Page 22 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Daisy

W hat a weird day.

No, what a weird person, Daisy thought while tossing said person’s sopping clothes into the dryer .

Candace was taking a long time getting changed. She was probably inspecting the state of the bathroom’s tile grout. Or fixing her perfect hair. Or making fun of… something. Daisy saw the way the woman’s eyes scanned every detail of the house, judging it. Judging her and the way she lived .

Whatever.

Daisy did not give a shit what Candace thought about anything, least of all herself. She could stay in the bathroom the rest of the day for all Daisy cared. No one asked her to come barging over in the first place. Like always, though, the woman did what she wanted.

Daisy swiped her coffee from its place on the table and took a generous gulp.

It was black, just the way she liked it, and the bean roast was that perfect blend of earthy bliss.

Recollection hit her mid-draught that Candace had brought the drink.

She dropped the cup with a grimace, stubbornly set on refusing to enjoy any part of the intrusion.

What Daisy needed was a nice, long nap. But naps were for closers. Or, for business owners/bakers who caught up on their inventory issues. Thanks to Candace, Daisy was a ways off.

Apart from a brief rest when her dough was proofing, Daisy had been up all, night locked into an endless cycle of mixing and measuring and making.

She felt like she was going to be scraping dough and cream cheese from under her fingernails for days.

She made so much, she’d run out of key ingredients.

And she needed to do more.

She was waiting on her finished bombs to cool down. Then, she would bag, vacuum seal, and freeze the pocket treats. It was a process that was almost as meticulous as the baking. One mistake now meant a major headache (and customer complaints) later.

Like her dad used to say: “ Do it once, do it right, it won’t come back to bite.”

Daisy proceeded to rearrange her workspace. She cleared an area to seal the bombs, prepared her reusable bags, and carefully wrote out each label in big, clear-to-read blocky letters.

Plain.

Whole Wheat.

Sesame.

Everything.

Cinnamon Raisin.

Asiago.

Chive cream cheese and bacon.

Maple French Toast

Cheddar Jalapeno

Chocolate Chi p

Japanese Curry

Italian herbs and cheese

Chorizo with their flared and slight side part, it looked almost like a black mini skirt.

The tank top, meanwhile, was too small. Daisy did not need much to cover up her petite bust, while Candace and her hourglass proportions demanded the next size up.

Her chest practically popped under the tight neckline, and the hem lifted, exposing a pale sliver of midriff.

The irony was not lost on Daisy that their roles were reversed from earlier. Unlike the naked, obvious lust Candace showed, Daisy thought she did a good job of keeping her outward display neutral… in spite of actual, annoying arousal that spiked inside.

“See?” Candace mumbled, “This is why I don’t wear this sort of thing. It looks so trashy on me.”

Daisy gaped.

“You think you look trashy ?”

Candace crossed her arms as if she were trying to hide her shame, gaze trained on the linoleum. As she curled the lock of hair framing her face behind her ear, Daisy saw the deep pink flush that scored the other woman’s cheeks.

“I can never get casual clothes to fit me right. It looks like I’m just trying to get attention by showing skin.”

A frown replaced Daisy’s open-mouthed disbelief.

She flipped the logic, clarifying, “You think I’m trying to get attention when I wear my everyday clothes? You think I look trashy?”

“NO!” Candace met Daisy’s gaze with her shout, but broke as she went on. “I don’t think that at all. You always look so cool . It’s just… that’s what my uncle used to say whenever he saw me in these sorts of clothes. He once told me that hoodies and sweatpants were for poor people.”

“That’s the dumbest bunk I’ve ever heard. Don’t you do yoga? What do you wear, a business suit?”

Daisy could not help picturing what Candace might wear to one of her classes. How she might bend, twist, and…

NOPE .

Daisy gave herself a mental slap and turned back to the ridiculous conversation at hand.

“That’s different,” Candace countered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I think I’ve got things figured out. ”

They were separated by the length of the table. Crossing her arms, not to hide but to project strength, Daisy closed the distance between them.

She explained, “Your asshole uncle is weird about how you dress, so now you’re weird about it. And it pisses me off, because what the fuck? It’s a tank top and shorts, they’re totally normal clothes. What kind of chode gets worked up about that?”

A ghost of a smile flickered on Candace’s face at Daisy’s choice of insult. Her reply was a sober, long-considered conclusion.

“The kind of person who views you as an extension of themself, subject to their morals and standards. In his eyes, I’m supposed to draw attention, but only the right kind of attention.

He’s fine with dressing me up in a bikini to promote the pier, but if I wore something like this around the house, his comments would be less than kind. ”

“So he’s a hypocrite and a gross control freak who sexualizes his own niece.”

The more Daisy heard about Peter Perry, the more she hated the man. Candace’s eyes popped open at the bald-faced truth. Then, she deflated. Her arms dropped to her sides with her reluctant shrug.

“Yeah. That's the gist of it. I’m sorry for being weird.”

Daisy shook her head. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to yourself for internalizing that horseshit. You’re hot, princess. You could wear a potato sack and make it look like a designer dress. That doesn’t mean you’re out for attention.”

“No,” she confirmed with a shudder. “The last thing I want is to be front and center. I’ve just gotten good at putting up with it to make him happy, and for my job. But it’s difficult. Which is exactly why I should have known better about taking that picture of you without asking. Sorry again.”

Daisy scratched the back of her head, unsure of what to say.

She had not been expecting another apology for the social media snafu.

In fact, she’d been sort of excited by how positive a response it got.

She read over the comments last night and even screen-shotted a few for when she needed an ego boost.

“I appreciate you saying that. We’re good.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The hopeful shine of Candace’s eyes was almost bright enough to make Daisy squint. Instead, she loosened up. She transferred her weight to one leg and leaned a hip against the table. Musing aloud, she said, “You know, if it’d been a promo shot with you, we’d have gotten an even better response.”

“You think?” Candace considered with a coy tilt, “What about both? That way, you and I have an equal share of the spotlight.”

Candace pivoted on her heels so that they faced the same direction. She retrieved her phone from her pocket and held it up selfie-style. Her back brushed against Daisy’s front as she adjusted her placement in the frame.

With her thumb hovering over the capture button, she asked, “Is this okay?”

A sense of deja vu hit Daisy. They were the same words Candace said right after their fateful kiss. The same spike of anticipation shot through Daisy as well. Before she’d even processed the action, she saw her reflection on the screen nod.

It was over in an instant. Candace snapped the picture and maneuvered away in one smooth, swift twirl. For all of Daisy’s apprehension, it had been painless. Even so, the idea of strangers seeing her share a frame with Candace Perry filled her with a different kind of worry.

What if it was not a good picture? Could they do better? ‘ Do it once, do it right, it won’t come back to bite.’ Daisy had creative control, so it was time she exercised it.

She pitched, “How about a video? I need to finish bagging these puppies up and set my next batch of dough to proof before I make an ingredient run. You need to learn how to do this so you’re not useless. It might be good marketing material to show how the gravy’s made. ”

Candace stuck out her tongue. “I wouldn’t call doing the dishes useless. But I love the idea. Hm…” She thought for a moment, then grinned. In a decisive swipe, she grabbed a gloop-covered spoon and held it up to her mouth like a microphone.

“I’m the interviewer, you’re the expert.”