Page 4 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Daisy

T he tide was a tricky force of nature.

Ebbing and flowing by the moon’s rule, it tugged at the world’s watery domains like magic. The gravitational dance was predictable, a known quantity to live and move by. Yet, in acts of prestidigitation, sometimes, the tide could produce unexpected curiosities.

Lost treasures from vessels sunk long ago…

Terrific creatures from unexplored depths…

Today, it brought trash.

Or, more specifically, a trash person named Candace Perry. Even after all this time, it was unmistakably her. For years, Daisy had the biggest crush on the girl and thought she could do no wrong. A mistake, as it turned out. That crush was dead and gone, leaving them here.

Salesperson and customer.

Daisy could count on her hands the number of times she turned someone away.

Between vendor bills and the rent she owed King Wonderwood himself, Peter Perry, she wasn’t in a position to be choosy.

It was a last resort reserved for the most irate, detestable customers—the bottom feeders and walking-algae scum that somehow ended up with sentience enough to place a coffee order.

So, Candace definitely qualified.

Saying nothing, Daisy started closing up shop while the trash stood there gaping.

“Excuse me? I asked for—”

“I heard you,” Daisy cut her off. “We’re closed.”

“It’s not even 9AM yet. Your coffee pot is still on, and you just served this man here.”

Daisy’s attention flicked to Norman, her die-hard regular seated atop the one stool that didn’t yet wobble.

He was an old fart in the best way, always outfitted in a classic suit and tie because that was how people from his generation dressed when they came onto the boardwalk.

He kept reading his newspaper, ignoring or, more likely, not hearing the exchange.

With a shrug, Daisy folded her arms and did her best club-bouncer impression.

“Well, we’re closed now.”

The woman switched tactics. She flashed a dazzling smile that had probably never failed to win someone over.

“Please? It’s not like I’m asking for much. I’d be grateful.”

Daisy scowled. Mainly because she knew that if it hadn’t been for their history, the plea would have worked.

Candace Perry had grown into the gorgeous archetype of femininity and poise she was always meant to be.

The creamy white, belted and collared romper she wore was a business cut, yet the material could not help contouring to curves that gave Sydney Sweeney a run for her money.

Matching wedge sandals added a couple of inches to her height, but that pristine smile and all the warmth it radiated seemed to lift her up on a pedestal.

Anyone would fall to their knees before such a sight .

Which made Daisy stand even straighter.

“I don’t care what you’re asking for. I said no. Why don’t you go to the fun pier, Candace ? I’m sure your uncle will buy you a coffee.”

“You… um… remember me?”

Daisy scoffed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You were a mean girl bitch. Now, screw off to someone who will put up with your shit.”

Stunning eyes that used to make Daisy’s knees weak went wide with… anger? Shame? It was hard to tell because the woman’s expression remained the same. Still, her admittedly attractive face turned bright crimson.

Daisy almost backed down. Sure, she had daydreamed this hundreds of times. Seeing Candace Perry again, after all these years, and being able to turn her away. Just like she should have the last time they saw one another, when Candace broke Daisy’s heart.

But maybe Candace had changed. It was a small town, and locals gossiped about each other on the regular.

Daisy heard that Candace went out of state for college, finally breaking from under her uncle’s thumb to make her own way.

She got out, moved on, and was living her best life—an accountant or something that had to do with money.

She likely did not remember the “bagel girl” she met so many summers ago.

Not in the way Daisy remembered Candace.

The idea that Daisy could simply be forgotten stung. She hid it under a blank expression, determined not to fold.

And she didn’t.

Candace, however, did. Like a fast summer storm, a downpour descended on her cheeks.

Full-on, uncontrolled emotion unleashed in a wild torrent.

Passersby slowed to watch. If Candace didn’t pull it together soon, she’d end up as a meme on someone’s social feed.

Worse, Daisy might, and her struggling business didn’t need that kind of exposure.

“We’re good here,” she called to the teens already starting to record the scene. “Shoobie stepped on a nail. Anyone wanna help?” Thankfully, the threat of humanitarian work got the rubberneckers to move along. She breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Daisy might be bitter, but she wasn’t heartless. She pulled a napkin from the counter dispenser and handed it over. An awkward beat passed while Candace tried, and failed, to clear her clogged nose with dignity.

“Hey,” Daisy started. “I’m not going to apologize, but are you oka—”

“ No! I’m not okay, not even close! I hate Wonderwood! It’s an awful place.”

