by Vicki James
The couple in front of me finally looked up from a shelf filled with ornate photo frames, and the male offered me a tight smile that told me he no more wanted to be shopping than he wanted to be having open-heart surgery on the black market. When his wife caught my eyes, she smiled too, her excitement genuine as she floated around the space, taking everything in.
“Your shop is beautiful,” she cooed, clutching her purse to her stomach. “I could clear your shelves in an hour.”
“Please,” I chuckled, “feel free.”
“Joan…” her husband grumbled.
“Or perhaps consult with the gentleman behind you first?” I suggested.
Joan rolled her eyes and dismissed him with a wave of her hand before she looked at the shelf just below the counter. It was filled with bath bombs, wax melts, and bars of soap that smelt practically edible.
“Ignore him. He’s old, and definitely no gentleman,” she grumbled. “Everything in here is so pretty.” Joan looked up at me from under her wispy brows. “As is the owner. I’m assuming you’re the Daisy of Daisy’s Devon.”
“I am.” I beamed, her compliments turning my cheeks pink. “And thank you. I love this shop. It’s been my life for two years now.”
Joan picked up a collection of different coloured bath bombs, and she planted them on the counter between us. “I can tell, Daisy. Just make sure you don’t always put work before pleasure while you’re still young.” She riffled through her purse to find a ten-pound note, and when she held it out for me, a subtle smirk tickled her lips. “Your youth should be fun. Let the serious stuff come later in life. There’s plenty of that to keep you occupied when the time is right.” She winked.
I wasn’t sure why her words made my smile falter, but they did, and I took the note from her, opened the register, and scrambled for her change.
“Keep it. These are worth more than you’re charging,” she assured me before she bundled the bath bombs into her cotton carrier bag and turned to leave. “Beautiful place, Daisy of Daisy’s Devon. Just like its owner.”
Joan and her husband left me standing there with nothing more than the bell jingling above the now-closed door, and my mouth parted as I watched them go.
A funny chill ran up the back of my neck, forcing me to blink, lick my lips and shut the till with a flourish.
Youth should be fun.
Fun.
It sure had been a while.
Memories of rolling around in bedsheets with a familiar boy’s smile floating above me as the sunlight poured through his bedroom came back to the forefront of my mind. Memories of that same boy chasing me on the beach, only to catch me and throw us both down into the sand came back, too.
Laughter—real laughter—echoed in my mind, taunting me with the sound of his voice and the hundreds of silly jokes we’d shared while lounging on his sofa, or walking hand-in-hand down the school corridors.
That repaired heart of mine crackled under the weight of the memories, reminding me that it was too weak to let those happier times linger for too long. That heart had been rebuilt with glue; the pieces awkward now, not quite fitting together as smoothly as they once had.
Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.
The bells jingled again, and I looked up to see Ben’s head poking back through the door.
Clearing my throat, I held onto the counter and raised my brows at him. “May I help you?”
“Just getting one last glimpse of you before tonight.”
“You’re flirting again.”
“Daisy, I haven’t even begun to show you what I’m capable of yet.”
I rolled my eyes, picked up a mint wrapped in foil from a bowl by the till, and I threw it across the shop at him. He caught it easily—his smirk ever-present as he unwrapped it effortlessly and tossed the mint in his mouth.
“See you later.”
“Later.” I huffed out a laugh.
The door closed again, and even though Ben was in my sight, the remnants of Danny still tickled my mind.
“Goddamn son of a bitch,” I whispered to myself before I sighed heavily and got on with my day. A regular day. An ordinary day in an ordinary life being lived by an ordinary girl.
One who was happy to stick to what she knew—what was safe.
Two
“Jackson, turn it off!” Gina yelled over her shoulder.
The two of us were standing in her country kitchen, leaning over opposite sides of the island in the middle of the room. The council tax papers I’d brought over sat between us, and I watched as my short-haired friend pushed bright blue strands away from her face—the blue hair being a personal rebellion to the small village way of life—aiming her eyes up to the ceiling in the general direction of her younger brother’s bedroom.
“Get lost!” Jackson called back.
“Don’t make me come up there, you little brat. Turn it off or put some goddamn earphones in, or I swear to God…”
“You don’t believe in God, Gigi.”
“I swear to Satan, though! And we both know he’s very real, and he will make you suffer for having such a big mouth and bad attitude.”
“I hate you!”
“Tell it to someone who cares, kid.” Gina shook her head and let her shoulders sag before her eyes found mine again. “Damn teenagers.”
“He doesn’t have to turn the music off for me,” I assured her, but Gina simply raised her brow accusingly. It didn’t take long for me to look down at the papers and start pushing them around idly. “I mean it. I’m better now.”
“Yeah? Then why don’t you ever listen to music?”
“I listen to music.”
“When?”
“I do. I just prefer the quiet. It calms me more than the noise.”
“Give yourself a break, Dais, sheesh. You don’t have to lie to survive. I wouldn’t want to listen to the band my ex had run off to find fame with either. It doesn’t make you weak to want to pretend Front Row Frogs don’t exist.”
