Chapter 6
Daisy
A couple weeks after the wine and paint madness, Daisy was waiting for Dunk to come pick her up for their date. She’d thought about making him meet her, but she didn’t have a car and the wind was a little strong and sharp tonight. So she was pacing around her tiny apartment, refusing to admit that she’d spent way too long getting ready.
It would be ridiculous to worry at all about what to wear on a date with Dunk McCoy. She’d only seen him not in sweatpants and a tee shirt twice, and the first time had been at the wedding. The other time was at the wine and paint where he’d been in old jeans and a soft, faded Henley, the vee neck deep enough to tempt her with the hint of his chest hair.
Besides, she knew she was beautiful. It wasn’t something she felt proud of, or ashamed of either. She’d simply inherited good genes, the same ones as her two blood-related brothers, only they were much taller than she was. Her third brother, who was adopted, was just as handsome, for that matter. While she didn’t hide her beauty, she hadn’t earned it. All she did was put in some effort to stay in half-decent shape and use product to keep her winding curls from turning into a frizzy nightmare. And anyway, they had already had sex, so she had nothing to worry about, really.
And yet she was still pacing.
Maybe it was because they’d already had sex.
She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, and it wasn’t the first time she’d slept with someone she wasn’t dating. But it was the first time she’d had a first date after sex, and maybe she felt pressure because of that. She knew Dunk would never expect anything from her just because they’d had sex once before. After all, women talked, and women loved Dunk; they loved him because he was fun and happy with having some fun and then just moving on. He’d never been expectant or put demands on anyone.
A horn blared, startling Daisy out of her thoughts.
Then it sounded again.
Daisy huffed, locked up and went outside, her eyes already rolling because was Dunk seriously honking instead of coming to her door?
But when she hurried down the front walk to chastise him, she saw him standing next to his truck wearing what looked like a police officer’s cap without the badge, holding up a sign.
Chauffeur hat, she realized as she read the sign and erupted into laughter.
DAISY (who deserves a steak dinner because Dunk’s stoopid)
“Hey, Miss Daisy, I’m here to drive you,” he announced cheerily.
She rolled her eyes again—like she hadn’t heard Driving Miss Daisy jokes before—and let him help her up into the high cab.
“How have you been?” Dunk asked as he put the truck in gear.
“Pretty good,” she said. “Did you hang up your painting in a place of honor, like right above your flat screen?” she asked teasingly.
He looked over at her and said seriously, “No, but my mom did.”
She laughed and reached over to squeeze his strong, capable forearm where it was draped over the gearshift, veins rising over sculpted muscles.
Then, before she started petting him or something, she gently tugged off the silly hat. His dirty blond hair, longer on top and buzzed at the neck, was a little rumpled, so she ran her hand through it to smooth it down.
He flashed her a quick smile as he turned onto Maybelle Square and circled it to The Orchid Hotel, grabbing a lucky free space in front.
“You’re taking me to Lorenzo’s?” she asked in surprise.
“I promised you steak,” he said as he helped her down to the ground, his hands firm at her waist, so big they spanned from her ribs to her hips.
It was solicitous, not salacious, and his gaze was level on hers, gentlemanly. She bit her lip and slid one hand around to the back of his neck, tugging it so his lips were within reach. She brushed them gently with her mouth, not sure where the boldness came from, but he only smiled at her and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Their fingers tangled together as they walked into the hotel, through the lobby, and up to Lorenzo’s Cocktail Lounge on the top floor.
It was one of two fancy restaurants in town, the kind of place women with big, sparkly engagement rings went with men who looked comfortable in ties. But the great thing about Maybelle was, no one would mind Daisy in her black pleated skirt and a loose dark pink angora sweater that nearly slid off her shoulder. Definitely no one minded Dunk, in another pair of dark jeans and a gray Henley this time, but that was mostly because people just loved him.
“Hey, Coach,” the hostess said, lighting up like a Christmas tree even though she had to be in her fifties, coming around her stand to hug him.
“Hey,” he answered, hugging her happily. “How’s our star soccer girl?”
“Oh, you know, just trying to survive calculus,” the hostess replied with a wink. Then she looked at Daisy and said, curiosity light in her voice, “I see your reservation right here. So let’s get you to your table.”
Dunk set one hand lightly on the small of her back as the hostess lead them to a cozy table for two.
“Here you are now. Enjoy your night.”
