But I sink back into my chair, trying very hard not to look out the window where I can see Daisy on the terrace, sketching in the evening light. She's wearing that ridiculous sweater with the tiny mushrooms, and Rascal's curled up in her lap. She's probably writing more stories about woodland mayors and fairy rings and...
"Oh, he's got it bad," Connor stage-whispers.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
"Boys." Mom's voice holds a warning, but her eyes are soft when she looks at me. "Leave your brother alone. He'll figure it out in his own time."
"Figure what out?" But the words taste like ash because I already know.
I know it in the way my chest tightens when she laughs. In how I keep finding excuses to check the trails near her cabin. Inthe way I've memorized how she takes her coffee. One sugar, too much cream, usually half-forgotten somewhere while she chases her latest story idea.
"She's only here for another week and a half," I say, more to myself than them.
The table goes quiet. Mom's hand finds mine under the table.
"Row..." Liam starts.
"Don't." I push back from the table again, and this time no one stops me. "I've got work to do."
Through the window, I can see Daisy showing something in her notebook to Rascal, her whole face lit up as she presumably reads him her latest story. She's sunshine and chaos and everything I can't afford to want.
"She's not Heather," Mom says quietly.
"No." I grab my work gloves. "She's worse. At least Heather was honest about not wanting this life." I swallow hard. "Daisy makes me wish for impossible things."
Chapter Seven
Daisy
"The writing's going really well." I curl up in my favorite spot near the butterfly garden, phone pressed to my ear. "Rowan showed me this amazing clearing where deer come to graze, and the way they move through the morning mist is just perfect for the scene where?—"
"Rowan again?" Janet's knowing tone makes me pause mid-sentence. "That's the fourth time you've mentioned him in this call alone."
"Is it?" I watch a monarch butterfly dance through the flowers he planted. The ones that just happened to appear outside my cabin. "He's been helping with research."
"Mhmm." I can practically hear Janet's smile. "And how's that going? Besides the apparently fascinating groundskeeper?"
"He's not—" I catch myself. "The research is great. I've learned so much about the woods and the animals and..." I trail off, realizing I'm about to mention Rowan again.
"Your voice changes when you talk about him," Janet observes gently. "Gets all soft and nervous. Like you're trying not to smile."
"That's not—" But my reflection in my phone screen betrays me. I am smiling. "He's just been really helpful."
"Daisy." Janet's voice softens. "I've known you since you were teaching third grade and sneaking writing time during recess. I know that tone."
"What tone? There's no tone."
"The same tone you used to get talking about your dreams of writing. Like you're afraid to want something too much."
I pull my knees to my chest, watching Rascal chase leaves in his purple sweater. "It doesn't matter. I'm only here for research. Ten more days and then..."
"And then what?"
"And then I go back home. Finish the book. Do the publicity circuit you've lined up." My throat feels tight. "Everything we planned."
"Plans can change."
