The Sweetheart Secret (13 page)

Unnerving. That was the best word for that moment back in the kitchen. She'd hurried through the meal and cleanup, then claimed to be tired and headed off to bed. Sleep hadn't come, and now, several hours later, Daisy sat in her room, watching the moonlight fall over the Gulf of Mexico, and wondered if she'd been crazy to agree to this deal with Colt. Yes, she needed the loan. Yes, she needed the income—

But at what cost?

That soft tone in his voice, that smile on his face, that wonder in his eyes when he realized the changes in his grandfather and in his house, all spoke of a man who was counting on her. She sucked at being the one people counted on. And yet, like a glutton for punishment, she kept throwing herself into positions that required responsibility and dependability.

Not to mention that little domestic scene earlier, where Daisy was Harriet Homemaker with an apron, some potholders, and fresh bread. If she didn't watch out, she'd get used to that role—used to pretending she was Colt's little wife, with dinner and a smile waiting at the end of the day. No way was she getting sucked into that fantasy again. No ever-loving way.

Soon as Emma got here, Daisy was handing over the keys and hitting the road. Going back to the kind of jobs that required nothing more than an ability to write down
cheeseburger, medium rare, hold the mayo, side of fries
.

Except a part of her didn't want to leave. A part of her wanted to stay right here, in this place that had once been so magical, and try to find that same wonderful feeling again. It was the price she might end up paying for trying to set down roots that she couldn't abide.

Because there would be a price. Daisy knew that too well. Hadn't she learned over and over again with Willow that settling down was a fairy tale reserved for others? Heck, Daisy's own marriage hadn't even lasted as long as the Christmas buying season.

Yet she'd still had hope, even after Colt left her. The first time, she'd held on to hope for a long, long time, staying in that apartment and the city, figuring he'd be back. That same hope was what had brought her back to New Orleans years later, after dozens of jobs and address changes. Then, like Sleeping Beauty, that hope had fluttered to life again when Colt had stopped in the diner fourteen years after she'd last seen him. For one crazy night, she'd believed they had a second chance.

Foolish. That should be her middle name. Colt wasn't any better at settling down and building a relationship than she was. Even if he gave off the appearance of being Joe Homebody with those damned khakis. The Colt she knew didn't open up and share at the end of the day. He didn't let her into his thoughts, or his heart. Even now, even after all these years, and that stung.

Daisy turned on her phone, and pulled up the messaging program. Her hand hovered over the keys for a long time. Outside her open window, the ocean whispered a soft caress against the sand, and a light, warm breeze clicked through the palms. Nostalgia washed over her, and when she closed her eyes, she was seventeen again and lying in one of the twin beds in the back bedroom of the Hideaway Inn, trading secrets in a hushed voice.

Before she could think twice, Daisy typed in Emma's name.
Can't sleep
, she texted.
Remember that time we snuck out with a bottle of wine to the beach in the middle of the night?

There was a pause, then a
ping
.
OMG. I remember that. That wine was so disgusting. We got sick right after we drank it.

But it was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?
She added a smiley face, then hit send.

It was.
And then a second later, a smiley face from Emma.

Daisy itched to press the issue, to ask Emma to come to Rescue Bay, to try to find those memories that were as scattered as the shells on the beach, but hesitated. What if she pushed and Emma withdrew even more?

This is almost like staying up all night in that tiny bedroom we shared.

Talking about boys, LOL.

Daisy hesitated, then typed,
Speaking of boys . . . remember Colt?

An immediate text back.
Of course. Why?

I'm sort of staying at his house. It's a long story, and we're not involved
—Okay, maybe that kiss in her motel room told a different story—
I'm sort of helping him out.

A moment passed, and then Daisy's phone rang. She pressed the button and sat back against the pillows. “How'd I guess that mentioning I was sort of living with Colt would make you call?”

Emma laughed. “Well, you can't just drop a bomb like that on me through text. That kind of news
demands
a phone call.”

For a moment, Daisy just enjoyed the sounds of laughter in Emma's voice. Once, Emma had been Daisy's best friend, the closest thing to a sister she had ever known. Over the years, Daisy had let that relationship lapse. She hadn't realized how much she had missed Emma until she heard that laugh. “I saved the biggest news for last.”

“Bigger news than reuniting with the one man who trips your trigger?”

“The man I am also still”—Daisy toyed with the edge of the blanket—“married to.”

Emma gasped. “Wait. Whoa. Still married? Really?”

“Yup, in name at least. It's a long story about paperwork that never got filed. Now I'm living with him. But not living with him, living with him, if that makes sense.”

“Not screwing his brains out, I take it?”

“No, definitely not. No.” Not that Daisy hadn't thought about doing that, oh, a thousand times. Pretty much with every waking breath. Knowing a mere flight of stairs separated her from Colt made heat rise in her gut, sent her pulse skittering. In a few seconds, she could be upstairs, in his room, in his bed, in his arms. “No way.”

Emma laughed. “That's a lot of negatives, Dase. Does that mean you're
thinking
about screwing his brains out?”

“Not at all. I'm just here to help him with his grandpa, until he finds a full-time caretaker.”

“You are a sucky liar. You know that, right?”

“Either that or you're a great detective.” Daisy settled against her pillows and drew the blanket to her chest. She clutched the phone tighter, as if doing so would erase the distance between her and her cousin. “Emma, I've missed talking to you.”

“Same here, Dase. Same here.” Something in Emma's tone, though, trended toward deeper shades of melancholy. Whatever it was, she didn't elaborate, just let the silence stretch across the phone connection.