“Well, I’m already having a great night,” Dunk said as he actually held out Daisy’s chair and pushed her in, “but we’ll see how Daisy feels after she watches me try to eat a steak without making a mess.”
The hostess, who definitely didn’t look the type, grinned wolfishly and winked again, this time at Daisy, and bantered back, “If it ain’t messy, you ain’t doing it right. Isn’t that so, Daisy Rhys?”
“Um,” Daisy said eloquently, fighting a blush.
“Your server will be right over,” the hostess said, that wolfish look disappearing under her usual dependable-mom vibe as if it had never been.
Dunk thanked her, then cocked his head to one side, his hair cascading across his forehead in this carefree, sexy way. He opened his mouth, but paused and said, as if he’d planned to say something else but changed his mind, “I really might make a mess of myself eating steak, though.”
“You can tie one of these fancy cloth napkins around your neck,” she told him. Then, not knowing where it came from, she let her eyes drift over his tight shirt and added, “Not that anyone would mind if your shirt got so messy that you had to take it off.”
He grinned like a maniac.
But then his mouth flopped open and he slapped his hand to his forehead. “Damn, Daisy, I forgot to tell you that you look real nice tonight!”
“Uh oh,” she teased, since he looked so upset about it, as if he had a set of instructions that he wasn’t following perfectly. “Guess that’s strike one.”
“Good evening, y’all,” a server said, bouncing excitedly up to their table. “What can I get y’all to drink to start off with tonight?”
“Daisy? Do you know what you want yet?” Dunk asked innocently.
You, Daisy thought, while she flipped open the drink list binder and quickly chose a wine she liked, putting it aside while Dunk ordered a beer.
“So, Daisy Rhys,” he said. He said her full name like he had to use it because he still didn’t believe she was right there, and it made her warm and flattered. “Tell me about yourself. I only know the basics about you.”
“You know more than that,” she laughed.
He honest to God flushed at that, but recovered quickly. “Damn, Daisy, that was a real good line. You keep that up, I’m going to have to give you an IOU on the steak dinner and smuggle you to my truck to make out.”
“I’m a grown woman,” she laughed. “Why would I make out in a truck?”
“It’s a great truck,” he protested indignantly, as if she’d slandered the truck itself.
“Yeah, which a thousand girls already know,” Daisy laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Daisy!” he gasped, putting one hand on his heart like a terrible kid acting in his first high school play. “A man’s truck is sacred. You don’t bring a thousand girls to make out it in it.”
“No?” she retorted skeptically.
“No,” he said firmly. She watched him try to keep a straight face, but he cracked after only a few seconds before he chuckled. “It’s a great truck, but it definitely couldn’t handle a thousand girls at once.”
While Daisy was trying to pick out a good comeback, their server came back with their drinks and asked if they wanted to order appetizers.
“I’m sorry, Daisy is such a great date, I didn’t even look at the menu,” Dunk told the server, smug instead of contrite. “I’m thinking some bread, plus… I don’t know what this is, but I want you on tapenade me, Daisy.”
The server snorted while Daisy smacked Dunk’s shoulder and then buried her face in her hands, giggling helplessly. “Shut up,” she managed.
“Okay, got it: no puns in front of the server. Such a prude.”
“Dunk,” she groaned.
“I’ll be serious,” he promised, then schooled his face into a thoughtful scowl. “How does this sweet cheese and meat plate sound to you, Daisy?”
“Why, thank you for asking, Dunk, the cheese and meat plate sounds fantastic, as long as you won’t be offended if I avoid the prosciutto.”
“What!” Dunk yelped. “That’s it, I’m throwing in the towel on this date.”
Daisy laughed, since it was easy to tell he was kidding.
“Coming right up,” the server said, backing away.
“Is it just fancy Italian prosciutto you hate, or all ham?” Dunk demanded, aghast when Daisy shrugged and spread her hands.
“Here’s your bread,” a bus boy said, setting down a basket and leaving.
Dunk took a giant breath and shook his head. “At least you’re not a vegetarian. I honestly wouldn’t know what the hell to do with a vegetarian.”
“No, I like meat,” Daisy promised him before she could think it through. His face lit up and she took one of the rolls out of the basket, tore it in half, and shoved it into his open mouth. “Don’t say a word.”
Dutifully, his eyes twinkling, he chewed the bite.
Daisy put a roll on her plate, then offered him another one. “Do you want some butter?” she asked as she scooped some out for herself.
