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His grin could blind someone. “Who are you calling an asshole, asshole?”

“Ooh, I love this game. Can I be an asshole too?” Poppy asks, kissing the back of my head.

Garrison slides up to her side and pulls her against him. “What’s with all the goddamn kissing?”

“Shade started it,” Daisy says.

The man himself stares at her like he’s never seen her before. “Oh, how quickly you throw me under the bus, little devil.”

“I still don’t get why you call her that. Daisy is an angel,” Poppy sings, winking at Daisy.

Garrison’s always been overprotective of Poppy, so I ignore him when he glares at Shade so fiercely it’s like he’s trying to make him poof into a cloud of dust.

It isn’t the first time my friends are meeting Shade. With some encouragement from Daisy, I introduced them a couple of months ago. Once I got it into my thick skull that they weren’t going to steal him from me, it was easier to let it happen.

Poppy was upset at first that I’d kept him a secret, but she got over it quickly. Everyone else was just excited to have another person join the group.

“See, Shade? I’m an angel,” Daisy taunts, batting her lashes.

I know better than that. She might look like an angel, but she’s got a devilish streak that would shock everyone. I’m a lucky bitch to get to see that side of her so often.

The bell above the door dings, and I look toward it on habit. My skin turns cold as if I’m out in the frigid January air when my mother steps inside and shakes the snow from her heavy coat. Her eyes are wary as she examines the space, but even as I wait for judgment to fill them, they stay cautious.

“What are you looking—oh,” Daisy mumbles, stroking a reassuring hand down my arm. “Did you invite her?”

“No.”

“Do you want to speak with her?” Poppy asks, noticing my divided attention.

“I should.”

We haven’t spoken since the day I quit and told her that I would be pursuing tattooing. She’s called a few times over the last few months, but it’s been Dad who I’ve spoken with instead. It’s always been easier to talk to him, and with my disaster of a relationship with Mom, he’s all I have left. I guess I latched onto him and the opposite approach to parenting he’s always taken.

He isn’t perfect, but I’ve never felt judged or pressured with him. His quiet understanding is what I’d been needing for a long time, even if I doubt he has or ever will stand up to Mom.

“I’ll come with you,” Daisy offers, already interlocking our fingers.

“We’ll be back, then,” I tell no one in particular.

Poppy catches my words and touches my shoulder before Daisy guides me away from the group and toward where my mom is hovering awkwardly by the reception desk.

The wall of Shade’s favourite pieces falls prey to her stare, and I’m suddenly on edge, unsure if she’ll recognize which are on my body.

“Mrs. Lemieux,” Daisy says, taking the lead without hesitation. “How are you?”

My heart swells with the strength of my love for her, somehow still growing as the days pass.

My mother turns to face us. The emotion that ripples across her face startles me.

“I’m good, Daisy.”

I swallow and offer a stiff smile. “I wasn’t expecting you here, Mom.”

“Oh . . . Yes, I know.” She fidgets with the rings on her fingers, and I feel guilty when the fluorescent lights highlight thebags beneath her eyes. “I just wanted to come see this place. See you.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

Daisy rubs the back of my hand with her thumb. “Well, what do you think?”