don’t care,” Jason said from under the pillow.
Daisy clamped her hands over her mouth. Not much had tickled her funny bone since Beckett flew out, but that was funny.
Vivian grabbed the other pillow and whomped him on the backside.
“Mo-om!”
“You need to learn when to keep a secret,” she scolded.
Daisy shrugged. “It’s none of my business whom you date.” She went back to the paper, feigning innocence.
“I was thinking that it might be a good idea if he came with us to the FreeWater banquet. He and Jason could hang out.”
Inside, Daisy danced. Outside, she nodded slowly. “That would probably be for the best. My parents are supposed to come too.”
“Great. I can’t wait to see them again.” Vivian commandeered the keyboard and played back the video Daisy had taken that morning. She spliced and diced it while Daisy stared at the monitor, not seeing the pictures. FreeWater wanted to honor her for her contribution to their cause. She felt funny accepting an award when Beckett was in a politically unstable country, risking his life to wield a shovel. He was the one who should get an award. He should be at the banquet.
He should be here.
But he wasn’t, and Daisy couldn’t change that no matter how many times she got on her knees and prayed. It was time to face the facts: Beckett’s job would always come first. She got that—it should. His job was important and changed lives, and wanting to be higher on his priority list felt wrong in so many ways, even though being with him had always felt right.
There were no easy answers, and that was the hardest part of all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Six weeks without a word from Beckett.
