by Gina Azzi
Welcome to Edinburgh, Daisy.
2
Finn
“Wow.” The word falls from her mouth on a whisper, as Daisy pushes into her new flat. I stand behind her, my fingers still wrapped around the handles of her suitcases, although I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I feel her words skate across my skin, tightening everything in my body.
“You like it?” I ask, my voice gruff, as I close the door behind me.
She nods, walking farther into the space, looking around. She runs a hand over the back of the cream-colored sofa, her gaze lingering on the design books atop the coffee table. “Are you sure this is part of the housing package?” she asks suddenly, turning to me, her eyes skeptical.
I chuckle. “Sure is.” I continue to watch as she makes her way to the kitchen, checking out the quartz countertops and sleek finishing. This apartment is on Anderson’s housing list now. I called in a few favors to make this happen because I want Daisy to like it here and to feel comfortable in Edinburgh, especially when she’s so far from her home and family.
It wasn’t a big deal to add some additional housing options to our company’s list and negotiate an agreeable rate in one of the best flats for Daisy. Plus, my family wants her to have an easy transition and Aunt Jenni thought this neighborhood, Stockbridge, would be the best fit for her. Sierra pushed for The Meadows, arguing she would have more fun living there, but Stockbridge is less rowdy, and I endorsed Aunt Jenni’s idea.
“This place is incredible.” Her voice is laced with awe, her eyes bright with excitement. She peeks in the refrigerator. “Seriously! Even the fridge is stocked.”
I snort at her excited chatter, but relief floods my limbs that she likes the space, that she’s reacting this way. It reinforces that the time I spent finding this flat was worth it.
Daisy looks up, her face open and sweet, and bounces on her toes excitedly. I stifle the groan that crawls up my throat as I watch her. She’s too damn adorable, too cute, bloody alluring without even knowing it.
“Thank you, Finn.” She rushes me, throwing her arms around my middle. “Really.” She pulls back slightly, her cheeks glowing. “I know you pulled strings to make this happen. I’m not an idiot. But I really appreciate it.”
I allow myself this moment to hug her back. Grazing my hand over the top of her head, her silky strands glide through my fingers, and I’m transported to another night, another time, when I raked my fingers through her hair and pressed my mouth against hers.
The air shifts between us, shrinking and tightening, making us both hyperaware of every breath, each blink.
Daisy clears her throat, stepping out of my embrace. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have.” She blushes, gesturing between us. “I was just excited.”
“I know.” The words stick in my throat, tasting bitter. This is what I said I wanted, for nothing to develop between Daisy and me. But on some level, it was a lie. Because she’s still stuck under my skin and I still crave her more than I should.
Time to wrap it up, Anderson.
I don’t move to leave her flat.
“Thank you,” she says simply, the gratitude in her expression affecting me even more.
“You’re welcome. If you need anything, you call me.”
“Okay.” She agrees slowly, her shoulders rising to her ears and dropping back down in a casual shrug. “Don’t worry about me, Finn. I’ll be fine. Thanks again for helping me out and making sure I’m all settled in.” She looks around the flat again, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I think I’m good.”
I sigh, knowing she’s ready for me to leave but not wanting to. “Okay.” I walk toward the entrance, and she follows a few steps behind. I’m acutely aware of her gaze settled between my shoulder blades, the floral scent of her perfume surrounding me.
When I get to the door, I turn quickly, and she stumbles back a step, as if I’ve caught her off guard. I reach out to steady her, and my hand lingers on her shoulder, my fingers brushing against the inside of her arm.
She inhales sharply, her eyes widening as they flicker over my lips.
Damn it.
Everything between us is too much, too real.
“Daisy.” My voice is low, and I struggle to control the torrent of emotions that flood me as I stare at her upturned face. I want to pull her flush against me and kiss her senseless as much as I want to turn around and leave. Memories from Christmas flood back. I don’t know what’s going on between us. I had said the words to her on Christmas Day and yet, they ring true now.
The tension between us crackles with energy as I drink in her multi-colored eyes, so bright and intense, I could drown in them. Open desire mixed with anticipation flickers across her expression as she boldly meets my gaze.
Mesmerized by her, conflicted by the emotions running through me, my hands clench into fists. My fingers itch to wrap in her hair, my mouth begs to cover hers. Hell yes, I want her. But I respect her too bloody much to make her one more girl in my long list of one-night stands. Besides the obvious reasons why Daisy and I shouldn’t hook up – we now work together and she’s Sierra’s best friend – she’s also younger, more impressionable, and idealistic. I’m not the man for her, and I never will be, which is why I force myself to lean forward and brush a casual kiss across her cheek. “Make sure you lock the door behind me.”
I hear a small catch in her breath but when I pull back, she regards me carefully. Her face impassive, her posture stiff, she holds the door open. “Night, Finn. Thanks again.”
