I didn't bother to hide my laugh. Fifty grand? I wouldn't have given her fifty dollars. Not after everything she’d put my brothers through.
“Not a chance. The rest of the family knows what you're up to, so I wouldn't bother working your way down the list. The Sawyers are done with you.”
Vanessa glared at me, furious tears brimming in her blue eyes. “You're going to regret this, Royal Sawyer. You think you're done with me? You think you can treat me like trash and throw me away? You're wrong.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat? Because I'm only going to warn you once. If you come after us, Vanessa, we will bury you. And that's not a threat. That's a promise.”
She whirled on her spike heel and stormed out, leaving a smothering cloud of perfume behind her. Her departure left me strangely deflated, sorry, and sad at what my brother’s marriage had come to.
Ford sat in jail for murdering our father, a crime none of us believed he’d committed, and the wife he never should have married was still hanging around, hoping for something from us.
Everyone had a hand out.
Everyone wanted something.
Trying to shake off my mood, I stopped in my office to grab my bag before heading to Heartstone Manor for the second half of my day. Pink and navy ribbons caught my eye. One of Daisy's brownies.
And just like that, my bad mood washed away.
Daisy.
I wished I had time to stop by the bakery, to see her smile and have her tell me once more how she wouldn't go out with me.
She would, eventually.
Daisy liked me, no matter how much she said she didn't.
I wasn't going to give up.
Lately, I was surrounded by people who wanted things from me they hadn’t earned.
Not Daisy. Daisy put herself at risk to protect The Inn, to protect me, and all she'd gotten out of it was a business deal I would have agreed to anyway.
She didn't use what she’d done to push for more. She didn't ask for favors or try to take advantage. Daisy had done what she thought was right, had put herself in danger, and hadn't even pressed her advantage.
To say she was a change of pace was a vast understatement.
But it wasn't just that. It was her wide smile and the light in her brown eyes. Her round curves, her energy, her soft cherry-cola curls, and the sound of her laugh.
I was trying to play this slow. To give her space. I wanted her, but I didn't want to stalk her. It was a fine but distinct difference.
I unwrapped the brownie as I walked to my car, Daisy firmly rooted in my mind. It occurred to me that Hope would be working with Griffen and me this afternoon.
Hope, Griffen's new wife, was also Daisy's best friend. If anybody could give me the inside scoop on the supposed boyfriend, it was Hope.
Before I left for Heartstone, I had a stop to make. I didn’t have time to see Daisy, but fuck it. For Daisy, I’d make time.
With a new spring in my step and the taste of rich chocolate filling my mouth, I turned back to The Inn. The chocolate had given me an idea.
Food was Daisy's thing, and I had the best kitchen in town at my disposal. I had a feeling I'd need every one of my advantages to win Daisy over.
Good thing I had a lot of them.
Chapter Eight
Daisy
Carefully, so carefully, I carried the tray with the wedding cake to the cooler in the back of the kitchen. Ready with a day to spare, the cake would feed a hundred guests at a garden wedding the next day.
All in white, embellished with delicate violets and green vines, it was gorgeous, if I did say so myself. I made sure the cake was settled neatly in place and closed the heavy door to the cooler, turning to evaluate the kitchen and figure out what to do next.
My mother had run back into the kitchen and slapped a note on the desk while I was working on the candied violets.
Low on toffee-chip cookies, orange-cranberry muffins, pie—all of them!—and chocolate cake.
Looks like I had my afternoon cut out for me.
I already had more toffee-chip cookies ready to go. Ditto on the chocolate cake. I hadn’t expected the run on orange-cranberry muffins or pie. Everyone in town must be in the mood for pie. Checking the clock, I saw it was past time for lunch. No wonder my stomach was growling.
I thought of the leftover casserole in my fridge upstairs. Not appealing. Still, a girl had to eat. When she was pinching every penny, a girl had to respect leftovers.
A quick double-knock fell on the back door to the kitchen. I was moving to open it when the handle turned. Royal stood there, a paper bag in his hand. He held it aloft and said in greeting, “Pastrami on rye? The Inn kitchen had fresh-cooked kettle chips.”