“Daisy Rhys, are you trying to butter me up?” he asked.
She fought a smile as she met his gaze. “You’re on a roll, Dunk.”
Delight exploded onto his face, his grin so wide she could have probably stuck two whole rolls in there easily.
He grabbed her hand and held it, then looked down at their hands and flexed around hers before easing into a sweet clasp.
“Don’t think I missed how you never answered my question,” he said, his head cocking to one side again. “I didn’t ask you out to test out my puns on a new, unsuspecting, captive audience of one, you know.”
“I thought it was to apologize for the… Cinderella thing.”
His eyes crinkled when he smiled this time, and Daisy realized that she’d catalogued about twenty entirely different smiles he had, so far. How could one person be so happy so much of the time, and so free, so open?
“To apologize for explaining myself so poorly at the bookstore,” he corrected. “I’m not apologizing for the wedding, not ever, Daisy.”
Her belly clenched in an unnerving mix of lust and trepidation. He’d been so lighthearted, so happy, all night. It wasn’t fair to say something so serious, almost like a promise, when they were holding hands and hadn’t said one serious thing to each other all night. It wasn’t fair to suddenly feel like she was on a real date, not just some apology dinner with a sexy man.
Taking a second, she moved her fingers a fraction within his hold.
Easy as breathing, he moved his fingers a fraction too to accommodate her.
“What do you want to know about me, exactly?”
“Well now, since ham is one of my top three favorite meats, and you hate it, but I haven’t run away screaming, you can tell me anything and I won’t be freaked out,” he told her.
How could he make me laugh and roll my eyes at his absurdity, but also feel incredibly comforted and reassured by it at the same time?
“Okay,” she said. “Summary of my life. I have two parents and three older brothers. My oldest brother Connor lives in Kentucky, my middle brother Levi married Cora Herrera, and my third brother Shane’s favorite thing is fishing. Like, he actually loves fishing. I was a potter until recently, selling my stuff at art fairs and Cora’s gallery. But now I’m the admin at the law office my dad, Levi, and Shane have in town.”
She stopped talking and drank some of her wine, wondering what she should say about the only other noteworthy thing in her life, which had been her marriage to Tyler. Deciding that it was silly to ignore it, because everyone knew about it and they’d talked about it, briefly, at the wedding, she finished, “And I was married to Tyler, but—as you probably figured out from Jamie and Leda’s wedding—the Houstons are still family to me. Divorce can’t take them away from me. So yeah. That’s me.”
He surveyed her for a beat past what she was comfortable with, and then broke eye contact to drink some more of his beer. “That’s a nice life.”
“It’s a work in progress,” she replied carefully.
There was no reason to complain, not really. She had everything she needed, if not all of the things she wanted. While she would be in trouble financially if something catastrophic happened, she also had a family that would be her safety net if she asked. There was no reason to whine about how she’d loved being a potter, or whine about how much it broke her heart that she hadn’t been good enough to sustain it as a career.
“I have some of your mugs and bowls in my apartment,” he told her. “The mugs are blue with these splatters of silver that make it feel like stucco, and the bowls say Refill me on the bottoms on the inside. I love them.”
She smiled, trying not to let it be bittersweet. “Thank you.”
“Do you like working for your dad? With Shane and Levi?”
“It’s easy,” she said. “I—”
“I have the cheese and charcuterie plate,” the server announced, deftly retrieving their empty bread plates and scooting Dunk’s beer glass over to have space to put down the appetizer. “Would you like to order entrees?”
They ordered their steaks, then divided up the cheese and meat. Dunk piled his choices on a roll and took a giant bite. He hummed at the taste and licked a flake of buttery roll off the corner of his mouth. Daisy repressed a shudder, flashing back to the way that had felt again her skin, the way the tip of his tongue had flicked against the rim of her entrance.
She took daintier bites, a little piece of cheese with a slice of meat.
“So you were going to tell me how you like your job?” Dunk asked.
“There’s not much to say other than that it’s pretty easy,” she said honestly. “I mostly buy coffee and donuts, forward emails from the general firm email to everyone else, and do some accounting stuff.”
“Do you hear lots of secret stuff about people?” he asked.
Daisy laughed and shook her head. “Even if I did, I’m not telling you about it. You probably hear enough gossip to last a lifetime as it is, being best friends with the Riveaus and working at MHS,” she replied.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Leda likes to keep up on everyone, not to butt in but really more because there’s so many good stories. But Aden’s never been gossipy and Seth’s above it, or he doesn’t care about it, not sure.”
