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Warmth slips up my arm before a solid pressure envelops my entire side. Floral perfume soaks into my clothes and imbeds itself in my skin as Daisy leans into me and palms my opposite hip.

It’s nearly impossible for my chest to expand on a breath, and when I finally figure it out, I’m gulping air.

“Love? This is the first I’m seeing of you,” Mom guffaws, letting the door swing shut with a slam.

Leaving Daisy and me behind, she stalks through the entrance and disappears into the formal dining room. I wait for Daisy to release me, but she doesn’t even spare me a glance before dragging us after my mother.

I’m dead weight, my feet moving of their own violation. My reaction to Daisy’s easy, flowing words is alarming. I’m not a fool. I know she was lying. But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t still rip my chest open and leave me standing here with my heart on full display.

“Tell me something about her that I can use to start a conversation,” she whispers.

“She has three siblings. All brothers.”

“Really? You have three uncles?”

“Yes.”

Her thumb drifts above my skirt, grazing my bare stomach and the goosebumps that cover it. “Alright. We have a big family in common. What about your dad?”

“He won’t be here.”

A low, deep rumble of a voice floats from the dining room, and I pause. Daisy laughs quietly.

“I saw a pair of men’s shoes by the front door,” she answers the question I haven’t asked.

I clear my throat. My stomach churns in a weird way, a wave of nausea storming in that I force to the back of my mind.

“He’s never home.”

“I imagine being a mayor is a busy job.”

“It’s Cherry Peak, not Toronto,” I mutter.

Her grin is big enough I can see it clearly from the corner of my vision. “Fair enough.”

There are quiet words being spoken when we enter the dining room. They come to a stop immediately as two sets of eyes fall on us.

“Mr. Lemieux. I’m Daisy Mitchell.”

She releases me to step forward and offer my father her hand. I’m struck by how large of a man he is when he accepts her hand and dwarfs her in size. Her hand disappears in his, and he stares at me above her head, curiosity blaringly apparent in his aged features. I roll my eyes.

Out of both my parents, my father has always been the one most accepting of me. I always told myself that he just didn’t give a shit enough about me to care one way or another who I was attracted to. It was easier than believing he actually might have cared enough to think about my life and what I wanted.

It’s a bit more settling to see him here with Mom. While she’s never outwardly said anything to admit that she would prefer if I were straight, sometimes it doesn’t take those exact words. Her obvious favouring of men and disinterest in my life where women are involved explains more than an outright admission would.

I’ve long since stopped caring what she thinks, but my father makes it harder to do the same. At least until he forgets how to stand up to her and instead lets her walk all over me without saying a fucking thing.

“Hello, Daisy,” Dad says, releasing her hand a moment later.

She moves back to my side without hesitation, holding me the same way as earlier. As if it’s easy to touch me like this.

As if she likes to.

“You have a beautiful home. I noticed a gazebo outside. Was that here when you bought the house?” she asks.

“No, actually, I put it in a few years later. Bryce was alwaysplaying guitar outside when she was young and kept burning her scalp in the sun because she refused to wear a hat. It was my attempt to keep her out of the sun while still letting her be outside.”

Daisy twists to face me, eyes bright with newfound information. “You play guitar?”