When had they gone from being best friends to being distant relatives? Daisy well remembered the days when Emma had told her every minute detail about her life, and Daisy had done the same. Aunt Clara used to say the two girls lived in each other's pockets, and for a long time, it seemed that way. Then Emma had gotten married to Roger and she'd begun to drift away, a little more each year.

Maybe it was just Emma being married, caught up in a different kind of life than Daisy's. Daisy had lived here and there, jumped from job to job, letting more and more time lapse between phone calls and visits to Jacksonville. After a while, she and her cousin had lost track of the things they had in common.

Deep down, though, Daisy knew there was more than just a few missed connections eroding her relationship with Emma. Something that lurked in the shadows of every conversation, but that Emma wouldn't voice.

“By the way, I'm meeting a contractor at the inn tomorrow,” Daisy said, forcing the worry from her voice and replacing it with bright optimism. “A friend of a friend, who says he'll cut me a break on the price. Maybe that'll take the estimate from astronomical to affordable. Which means together, we could handle the payments. And there's a couple here in town who want to hold their wedding at the inn next month. The Hideaway Inn is coming back to life, Emma.”

Emma sighed. “I don't want to run that place, Daisy. I wish you'd let it go.”

“You used to love it here. You loved it here more than I did.”

“That was . . . before.”

“Before what?”

A long pause. “You know, it's late. I better get some sleep. I have a photo shoot tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

And in those words, Daisy saw an opportunity. A small window. If she could just get Emma to come to Rescue Bay, maybe she could find a way to bridge this gap between them. A way to ease the sadness that hung on the end of every syllable Emma spoke. “You know, you really are a fabulous photographer, Em.”

“Thanks.”

“Why don't you come down to see the inn, take a few pictures, and let me use them for marketing? You don't have to stay long. Just a few days, a weekend even. If you like how the place is coming together, then stay. If not, go back to Jacksonville and to your job.” Daisy pressed on, hoping that if she kept talking enough, Emma would just say yes. “At least give me the chance to show you what it can be, and in exchange, you try to capture a little of that magic on film. A win all around, not to mention a cheap vacation. Plus, as soon as the kitchen's up and running, I'll bake those chocolate chip cookies you love.”

“Daisy, I don't know . . .”

“Then you can tell your mom you at least came down here and saw the place. That'll make her happy and get her off your back.” Daisy caught her breath. “See? Win all around.”

Another long pause. This one stretched so long, Daisy checked to make sure the connection was still intact.

“I'll think about it,” Emma said finally. “That's all I can promise.”

“That's all I ask.” Daisy held tight to the phone and decided that she would stay, as long as it took. Emma needed a new start—whether she knew it or not—and Daisy wasn't going anywhere until she got it. Not yet.

*   *   *

Colt paced his room, back and forth, between the view of the Gulf and the view of the neighbor's roof. The small bedroom on the second floor of the bungalow had gables at either end, making Colt's pacing more of a short shuffle.

Every step, he was aware of Daisy, sleeping just one floor below him. Did she still sleep in the nude? Or did she wear a ratty old T-shirt? A sexy nightgown?

Then his oh-so-helpful insomniac brain flashed back to lying in bed with her, naked and warm beneath the covers, legs intertwined. One touch led to two, led to him climbing on top of her and sinking into her deep, wet warmth, again and again and—

Okay, that was not productive thinking. At all. Now he not only couldn't sleep, but he also needed an ice-cold shower. He threw on a pair of baggy sweats, then headed downstairs. The kitchen was dark, save for the light coming in from the moon outside the window.

He paced a little more. Didn't make the thoughts recede. He opened up the fridge. Golden light spilled onto the floor, stretching across the tiles, skipping over the furniture, then revealing two long shadows. Two long, shapely shadows that had been starring in his fantasies a second ago.

Colt cleared his throat. “Daisy. What are you doing up?”

“I couldn't sleep.” She ran a hand through her hair, which displaced the dark waves, until they tumbled into place again over her shoulders and her oversized T-shirt. The tee sported the logo from the diner where he'd seen her three months ago, and a giant coffee cup in the center. She had on loose-fitting pink-and-white-striped pajama pants, and her feet were again bare, revealing those crimson toes. Not naked, but still sexy in a rumpled, come-hither way.

“I guess I'm not the only one with insomnia,” she said.

Major Pain padded out to the kitchen with him, his tail in overdrive. Daisy gave the dog's head a little pat, then opened the back door and let the dog out.

Colt stood there like an idiot, with the fridge door open and blasting cold air into the room, staring at Daisy's T-shirt and thinking about that night he'd walked by the diner, seen Daisy inside, and instead of turning left and avoiding her, he'd turned right, gone inside, and gotten a table at her station. He'd told himself it was because he was curious about how she was doing, when in reality, he knew better.

It was because she was the only woman he'd ever met who could turn him inside out with nothing more than a smile. At the time, he'd been debating whether to propose to Maryanne, to settle down in a predictable, boring life with a nice but dull woman. Then he'd seen Daisy, and known deep in his heart that he'd never be happy in that predictable, boring, safe life.

Why was it that what his brain wanted and what his body craved diverged on two very different paths? He kept going left when he knew he should turn right. Did she feel the same? Was that why she was here, awake like him?

“Do you want to talk about what's keeping you from sleeping?” he said.

She smiled. “How'd you know I had something on my mind?”

He might not have lived with Daisy in over a decade, but he still remembered their late-night conversations. So many of them, it seemed like they spent more time in the dark than in the light of day. “Remember the night before you had that job interview, back in New Orleans. You were up until, what two? Three?”