“And I’ve been a… topic of Maybelle gossip,” Daisy pointed out, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but she wasn’t really a fan of gossip.
Dunk immediately set down his food and took her hand again. “I’m sorry, that was a dumb thing of me to say. I remember when…”
When Tyler walked out on you. When he ran away to New York before you were even divorced. When the whole town went out of their way to tell you how sorry they were, how sad you must be, how they were on ‘your side’. When everyone thought they knew what happened, when they had no idea why we split up or that it was my decision to ask him to leave, not him walking out on me.
Frustrated with herself for saying anything and making the mood heavy instead of silly and fun, Daisy sighed and drank the rest of her wine.
“It’s fine. Tyler and I split four years ago. But sometimes it stinks because people still treat me like it was yesterday, as if I’m still hurting.”
Dunk’s brows furrowed a little bit, making a sweet, confounded dent over the bridge of his nose. “Well, they’re idiots,” he claimed.
That blind support made Daisy snicker. “Yeah?”
“Are you limping around, wearing all black like a widow?” he argued in her defense, waving his hands at her. “Are you crying every day at lunch? Are you staying home every night pining over Ty? I don’t think so. And you’ve been dating, right? So where do they get that idea?”
Helplessly, Daisy shrugged. “People get stuck. They get this idea of you in their heads and they never notice when you’re not that person anymore. I mean, every year during all of the college football bowl games, Levi still talks about how he bet on the game you played in. That was more than ten years ago, wasn’t it?”
Dunk sat back. “Nine years ago, but who’s counting?”
Covering up her smile with one hand over her mouth, she teased, “You are, apparently. Sorry I made you a couple years older than you are.”
“If I’m two or three years older than I think I am, then you owe me two or three birthday cakes, Daisy Rhys,” he declared. “I’m ordering cupcakes for dessert and I’m going to have them put candles in them, and you’re going to sing.”
“What? No way!” Daisy laughed.
Dunk pouted. “Yes, that’s it. If I’m thirty-two or thirty-three, I deserve cupcakes with candles for turning thirty-one, thirty-two, and thirty-three.”
“Well, then I deserve a cupcake for every year I’ve been happily divorced,” Daisy countered, relieved that they were getting into the spirit of the banter again. “That’s four cupcakes, or it’ll be four in two months.”
“Four? Where are you going to put four cupcakes?” he wanted to know, squinting one eye to size her up. “You’ll puke after two, tops.”
“Oh yeah?”
“If you can eat four cupcakes—including all of the frosting—then I’ll take you out on another date.” He sort of stumbled across the word date, then scrambled awkwardly, “Or, well, it can be a first date—I’m not sure if you’re counting this as a date, since it was an apology steak dinner.”
“What if I throw up? You’ll be grossed out, you’ll never want to see me again. I’ll walk by and you’ll think, Icky, there goes that sad divorcée who can’t hold her cupcakes,” Daisy said, only partially joking. Throwing up wasn’t a pretty sight, whether it was cupcakes or too much tequila.
Eyes gleaming, Dunk shook his head slowly. “Nuh uh. Not a chance.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to think it through. “Say I can’t eat four measly cupcakes. Then what? We never go on another date? That’s no fair.”
“Huh. I didn’t think this through.”
Daisy laughed and cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table even though it was rude. Dunk McCoy was ridiculous, and she had enjoyed every minute of this date so far, something that had never happened before. Even with Tyler, their dates had been wonderful, but she’d been almost crippled by her shyness and the heart-pounding wonder of going out with the boy she’d crushed on before she grew up and he noticed her back. After her divorce, her dates had always felt stilted and unnatural, as if everyone was trying to follow a poorly written script.
“How about I bring you four cupcakes on your next birthday, three for the extra birthdays I gave you and one for your actual birthday?” she suggested with a smile. “And then you can bring me four cupcakes on the anniversary of my divorce in March?”
“Excellent idea!” Dunk cried without any visible hesitation.
Then he asked what her favorite flavor of cupcake was, and they were off again, bantering and laughing until their entrees arrived.
Daisy barely tasted her apology steak, she was having so much fun. What part of her brain wasn’t engaged in having fun with Dunk, was stuck on looking at him. He was just so handsome in this way that was almost secondary to the amazing energy he had and the sunbursts of his twenty-and-counting different smiles for all occasions.
