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She glances up at the ceiling before dropping her ice-blue eyes back to stare at me. They’ve dulled slightly, no longer sharp enough to cut, just scrape if necessary.

“I need a drink first.”

Spinning on her heels, she leaves me in the hallway. I follow quickly, not about to miss my chance to dig into her head.There’s a clang in the kitchen when she grabs two beers from the fridge and opens them, offering me one without so much as a glance in my direction.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the bottle.

“Have you ever been on a blind date?”

The blurted question takes me by surprise, but I hide it with an open expression. “No.”

“Lucky you.”

“Is that where you were? On a blind date?”

She takes a long pull of her beer before making a low humming noise in her throat. “One of many. My mother has a passion for them, apparently.”

“I take it that this one was bad?”

A tiny flicker of humour travels through her expression as she sets her bottle on the countertop and then grips it on either side of her body. The movement forces her tight black denim skirt to stretch as she spreads her legs. Her cropped shirt is tight over her chest, and I focus on not looking for a hint of the piercings from the photo in her bedroom.

“My mom hopes that if she shoves enough posh, finance-loving boys under my nose, I’ll have an epiphany and suddenly want to date one,” she explains.

“She’s wrong?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

I swallow my nerves and take a drink from my bottle before placing it on the kitchen table. It’s warm in here, and I’m suddenly wishing I could crack open a window. Too bad the only one in here is right behind her.

“Have you spoken to her about it? Told her to knock it off?”

What a stupid question.

Bryce wets her lips and drums her fingers along the edge of the counter. “Listening to me and my feelings isn’t my mother’s specialty. As far as she’s concerned, my infatuation with women will pass. Once I’m done with my . . .phase, I’ll be ready for one of the men she’s tossed at me.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

I can’t imagine my moms feeling that way about my life and plans. My siblings and I got lucky with them. We’ve never had anything short of full support when it comes to every aspect of our lives. Sometimes it’s hard to remember not everyone grew up the same way.

“Can I do anything to help?” I offer before she’s had a chance to reply to my apology.

She pushes away from the counter and tugs at the hem of her cropped shirt. The band on the front of it isn’t one I recognize. I’m not a risk taker when it comes to music.

“There’s nothing anyone can do. I’ll keep putting up with it until she gives up.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

With one brow climbing her forehead, she says, “Don’t tell me you believe life is fair, Daisy.”

“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean we have to lie down and accept all of the shitty things that come our way,” I argue, lurching forward on my toes. “Especially when it comes to family.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, sunshine, but there isn’t a damn thing you or me can do to make my mother let this go.”

Maybe in a few hours, I’ll regret not taking her words to heart and leaving it be. We’ll go back to not speaking to one another and co-living in awkward silence. But for now, I can’t seem to help myself. That’s my only explanation for what happens next.

I snatch my beer from the table and take two gulps of it before cringing at the foamy taste and blurting out, “What if you weren’t single anymore? Would she stop then?”

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