“So you know about wine, then?” she asks.
“A little. I’ve done some work for a couple different wineries here and there. You pick up a few things.”
Daisy sips her seltzer. “I’ve always wondered what it is you do.”
“I’m in advertising,” I say, motioning for Daisy to follow me into the living room as I crack open my own can. It feels awkward standing in the kitchen, but as I lead her to the sofa to take a seat, I realize this might be more awkward. It’s where I caught her with Jess last night. I’m not sure if she’s thinking the same thing, but she hovers to one side, casting her gaze over the bookshelves. They house my books on advertising and graphic design, plus a few photography books I’ve never gotten around to reading. There’s also an antique globe, a few knick-knacks from my travels, and an old Nikon SLR film camera I’ve had for decades. They used to hold Lydia’s art books, but I put them into storage not long after she died because looking at them all the time was too painful. Looking at any of her stuff was too painful.
“Wow,” Daisy murmurs. She places her seltzer on a coaster and reaches for the Nikon, then hesitates. “May I?”
Her politeness makes me smile. “Of course.” I join her as she picks up the old camera and turns it over in her hands, face alight.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that is,” I tease. She’s young enough that she may never have actually used a film camera, for all I know.
She laughs. “Of course I do. I’m notthatyoung.”
You’re young enough.
“Well, I haven’t used it for a long time,” I admit. “It’s far too easy to take pictures with my phone.”
She nods in understanding, glancing at me over the camera. “It’s not the same, though, is it?”
I shrug. “It means I don’t have to find a place to develop film. Do they even still do that?”
Her gaze sparkles with amusement. “Yes. Or you could develop it yourself, if you know how.”
There’s a reverence to her voice that makes me pause. She’s so creative with her coffee, and I’ve always sensed she has an artistic side. Was I right?
“Doyouknow how?” I ask, intrigued.
“I…” She swallows, her face shuttering. “I did. A long time ago.” She sets the Nikon down and turns away, indicating the conversation is over, but all I want to do is ask her more questions.
There’s a sound at the door as Jesse tumbles in out of the rain, cursing to himself. Daisy and I enter the hallway to find him peeling off his soaking jacket.
“Hey,” he says, noticing Daisy. His gaze travels the length of my Yankees hoodie, and he frowns.
“I hope it’s okay I put this on,” she says, motioning to herself. “I got soaked on the walk over.”
Jesse’s gaze swings to me, then back to Daisy. “Yep.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “Sorry I’m late. There was a delay on the train.” His apology is not directed at me. It’s directed at Daisy, who he pulls close and kisses. I look away.
The doorbell rings and I’m relieved to excuse myself, going to fetch the takeout I ordered. I got Thai, knowing it was a safe bet with Daisy. Though as I tip the delivery guy, I wonder if she might find it strange that I remembered. Why didn’t I think of that?
I carry the food into the kitchen and unload it onto the counter, setting us up to eat at the island. I haven’t entertained in years, and usually, I’d use the dining room where there’s more space and it feels more formal, but I want tonight to feel easy and casual, so we’ll eat in here. I pour two glasses of wine from the decanter and grab a beer from the fridge for Jess. He and Daisy are still in the hall talking, so I slide onto a stool, take a sip of the merlot, and wait.
“Come on,” I hear Daisy say, and she pulls Jesse into the room by the hand. Her gaze lands on the ginger duck I’ve served on a plate, and her eyes light up. “Oh, yay! I’ve been craving this.” She glances up at me, grinning. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
I wave a hand as if it’s no big deal, secretly pleased by her reaction. Jesse shoots me an odd look, then perches on a stool in front of his Pad Thai, his brow low.
“How was work?” I ask him as I bite into my own ginger duck.
He lifts one shoulder, scooping up a large forkful of noodles. I swear, it’s like he’s regressed into a moody teenager all over again. I thought we were long past this.
Daisy nudges him with her elbow, and he glances up to find her giving him a look. With an exaggerated eye-roll, Jesse says, “Work was good.” He looks back at Daisy as if to say,Happynow?but she rolls her hand, gesturing for him to elaborate. “Busy,” he adds.
I glance at Daisy. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for that, by the way—getting him a job.”
Daisy’s cheeks color. “Oh, well—”
