“I don't want to interrupt, but I was with Savannah when Royal texted and I thought these might help.”
Daisy took the bag, read the logo on the front, and shoved them back at Hope. “I can't take them.”
I checked the logo and understood. The Chocolate Obsession, a well-known, award-winning chocolatier based out of Asheville. Their chocolates were both amazing and very expensive. Also precious, since the shop was an hour away.
Hope refused the bag, shaking her head at Daisy. “You look miserable. What happened?” Hope's warm brown eyes shot to me, accusation hovering. I shook my head back.
“I quit the bakery,” Daisy said.
Hope gasped and sank into the armchair beside the sofa. “Daisy, why? What happened? Is Grams okay?”
“She's fine, I guess. It's my dad—”
Daisy filled Hope in on the details. I took the bag from her hand before she could crush it and removed the box inside. Hope had the right idea. Daisy needed something sweet. Just as she finished retelling the saga of the day, I handed her a chocolate-covered caramel sprinkled with rough sea salt.
“Eat it,” I ordered. I expected her glare. I didn't expect Hope to back me up.
“You need them more than I do, Daisy.” She stood over Daisy with her hands on her hips until Daisy took a tentative bite of the caramel. Her eyes sank shut as the sharp salt and sweet caramel hit her taste buds, and suddenly I wanted to push Hope from the room and feed Daisy in private.
“Do you know what you're going to do?” Hope asked.
Before Daisy could answer, I said, “I'm trying to convince her to move in here.” At Hope’s surprised look, I added, “With me. Because she doesn't want to live in the bakery apartment.”
“It's too soon,” Daisy put in and took another nibble of the caramel.
“It's only too soon if you feel like it's too soon.” Hope waited for Daisy to look up at her. “Does it feel like it's too soon?”
Daisy glanced at me, then at Hope. Finally, she said, “It feels like I'm in the middle of a tornado. I don't know if it's too soon or how long I'm supposed to wait. My whole life is turned around and I don't know anything.” That last part came out as a wail, a new flood of tears falling down Daisy's cheeks. Hell.
I pulled her into my arms, bringing her head to my shoulder. With a hard exhale, Daisy pressed her face into my neck, her body shuddering under my hands. Hope watched us, her face soft.
“I'll give you two some privacy. Daisy, if you need me, I'm here.” She let herself out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
“I'm sorry,” Daisy murmured, her lips warm against my neck. “I can't seem to get it together. I know I need to plan, to figure this out, but I can't. I feel like someone died.”
Rubbing my hand up and down her back, I searched for the right words. “You don't have to plan. And you don't have to know what you want. Not yet. For now, let's just take this one day at a time. Maybe one hour at a time. And give yourself a break. You feel like someone died because you're grieving. Your parents let you down, which wasn't the biggest surprise, but I know what happened with Grams was way out of left field—it's too much to take in all at once.”
Daisy let out another gusty sigh and sat up. I reached to wipe the tears from her cheek with the side of my thumb. “How about we say you're welcome to stay here until you find something you like better? It's not moving in. You're just crashing here for now. Does that work?”
She nodded. “I'm too inside-out to make any big decisions yet.” She let out a hitching laugh. “Other than quitting my job. I must be crazy.”
I took her hands in mine, shaking them lightly to get her attention. “You're not crazy. You're an excellent baker and a great businesswoman. You deserve to have an ownership stake in the bakery. You do not deserve for your father to take advantage of your hard work so he can live the easy life.”
“Where am I going to find a job? It's not like there's another bakery in town.”
“I don't know, Daze.” I cupped her face in my hands and drew her close, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I just know we'll figure this out, and right after a huge family fight is not the time to expect yourself to have all the answers. You need rest and a good meal. And time. I know you feel like you're all alone, but you're not.”
As if to punctuate my words, a knock sounded on the door. I rose, grumbling, “Definitely not alone. Maybe we should move to the watchtower. No indoor plumbing, but plenty of privacy.”