Eventually they finished their steaks and the conversation got a little lazier, since they were so full and happy, and Daisy was glad she’d thought of a fun way to put off the cupcake challenge. She loved dessert, but she could admit that she didn’t have room for cupcakes at all.
As if he’d heard her thoughts on cupcakes and agreed, Dunk leaned back in his chair and groaned, rubbing his perfectly flat stomach. “So, is my apology accepted? Wait, think carefully before you answer, because I have a very big stake in your answer!” he exclaimed, cracking himself up.
Daisy’s chest shook with suppressed laughter as she rolled her eyes.
“I’m taking that eye roll as a yes,” he warned her, “unless you say no.”
A smile crept onto her mouth. “I’d say it’s been a slam dunk.”
His lips parted in and then he crowed in triumph, pumping his fist in the air like his favorite team had just made the game-winning touchdown.
Other people turned to glare, until they saw that it was just Dunk, then they smiled and shook their heads a little, returning to their meals.
“Whenever you’re ready,” the server said with a slightly disapproving look at Dunk, as he set the check down.
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Dunk stage-whispered as he took out his wallet and slid some cash in before folding it closed again.
“He probably thinks this is a super sophisticated adult restaurant and you’re dragging down the atmosphere with your yelling,” she said dryly.
“You’re more than balancing me out with your classy outfit,” he complimented her as he stood up, stretching his elbows back and opening up his chest.
Exhaling roughly in pleasure after sitting for so long, and held out a hand. Daisy took it, and then twisted to pick up her coat and purse in one hand, not wanting to let go of his hand to put them on.
When they got to Dunk’s truck, he opened the passenger door with his free hand and stood there, almost a foot taller than her, the backs of her calves against the running board. The old-fashioned lampposts around the Square made the light brown of his eyes glow like Daisy’s favorite dessert, crème brûlée.
His lips quirked and he leaned in to brush his nose along her braid crown, behind her ear. “You smell like summer,” he murmured, then eased her up onto the seat. He swept his hands over the outside of her right knee and gently pushed her legs in so she was ready to buckle her seat belt.
Her body was melting around her bones, sluggish and warm to the touch, and she began to reach out to catch him, to draw him in close.
But he smiled again, this one a barely-there ghost of a smile, and eased the door shut, leaving her wanting more, wanting to bring him home with her.
He drove them back towards her apartment building in silence, the radio off, and she couldn’t help it, she brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand across the gear shift. She followed the veins up around the strong bones of his wrist, up over the ticklish blond hair on his forearm until she bumped into the sleeve of his pushed-up shirt, then back down again. He let her, a hum of simple enjoyment she felt more than heard, and glided the truck to a stop at her curb.
His arm rolled over so he could cradle her hand in his, and he nibbled the muscle at the base of her thumb, eyes twinkling and warm.
Releasing her hand carefully into her lap, he got out of the truck, helped her down one last time, and walked her all the way to her door.
Daisy licked her lips and parted them to ask him to come inside as she unlocked the door.
But he forestalled her question by bending down to kiss her cheek, step back, and put his hands in his back pockets, torso flexing sleekly.
“I had a really great night, Daisy Rhys,” he told her, so sincere it ached.
“I did too, Dunk,” she answered. “Do you…”
He shook his head and looked away, sending a bolt of self-doubt through Daisy, because she hadn’t expected him to turn her down.
“Um, I’ll just head in then,” she said hesitantly.
His hands gently caught her hips just as she began to turn to push open her door. He came in close one more time, kissing the corner of her mouth this time, the stubble along his chin just catching on her soft skin.
“Tugger,” Dunk murmured against her temple, his dog’s name incongruous when said in that throbbing way. “My parents are at my sister’s in Richmond, so I need to get home to Tugger.” He sighed and brushed his lips over hers one last time. “Good night, darlin’.”
“G-good night,” she called after him, a little too loud.
He turned the corner and she slumped against the door, breathless.
After a minute, she found the strength to go inside, change into pajamas, and settle onto her futon. Her body was still aching and warm, still breathless and almost shocked by how fun and sweet and silly the date had been. There was a base part of her that wanted to call him right now, to demand that he come back and satisfy her ache.
But she didn’t want to ruin this moment. So she turned on her television and curled up with her extra pillow, Lempicka stalking and trying to pounce on some unsuspecting moth caught in the apartment.
Her thoughts drifted, her skin still humming, until she slept.