Page 20 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Candace

C andace did not have an answer to Daisy’s question. She did not want much to do with herself after hearing Daisy’s side of that shameful night.

At the bonfire, Candace’s queerness exploded after years of repression.

She had agonized over inviting Daisy, and even more so over what she would say if they were ever alone.

Kissing her had never been a part of the plan.

But it happened, and it was more incredible than she could have ever imagined.

Then, just like those fireworks, she fizzled out.

Candace had been a coward. Under the threat of her uncle’s condemning eyes, fearful that he would punish her and make her stay in Wonderwood, she threw Daisy under the bus. Candace lied. Yet, it had driven her to be more honest and open once she escaped.

Throughout college, and up until her recent drought, she’d had an active sex life with several partners.

No deep romances, since she had not had the time for anything beyond surface level when her career was her focus.

Even so, that agonizingly brief taste of requited feelings with Daisy gave her the push to pursue who she wanted as an adult.

That moment, so many summers ago, changed Candace’s path for the better. It had been a life-defining, monumental event for her. For Daisy, it caused nothing but hurt. And Candace, somehow, thought she might have forgotten.

How stupid…

Garbage was a kinder description than she deserved. She liked to think that she was more than the vapid, oblivious girl so many people thought she was. But with this, the evidence was irrefutable.

Candace did something terrible, and no amount of growth she’d experienced since negated that. There was no excuse, no explanation good enough to justify the ridicule Daisy faced.

However, the words still needed to be said. Simple as they were, without frills or fuss.

Candace told Daisy, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you and what you had to face because of me. It was wrong. I was wrong, and I would do anything to take it back.”

“... Okay.”

Daisy was impossible to read. Her posture was tight, her strong features set in stone. Even so, Candace swore she saw a softening in the woman’s smooth caramel eyes. It was all she needed. Acknowledgement, if not acceptance, would have to suffice.

Sucking in a deep breath, Candace released it in a shaky exhale. Idly, she admitted, “It was my first kiss too.”

Candace caught a dubious, interested eyebrow quirk before the woman’s face turned back to granite.

“Your first kiss with another woman, you mean.”

“No. In general.”

Daisy scoffed. “You’re lying. I heard you dated the prep’s football captain. ”

“My uncle set us—no, he told me to date Lary. I never kissed him, though. He got grabby, and it gave me the excuse to dump him.”

Daisy seemed unconvinced.

“You don’t believe me? What reason would I have to lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy admitted. Sounding annoyed, she added, “You can barely call it a kiss anyway. I’ve had burps that last longer.”

Candace winced. She was not sure why, but the dismissiveness in Daisy’s tone was the deepest cut in this knife-sharpening conversation.

She felt like a human whetstone trying to take the blows.

But, comparing a kiss she’d dreamt about, fantasized endlessly over what would have happened if they went further, drove the metaphorical knife right through.

Evenly as she could, Candace got to the point. “So. If this kiss meant nothing and everything, where does that leave us? Where do we go from here?”

For a long while, so long that Candace was beginning to think she would not reply, Daisy kept quiet. At a deliberate pace, she nodded. Her voice was confident.

“You said you’d do anything to make up for what you did to me? Fine. Help save Bagel Bombs!. I can’t guarantee I’ll forgive you or be nice, but I can work with you. And, as much as I hate to admit it, you know what you’re doing.”

Candace’s spirit soared. She could not keep the smile from her face as she exclaimed, “Really?!”

“Yeah, but wipe that grin off your face. You get one more chance, and this time, I’m gonna ride you hard .”

Daisy seemed to know her phrasing was off the moment she said the words. The woman flushed, and her face scrunched as if she’d eaten something sour. Candace, however, did not miss a beat.

“Good. I’m counting on it.”

At 8 AM on the dot, Candace pulled up along the curb in front of Daisy’s house. She considered pulling right back out. Last night, after Daisy and she snuck out of the long-closed nature center following their sort-of reconciliation, they parted on better terms than she thought possible.

Not good, but better off than they were when everything was left unsaid.

Now, it was time for Candace to put her metaphorical money where her mouth was.

