She was recalling it again, flushed and hot and breathless, when the bell above the front door tinkled and jerked her out of her little fantasy world. For the brief moment between looking down at her book and up at the door, she hoped with everything in her that it was Spencer with lunch, but she was doomed to disappointment. It wasn’t Spencer, instead it was a familiar-looking woman whom Daff was sure she’d seen before but never really spoken to. The woman was wearing an SCSS uniform, which explained why she seemed familiar. She probably walked past Daff’s store every day.
“Good afternoon,” Daff greeted uncertainly. “May I help you?”
The woman—girl, really—smiled broadly, revealing two gold-capped front teeth and a pair of sweet dimples.
“Hi, miss, I’m Chantal. Mr. Carlisle asked me to bring you this.” She held out a brown paper bag with a white notepaper clipped to the folded top. Daff took it automatically.
“Thank you, Chantal.”
“No problem, miss. Have a nice day.” Chantal waved and left the store immediately, leaving Daff to stare at the package in her hand like it was a ticking time bomb. She placed it carefully on the counter and unclipped the note.
Daff,
Sorry I couldn’t come around for lunch today, I have a business meeting at twelve. I don’t trust you to eat a decent lunch, so I prepared this for you.
Eat up, darling.
See you later.
S
CHAPTER SEVEN
“No! Mom, tell them I look terrible in yellow,” Daff complained after dinner with her sisters and mother. They were at Mason and Daisy’s place, and Daisy had prepared dinner. Well, actually, she had ordered dinner from MJ’s.
Daff had been completely distracted all evening, and they appeared to have finalized bridesmaid dress colors while she was off in Happy Horny Dreamland.
“Well, you agreed to it,” Lia pointed out a little smugly, and Daff sent her a death glare. Everybody liked to think that Lia was the nice one. Maybe because she dressed like a librarian, taught children, and spent all her free time helping others.
“I did not.”
“We literally placed the swatches on the table, Daisy asked what we thought about this one, I said I loved it, and you said, ‘Yes, very nice.’”
“Come to think of it, you’ve been saying ‘yes, very nice’ to everything tonight,” Daisy chimed. “Cravats for the men? Yes, very nice. Four-inch snakeskin stilettos for the bridesmaids? Yes, very nice. Daffodils for the bouquets—”
“I did not. I would never!” Daff shook her head, horrified. She absolutely hated her namesake flower. Every time a guy brought her flowers it was daffodils. Ugh. They always just assumed she must love daffodils.
“Yes, very nice!” her sisters and mother all chimed at the same time and then giggled hysterically. Cooper, Mason’s gorgeous mixed Labrador retriever, peered up briefly when the high-pitched laughter woke him from his nap.
“We’re not really going with any of those things, by the way,” Daisy said.
“Except the yellow for the dresses,” Lia chimed in.
“No! I hate that yellow.”
“But it’s my accent color,” Daisy pouted, and that’s when Daff knew they had to be pulling her leg. Daisy never pouted. Well, she had started recently with Mason, and the guy was a complete sucker when the lower lip came out. Did her every bidding. It was sad and embarrassing, really.
“Come on, girls,” their mother chastised as she absently stroked Daisy’s toy Pomeranian, Peaches. The little fluff ball always managed to wind up on their mother’s lap. “You know she looks sickly in yellow.”
“Mom,” Daff whined, hating to have her shortcomings pointed out.
“You do, you know it, and that’s why you refuse to wear it.”
“Well, okay, but you don’t have to rub it in.”
“We just wanted to see what would snap you out of your semi-fugue state.” Daisy smiled.
“And we want to know what’s up with you.”
“Just distracted,” she said dismissively.
“You had dinner with Spencer last night,” Daisy recalled gleefully. “Does this have anything to do with that?”
“Oh my goodness, she’s blushing,” Lia said, sounding completely shocked. Daff raised her hands to her hot cheeks.
“I’m not.”
“Oh, but you are,” their mother confirmed. “You always were my best blusher. Couldn’t tell a lie without going the color of a ripe tomato.”
“What’s going on between you and Spencer, Daff?” Lia asked.
“Nothing. He’s just a lot nicer than I ever gave him credit for.”
“That he is,” Millicent McGregor agreed. “A lovely young man. Very shy, though.”
“Shy?” Was he?
“Of course he is. He never has a word to say in company, always kind of tries to hide in a corner and blend in with the furniture. But so sweet. Even when he was a boy and everybody else thought he and Mason were troublemakers, he always had a friendly greeting, helped carry my groceries—and never accepted a tip, mind you, no matter how dire their situation was at home. He was a little gentleman in the making. But never had much to say for himself. Then or now.”