“Huh. You’re allowed to be wrong, I guess. If it’s so terrible, go somewhere else.”

Another fresh flood found its way to Candace’s face. She mastered her emotions herself this time with a few controlled breaths. Her wounded expression soured.

“If I had any other choice, I would.”

Candace huffed for emphasis and tossed her sunflower locks over one shoulder. Daisy didn’t watch how the light caught on the sleek strands, and she definitely didn’t feel a rush as the scent of lilac shampoo hit her nose. When Daisy said nothing in response, Candace slumped.

“Not that you would care, but my life is a mess. I got fired from my dream job, and now I’m unhirable.”

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Yeah, ‘bummer.’ So this is my last option. I have to suck it up and beg for help from the one person I swore to never go to again.”

“Hitting up Uncle Moneybags, huh? Must be nice.”

“No,” she snapped, but seemed to catch herself.

She took a deep breath through her nose and added, “Sorry, but it’s not ‘nice’ owing Peter Perry, even if you’re related to him.

It might even be worse because he feels like he’s somehow allowed to make me miserable because we share some DNA.

He’ll hold this over me for the rest of my life. ”

Regret hit Daisy. She recalled the scared young girl she met so long ago and imagined what their home life must have looked like. She started to apologize. With a shake of her head, Candace stopped her.

“It’s alright. Privilege with strings is still privilege, I know.”

“Yeah. But it does sound like it sucks. You’re allowed to complain.”

“Thanks. Everyone thinks he’s wonderful. ‘Wonderwood’s Wacky Uncle,’ who revitalized the boardwalk. Living with him, having the same name, is different.”

Plainly, Daisy said, “He’s an asshole, and this place would be better off if he fucked off.”

Candace giggled in a musical burst. A rush of deja vu hit Daisy, and her heart did a little skip.

“He is, isn’t he? It’s nice to hear someone say it out loud.

I’m not just taking his money, to be clear.

I’ll pay him back every single cent as soon as I can.

I might not technically be a banker anymore, but I can still manage money.

In the meantime, I get to relive some of the worst years of my life. ”

Pausing, Candace snatched another napkin from the dispenser and blew her nose; unladylike, a little gross, and wholly human, which was disarming for Daisy to see.

She continued, “That’s the reason for… whatever this was. I’ve been burying a lot of emotions, and being here dredged them all up.”

“ ‘Tide ‘tis time’s temptation; let it be and ride the sea.’ ”

Candace looked at Daisy like she had two heads because why wouldn’t she?

It was an old fisherman’s limerick, something Daisy’s mother used to belt in a silly, sing-song voice whenever Daisy was having a bad day.

She could not remember the last time she thought about the phrase, but words left her lips before she registered it happening.

In a rush, she explained, “It’s a sailor’s saying. Weird, I know. It’s—”

“I like it.” A small, thoughtful smile curved Candace’s lips. She mused, “It’s a bit like saying ‘go with the flow,’ which I need to hear sometimes. Thank you.”

“Yeah. ”

Candace’s smile flickered and shifted from a genuine action to a practiced one. She started to turn away. “Well, then. Sorry for bothering you.”

Daisy couldn’t say why. On impulse, she filled their largest insulated to-go cup with coffee and placed it on the counter before Candace. The woman blinked her somehow still perfectly mascaraed eyelashes at the steaming object before her.

“On the house,” Daisy offered with a shrug. “I know a thing or two about owing Peter Perry money. I get it.”

A beat passed. Candace took the cup, carefully, between both of her hands. In a small voice, she said, “Thanks… Daisy.”

It felt as if a bolt went through Daisy’s chest. What was happening here, and why did she want it to continue? Nerves abuzz, Daisy motioned for Candace to sit. When she did, Daisy busied herself putting things away and tried so hard to quash the desire to keep Candace talking.

Then, curse him, Norman went and did it himself.

“Good morning, miss,” he greeted. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely, yes.”

“Are you in town for the horseshoe crab exhibit?”

“T-the what?”

Candace stared at the old man blankly. On anyone else, the woman’s deer-in-headlights look would have been cute to Daisy. Instead, it irked her. Or, maybe, because she found it cute it irked her.

She mocked, “What a shoobie. You don’t know about the horseshoe crabs? They’re what Wonderwood is famous for—or was, before the boardwalk took all the attention.”