Candace checked her reflection in the vanity mirror before exiting her car.

Worry stared back at her as all the ways she messed up and still could mess up played in an endless loop through her imagination cinema.

She hated this movie, the one where she was the villain in Daisy’s story as well as her own.

What if I get in the way?

Chaotic as it was, Daisy had a process and method to managing her business. Would she be angry at Candace trying to insert herself again? Think she was being pushy?

Or was Candace just making up excuses because she was afraid of rejection? A therapist session was in her future, but for now she had to move forward. Daisy was counting on her.

Send the script back for rewrites, Candace told herself. She was the one in charge of her actions, and it was time to take responsibility.

Sighing, Candace closed the mirror shutter with a snap.

At least costume department was doing their job for this metaphorical movie.

Despite her limited wardrobe, there were a few pieces she kept from her regular rotation in case she had a special occasion…

such as surprising her boss/partner in a desperate bid to garner goodwill.

Candace almost felt like her old self wearing her favorite sleeveless blazer and pencil skirt.

Seafoam tweed with gold accents, it matched her eyes and was tailored to fit her like a glove.

She pulled her hair up into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail, with two elegant locks left free to frame her face.

In this outfit, strutting in her tan kitten heels, she’d never failed to turn heads and leave slack jaws in her wake.

Maybe it would be enough to stop Daisy’s scowl.

Walking up the mismatched stone pavers to the gray-blue slatted wood of the bay cottage’s tiny covered porch, Candace could feel her heart pound harder.

Not in a nice, fluttery manner, but like a trapped animal.

Her step faltered as she missed a paver thanks to her shaking legs.

Stopping, she took a moment to collect herself.

Candace had always felt emotions intensely. It was her Scorpio energy, Demi said. Her uncle berated her for it, called her weak and a typical woman. So, over the years, she had gotten better at controlling the outward display.

Breathing techniques were a helpful part of her coping arsenal.

Through yoga, therapy, and a zealous need to research everything that interested her, she picked up several different types over the years.

Alternate nostril breathing was her favorite for centering.

To start, she shimmied her skirt up so that she could sit down on a paver, cross-legged.

She set the coffee caddy on the ground, then pinched her nose with her thumb and pointer finger.

Then, she alternated which nostril she plugged as she breathed in and out at a timed pace.

Thankfully, Daisy did not have a doorcam to catch the odd behaviors. No bell, either.

Once she gathered herself, Candace tried the brass knocker and waited.

And waited.

As long as Daisy had not moved from her childhood home, Candace was sure she was at the right place. Years ago, Demi pointed it out to her while wearing a sly, knowing grin.

Daisy’s golf cart was nowhere in sight, but the house had an attached garage, so it was reasonable to assume it was stored there.

The landscaping was minimal, with tall bay grasses and shrubbery like prickly holly bushes.

Nothing was too unkempt, but there was little personality—not even a garden gnome.

The place seemed so… bland . Not like the cool, witty, artistic Daisy she knew.

Maybe she was wrong, or…?

No , Candace thought. This is it.

In the end, it was the smell that made Candace certain.

A familiar, bready scent caught Candace’s nose.

Her empty stomach rumbled with anticipation.

She took a long, savoring breath of toasted flour as she followed the invisible trail around the side of the house.

There, past a narrow yard where the only thing of note was an outdoor shower stall, she continued to the back.

It was a small area. Just as sparse as the front, it was secluded by a high wood fence and tall spruce trees. A double-panel glass sliding door with no curtains or cover allowed Candace to see right inside.

Her jaw dropped.

Holy bagels .

It was an open lower level, so from where Candace stood she could see straight through from the kitchen to the living room to the locked front door. A TV faced her on the far wall, playing an old rerun of The Simpsons.

The main appliances, countertop, and sink were located in the right corner of the room closest to the sliding door.

Every burner of the stove was active, from big boiling pots of water to what looked like curry in a saucepan.

A behemoth, rustic farmhouse central table took up the majority of the space, and each inch of it was occupied by a bagel bomb or bagel bomb component in various states of completion.