“I’m—”
“And before you say you’re fine, don’t. I hate those arseholes, too. Who calls their band Front Row Frogs, anyway?”
“It was already called that before Danny joined,” I said without thought. When Gina didn’t respond, I looked up to see her arched brow. “What?”
“Stop defending him.”
“I’m not.” I scowled. “I don’t.”
The music shut off upstairs, and Jackson’s feet pounded angrily against the floorboards, just to annoy his older sister that little bit more.
“It’s a good job we share the same DNA, or I swear to you, he’d have been put in a foster home a long time ago.”
I chuckled, despite the pain of Gina and Jackson’s situation. Their parents had died in a horrific helicopter accident only five years ago when Jackson was still so young and dependent on them. Not long after Danny had left to go find fame, Hope Cove had gone into mass mourning as several members of our small community lost their lives in the senseless tragedy. People who had once been vital to the community’s spirit were now gone because of some simple mechanical failure that ended worlds within minutes. Families had been ruined. People’s lives were changed forever. The news had taken a while to sink in. Even after so long, it was hard to believe that Mr and Mrs Jones weren’t going to walk through the door with smiles on their faces to tease Gina about her blue hair or warn Jackson about his attitude.
Life as we knew it ended that day.
Ever since, Gina had been raising Jackson, living solely off the handsome inheritance their parents had left behind. Hence, why she had been able to help me fulfil my dream with the shop, too.
“You do an amazing job of raising him, G.”
“I know.” She nodded, her smile fading a little. Generally, Gina always looked happy, even when crippled with pain. “It’s just easier for me to pretend he’s a little fucker rather than acknowledge that he’s a great kid who I might fail along the way.”
I slid my palm over
hers on the counter. “You won’t.”
She let me hold her for a few seconds before she pulled her hand out from beneath mine, sniffing up to shake off her emotions. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about your big date with Ben tonight.” Gina rolled her shoulders. “He’s so strong, burly, masculine…”
“You got a little crush on Ben, Gigi?”
“He’s the most eligible bachelor around here. Who hasn’t got a crush on him?”
Me, I wanted to say, but I held it back.
I was attracted to Ben, sure. I loved the way he flattered me. I enjoyed the way he took my hand in his. The sex was always amazing. But there was something missing. A small void I couldn’t fill, not even with the hottest guy in town on my arm.
“Is he taking you anywhere nice tonight?” she asked, sensing something shift in my mood. Gina was amazing like that. She had a sixth, seventh, and eighth sense, all which told her when things were off and to move the conversation along.
“We’re eating Italian.”
“Ah. You’re going to Sandros.”
“Yup. Again.” I widened my eyes. “Ben sure loves his pasta.”
“You haven’t told him that you hate the garlic stuff yet? He must be amazing between the sheets if you’re putting up with that.”
“He’s everything a girl could want in a man.” I smiled up at her. He was, and there wasn’t much more I could say to that.
After Danny left Hope Cove five years ago, everything about who I had been crumbled, falling like broken bricks that had once been a solid wall. It had taken a while for me to stand up and brush myself off, but with the help of my job, Gina, and Ben’s attention, I’d dragged myself there like a zombie corpse eventually.
Gina leaned over the counter. “Now say that like you mean it.”
“He’s everything a girl could want in a man,” I repeated, somewhat amused.
Her eyes searched mine before she reached up to grip my chin and shake it gently. “One day. One day, I’ll see that spark back in those pretty blue eyes again.”
My lips parted to protest and tell her everything was more than fine, but her phone cut me off before I’d even begun, the ringing and vibrating of it on the countertop making both of us straighten up. Gina answered, her usual greeting of What’s up? replaced with something a little more formal.
“Hey, Aunt Vera. You okay?”
Vera Swinton wasn’t really Gina’s aunt, but she’d been a family friend of theirs for a long time who had been a source of comfort for her and Jackson after the senseless tragedy.
The look on Gina’s face dropped slowly as she listened to Vera. Discomfort rested in her eyes, and I stood taller, watching her expression as she said nothing to whatever Vera had to say. I didn’t need Gina’s sixth sense to know something was wrong, and when my friend looked up at me and stared into my eyes, I knew it was something I wasn’t going to like.
“I’m so sorry,” Gina said quietly to Vera. “When did it happen? This morning? My goodness. I understand. Anything Jax or I can do to help with the funeral, just let me know.” Funeral? “And I’m so sorry for your loss. Flo was a great lady. She’ll be missed.”
Flo?
There was only one Flo we both knew around here, and that was…
“Jesus Christ,” Gina said as she ended the call and dropped the phone to the counter. She looked up at me, her expression unreadable. “That’s not the kind of call anyone likes to take.”
“Is that who I think it is?” I asked, too cautiously. “Is it Florence…”
“... Silver. Yeah.”
“Danny’s grandma,” we whispered together.
My eyes fell to the papers between us that now seemed to hold no urgency since a woman who I’d grown up around had somehow passed away.
“I’m so sorry, Dais. Are you okay?”
