Dear Life(48)

Fuck.





CARTER


Yeah, whoever that girl was at the door didn’t seem like she belonged there by the ghost-white look on Jace’s face. If I were a better man, I would have stayed to see if he was okay, but I had to get out of there before he broke down. Just the mention of his daughter had him about ready to lose it. Didn’t want to see that.

Call me an insensitive prick, but I don’t do so well with feelings. I would end up making the situation worse by saying something he didn’t want to hear. Chalk it up to my fan-fucking-tastic upbringing.

Hell, that entire get-together was weird.

He just wanted to get to know me.

Me.

Who would want to do that? I’m barely nice to Daisy, the sunshine of our little fucked-up circle.

Tired, I head to my motorcycle where I’m going to drive back home, flop on my mattress on the floor of my shitty apartment, and sleep until I have to wake up for my shift tomorrow.

I’m fixing to retrieve my gloves from my jacket when my phone rings. Who the hell would be calling me?

Daisy.

This actually doesn’t surprise me.

“Hey,” I say, leaning against my motorcycle.

“Hi, Carter. How are you?”

“All right, what’s up?”

“Uh, are you busy?”

“Not really. About to drive home.”

“Oh, nice.” She’s silent and even through the phone, I can tell she’s nervous.

“Why’d you call, Daisy?”

“Well, um, I was hoping maybe you wanted to hang out. I’m kind of hungry. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just thought I would ask since I’m hungry and was looking for company. Really up to you. You know what, I think I might actually just grab something from King Soopers, you know, make a little diddy for myself at home. I can make a wicked meatloaf, oh, you already know that. Meatloaf might be too long—”

“Where do you want to meet?” I ask, wanting to stop the incessant rambling.

“Where do . . . oh, you want to meet?

“Sure, I could eat.”

“Wonderful.” Gleeful is not even a close enough description for the way she sounds right now. “I don’t really know of any places to eat besides Country Buffet and Cracker Barrel. They were our favorite places to eat.”

Why does this not surprise me? They probably wore matching kitten sweaters while taking part of the early-bird special.

“Meet me at Prohibition. It’s on East Colfax.”

“Prohibition, sounds like a fun place. Do they take coupons?”

“Not so much.” I shake my head at her. Coupons. Christ. “Meet you in twenty.”

“Oh, sure, yeah. See you soon.”

I hang up quickly before I can change my mind. Partner in crime, I keep telling myself over and over again on my way to the restaurant. It’s one of my favorite places to grab a beer, especially during the summer where you can sit out on the patio and watch Denverites mill about.

I’ve made it my mission to become familiar with the restaurants in the city, studying their menus, the drinks they carry ranging from liquor to local micro-brews that complement the food. I’ve studied tirelessly, keeping track of who serves what, during what season, and for how much. I have an entire notebook dedicated to my future competition along with multiple menus I’ll use one day when I finally own a place.

Fuck, it stings knowing I was so close.

I planned to pay off my uncle, get a job somewhere else, and continue to save until I could perfect my idea and talk to some local venture capitalists. That was going to be me proving my existence, even if I didn’t know that term at the time.

The drive to Prohibition put me in an even worse mood than I was in, which has me considering to cancel on Daisy, but I can’t seem to let myself disappoint her. So I find a parking spot close to the restaurant and head on in.

Luckily, the booth in the very back is open. I take a seat so I’m facing the door, giving me the perfect view of Daisy when she walks in.

Scanning the beer list, my eyes fixate on one of my favorite lagers, Upslope. Should I drink? The scruff on my jaw grates against my fingers as I try to make a decision, just as the door to the restaurant opens. I look up to find a woman walk in wearing skinny jeans, knee-high brown boots, a white T-shirt, and a form-fitting brown leather jacket. It’s not until the same woman smiles at me and waves erratically as if she knows me that I realize it’s Daisy.

Daisy?

Holy Shit.

I want to wipe my eyes, shake my head, do a double take. That’s not Daisy.

Is it?

Where’re the overalls, the turtleneck, the quilted vest?

“Hi, Carter,” she says, a giant smile on her face, her thumbs looped in her low-riding jeans.

I swallow hard. Shit just got so much more complicated.





HOLLYN


“You don’t have to make me dinner.”

“Yes, I do.” Amanda stirs the pot of spaghetti sauce on the stovetop. “You were great today, Hollyn.” Turning around, Amanda places her hands over her heart. She’s the perfect picture of gratitude. “You were so helpful with Daisy. Did you see the smile on her face? I mean, she smiles a lot, but I’ve never seen her smile like that.”