“Good.” Daisy leaned her head back to rest against my arm and joined me in staring up at the tree. “Why did you decide to start a bonfire in the yard? Why now?”
I found myself telling her the truth. “Ford took a plea deal. No trial. No search for the real killer. Just murder one on his record and the next chunk of his life in prison.”
Daisy sucked in a breath. “I'm sorry.”
“And it's weird,” I went on, hardly aware of what I was saying but feeling like with Daisy I could spill out the jumble of emotions inside me. “It's weird because I know it's not my father's fault. He was the one who was murdered. Obviously, it's the fault of whoever killed him and set Ford up to be blamed. But still, it feels like this is on Prentice. It feels like he did this to all of us.”
“And he's dead, so you can't get back at him. But the bonfire's a pretty good substitute. Isn't it?”
“I think it might be, yeah.”
We sat in silence, soaking up the warm air and the sounds of birds and insects, the rustle of the tree leaves above our heads. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hawk point a hose at the bonfire. He was all business, no appreciation for mayhem. Probably a good addition to the Heartstone Manor team considering the rest of us, but I could have let that fire burn all night.
“So, do you want a glass of wine before dinner?”
Daisy looked up at me, considering. “I think I might, yes.”
Out of nowhere, Hope appeared, Sterling and Parker behind her. Parker lugged a wicker picnic basket and Sterling carried what looked like a bottle of white wine in a marble cooler and two wine glasses.
Without a word of explanation, Hope spread a blanket across the grass under the tree, Parker set the basket on the corner, and Sterling arranged the bottle of wine beside it, laying the two glasses gently on the blanket.
Parker sent me a gentle smile and Hope winked before they turned to go. Sterling said, “Enjoy,” with that laugh in her voice I hadn't heard often enough. Then she was gone along with the others, leaving Daisy alone with me.
Daisy stared at the blanket and picnic basket with wide eyes. “What just happened?”
“I think they were the picnic fairies. And I think we're going to owe them a big thank you.” I stood and reached for Daisy's hand. “Shall we see what they brought us?”
I left the pie on the bench and joined Daisy on the blanket, picking up the wine that one of our picnic fairies had thoughtfully opened and re-corked. Daisy pulled out crackers and cheese, neat slices of cured sausage, and a small container of olives. Next, she withdrew two individual quiches, still steaming from the oven.
“Wow.” My stomach rumbled as I surveyed our haul of food. “No dessert. I guess that means I only have to share the pie with you.”
I handed Daisy a glass of wine and took the small plate of crackers, cheese, olives, and sausage that she'd prepared for me.
I waited until she was munching on her own cheese and crackers before asking, “Tell me about your family. I saw your mom is working at the bakery now. Are you two close?”
Daisy took a long sip of wine. “Not really. I'd like to be. I wish we were. I'm closest to Grams. She pretty much raised me.”
There was a lot of history in that statement. I wasn't used to digging into the heavy stuff on the first date. Really, I never dug into the heavy stuff with the women I dated. With Daisy, I wanted to know. I wanted to unravel the mystery of her family and J.T. I wanted to know all of her secrets.
“Why didn't your mom raise you?”
Daisy hesitated. I wanted to know, but not if she didn't want to tell me. “If you don't want to talk about this, that's okay.”
“It's not that. Well, it is, but like I said before, it's complicated.”
“I'm a good listener,” I said, “but I meant it. If you don't want to talk about it, we can talk about something else. But if you don't want to say because you're afraid of what I'll think… Just consider that when you showed up, the Sawyer family was burning their father's treasured possessions. We're pretty fucked up over here. There probably isn't much you could throw at me that's worse than the skeletons in our closets.”
I managed to startle a laugh out of Daisy, giggles chasing the pensive expression from her face. When she could talk, she said, “Good point. Basically, here it is. My dad is one step up from a con artist on a good day. He's insanely charming, and handsome, and he's excellent at talking himself out of trouble. Which is good because he's also excellent at finding trouble.”