“Anytime.”
I offered Daisy’s mom my spot on the couch, and Daisy scooted over so that I could sit on the floor next to her. She handed me a throw pillow for added comfort, and I settled in.Leaning back and chomping on pizza, we both relaxed enough that her legs rested against my left side. Skin-to-skin contact with her always made my breathing pick up, but I ignored it. If Daisy experienced the same zing whenever we touched, she never let on. We were friends. It didn’t have to be that deep.
I never felt this way when Lily was around, though.
I tried to ignore that, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Daisy, Now
I flop face-first onto the sofa. “Nggg,” I say, a blanket muffling my voice.
“Long day?” Max clicks pause on the television.
“You were there.”
“We made good progress.”
We confirmed the layout for a parking lot that removes the minimum amount of wildlife, nailed down plans with the plumber to get a water-efficient bathroom up and running in the barn, and prepped the space for the countless pieces of art we’ll be receiving soon. This, on top of operating the hotel as normal, felt like managing a circus of cats today. A clogged toilet in Room Six. An emergency supply run for laundry detergent.Someone who canceled last minute, resulting in a phone call spent explaining our cancellation policy fifty times.
Whenever my mom had days like this, she seemed so calm and collected. I, however, may perish with exhaustion. These past few evenings, Max and I watched an episode or two of a cowboy show set in the early 1900s, or we just hung out and talked while I put my record collection to use. Tonight, I barely have the energy to move.
“Take a bath,” Max says.
“I stink?” I squeeze my arms into my side, preventing the spread of any odor. There have been days when, after plenty of manual labor, I smell far less like a desert rose. I’d like to keep up the illusion for Max, only because my roommate shouldn’t think I reek.
“No, I drew you a bath.”
If guests ever want, they can call or text when they’re leaving the park, and I make sure the water finishes filling the moment they pull into the lot. It’s a luxury after a long hike or full day of sightseeing—a luxury I don’t indulge in myself.
“Go and unwind ’til dinner gets here.”
“You ordered food?” As if on cue, my stomach growls.
“We blew through lunchtime, and you’ve got to feed yourself. Hope tacos are okay.”
I bite back a satisfied smile. “Tacos are always okay.”
I want to get up and crawl right over to him for a hug. Or better yet, curl up on his lap, snuggle into that perfect spot below his jawline, and inhale his aftershave. If only I had the excuse to pull him into and onto me and to kiss him, hard.
No, not kiss.I let that thought slide like I did on Monday, when he hung up his bathroom towel and his shirt rode up, revealing that tempting trail of hair beyond the top of his jeans. Or yesterday, when our hands brushed as he grabbed some papers from me to sign. Or when he holds the door open like a goddamngentleman wherever we go. We have less than two months left until the pop-up at the end of August, and I really need to get over this little attractionnowso I can focus on The Mirage.
“That’s nice of you,” I say, peeking into the bathroom. A wave of lavender engulfs me. Heavenly.
He shrugs. “You’re letting me stay here for free.”
“There are zero strings attached to that offer.”
“Would you like me to drain the bath?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “Can’t waste all this perfectly bubbly water.”
“Then get in there already, would you?”
Max unpauses the TV and I step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. He has not only tidied up and wiped down every surface—I’m admittedly much better at keeping guest rooms in order than my own home—but he’s also lit candles and prepared the water to the perfect temperature, like some kind of sorcerer.
Max had always been the type to gift me a book he saw at the thrift store—just because. When we went to house parties, he offered to stay sober and drive us home. If I needed a last-minute date to a school dance, he was there. I’d considered these nice things a friend would do, but as I remove my clothing, I reflect on them in a new way.