My head shook of its own accord, and when I caught Gina’s eyes again, I could barely see her through the light coating of unshed tears I was clinging onto. “What happened?”
“First, tell me you’re okay.”
“No, I’m not okay, G. Florence has died. The woman I spent six years around. The lady who made sure to check up on me when Danny and I split. The one person he had left. She wasn’t even that old. How did this…? When did she…? What…?”
“She had a heart attack this morning,” Gina responded softly—a tone not often heard from her mouth. “It was sudden, apparently.”
“Was she… alone?”
“I think so.”
“Fuck,” I hissed, letting my arse land on the kitchen stool beside me with a thud. “Just… fuck.”
Despite all the pain he’d caused me, I knew this was going to kill Danny—it had to—because now he had no one. Not even his grandmother. And after years of everyone in Hope Cove knowing everyone, all the community pitching in to raise each other’s children, celebrate each other’s lives, and be there for every milestone… that community now felt like it was dwindling.
“Do you think he’ll come back for the funeral?” I asked Gina, my voice too quiet—like I hadn’t meant to ask that question out loud.
Tears filled her eyes, too. They searched mine with a sadness I hadn’t seen since the great helicopter crash of our community, only five years ago.
“Why would he, Dais?” she whispered. “That son of a bitch didn’t come back for his own parents’ funerals after those poor bastards died right alongside mine in that helicopter.”
Like I said, in Hope Cove, everyone grew up around each other. Families were entwined, and the lives of the local residents were weaved together in a tangled web of friendships, secrets, and history.
Gina’s parents had been best friends with Danny’s mum and dad.
The day they’d taken to the skies to drift over the Southern coastline of England to celebrate Tim Silver’s 50th birthday, tragedy had struck. Not just for the individual families, but for the masses. It was the first big loss I’d ever suffered, and I braced myself to comfort Danny on his return home.
But that never happened.
Danny Silver, the once good boy of our lives, had somehow turned so bad in the short space of time he’d been gone that he didn’t come back for the funerals. Now his Grandma Florence had died alone, without her grandson, because he’d been off chasing his own ego for too damn long.
His lack of presence helped me get over him quicker than I thought was possible. I found it hard to think about loving a man so cold. I hoped he stayed gone because gone was better for everyone. The only person he had left to disappoint now was the God my parents worshipped so much.
Everyone else saw Danny for the very thing I never thought he’d become:
A selfish arsehole.
Of course, he was back taking over my thoughts again, but with Gina’s encouragement, I gathered some strength together to go on my date with Ben that night. The idea of making idle conversation seemed pointless. My mind was already somewhere else, but Ben had always been nothing but nice to me, and he deserved someone to make an effort with him… or at least explain what the hell was going on.
Our main courses had arrived, and I pushed the tagliatelle around with my fork, occasionally trying to take a mouthful only to feel that sickness rising in my stomach—one familiar to the nausea that comes along with grief.
“Daisy, you don’t have to be here,” Ben said with a sigh of resignation as he lowered his red wine glass back to the table.
I looked up at him through my lashes, taking his handsome face in for a moment. As soon as I’d arrived at Sandros, I’d told Ben everything that had happened. Everyone in Hope Cove knew that I, the boring, simple shopkeeper, used to date the now-famous Danny from Front Row Frogs, so hiding my past from Ben was pointless. I didn’t want to hide anything. The shame I carried at not being good enough was my own to handle, but I didn’t need to feel embarrassed about it. Gina had drilled it into me over and over again in recent years:
Danny is the low life. Not you. Repeat that to yourself, every sing
le day.
“Danny is the low life… not me,” I said quietly, the words slipping out like an old ghost being set free.
Ben’s brows creased, and his eyes fell to my mouth. “Now, tell me something we both don’t know.”
“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
“Sure you do. Florence Silver just died. You’re in mourning.” Ben leaned over the table, his voice dropping when he spoke again. “That’s okay, Daisy. She meant something to you.”
“I spent the last five years avoiding her, Ben. Even when she tried so hard to check up on me and make sure I was okay.”
“You spent five years avoiding being reminded of Danny. You don’t need to pretend she doesn’t matter just because he doesn’t.”
I fell back in my seat and let the fork clang against the large plate. “Every lovely memory I have of Florence includes him, and I hate him.”
Ben raised a brow and waited.
“I really hate him,” I repeated, like an echo of that statement would somehow make it stronger.
“You sure about that?” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Screw you, Ben. I can hate you, too, you know.”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m impossible to hate.”
“Your arrogance makes it kind of easy to label you as an arsehole.”
“Really? Is that really what you think?”
“Yes. And half of Hope Cove does, too.”
“Then why are you sitting here with me, eating food you don’t even like, letting me order garlic on everything when you so obviously despise the stuff if I’m such an arrogant arsehole?”
My eyes widened. “If you know I hate it, why do you keep ordering it?”
“Because I see it as some kind of test now. I keep hoping that one day you’ll crack and stand up for yourself. Tell me you hate the stuff. Tell me you’ll never see me again if I keep bringing you here.”