“See you, Dais.” I step into the hall and walk down the flight of stairs, pausing until I hear the deadbolt latch. Sighing, I scrub my palm over my face. What the hell was that? Blowing out an exhale, I can still smell the vanilla from her shampoo and feel the soft, smooth skin of her cheeks.
I couldn’t forget about Daisy if I tried.
And trust me, I’ve tried.
The late-night knock on my door is so unexpected, it’s jarring. I stand from the couch slowly and mute the rugby game I’m watching on the telly. Listening closely, I pray it’s not some scorned woman I pissed off after a one-night thing. They’ve never tracked me down at home before, but I’ve had a few unsavory encounters at work that I’d hate to repeat where I live.
“Finn?” My brother’s voice calls out, followed closely by his fist banging against the door.
That has me shifting gears and I jog to the door, pulling it wide open.
“Aaron? Everything okay?” I ask, my concern spiking as I take in his sullen expression, his glazed eyes.
Aaron blows out a deep breath and winces, pushing past me into my flat. “Got anything to drink?”
“A beer?”
“Stronger.”
“Scotch?”
He nods and I head to the kitchen to pour two tumblers, dropping a large, square ice cube in each. I glance over at him and my stomach sinks as he paces back and forth in my living room, muttering under his breath, his voice mouthing barely audible words. What the hell is going on?
Walking over to him, I shake the tumbler gently as I pass it to him. “How’d you get here?”
“Uber.”
Taking a sip of my own drink, I sink into a chair. Staring up at him, I ask the question that leaves me feeling the most unsettled. “Is Livvy okay?”
“What?” Aaron looks up quickly, his eyes unfocused as he processes my question. “Yeah, yeah, mate, Livvy’s fine.”
Knowing that my six-year-old niece is not the source of Aaron’s distress is a relief. “Alright. What’s going on?”
He strides over to the fireplace in three steps, setting his tumbler on the mantle before picking it up again and turning to face me. His face contorts in pain, then anger, then an emotion I can’t place but forlorn comes to mind. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t know and that’s the bloody problem.” His eyes flash wildly, and I shift my weight forward, leaning my elbows on my knees as I watch my brother struggle to find the words to make sense of his curr
ent state.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Aaron shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, and for a moment, I’m scared he’s going to cry. I’ve only seen my big brother cry once, the day we received word that our parents were both killed in a car accident caused by a drunk driver. That day, under a grey sky with howling wind and sheets of rain, my brother fell apart. Kneeling in the street, the rain viciously slanting across his body, his shoulders shook with the emotion draining out of him like a storm.
But that was it. Not at the funeral, not on the anniversaries of their deaths, not even happy tears on his wedding day.
Rolling the tumbler between my palms, I wait for Aaron to offer some clue as to what’s going on. But the longer I take in his distress, a coldness seeps into my skin, numbing my senses from the inside out. And I know, just know, that it’s something to do with Aaron’s wife Kate.
I’ve worn Aaron’s expression once before. One of utter disbelief mixed with acute longing and unrivaled pain. A confusion sparking from the inability to accept the truth of what is, because it’s too damn devastating to fully absorb.
Watching him, I guess at the truth. In fact, I know it, recognize it stamped into his wounded expression and bunching shoulders, before he does. Wincing, I glance down at the amber liquid in my tumbler and debate tossing the entire thing back.
Whatever emotion he’s struggling with, he gains control of it, his jawline hardening and his nostrils flaring as his temper surges. “It’s Kate. Something’s going on. She hasn’t been herself lately, not with me, and definitely not with Livvy. She’s absent. Even when she’s with us, she’s not really there, you know what I mean?” He looks at me for a beat before shaking his head and continuing. “She’s working all the time, late nights, lunch hours, weekends. There’s a million conferences on the horizon and new clients pouring in, and while I’m proud of her success, I can’t help but feel like her new position is detracting from our family.”
“Have you talked to her about it?” I ask instead of the question that sits on the tip of my tongue: is she cheating on you?
“Of course, I have,” he snaps. “She says I’m acting jealous, like I can’t stand to see her career developing when for so many years the focus has been on my career. And that’s shit, Finn. I’m happy for her, proud of her and all of her hard work. But lately, we aren’t connecting at all. I don’t know where her head is at. It doesn’t make any sense.” He takes a large gulp of his Scotch, hissing as the amber liquid hits his throat and smacking his lips together. “It’s like she’s a completely different person. Like I don’t even know her.”
I sigh, slouching in my chair and tipping back my head. Damn it. Of course Kate is cheating on Aaron. All of the signs are there. How does he not see it?
“Finn?” my brother’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I look up.
“Yeah Aar?”
“What do you think I should do?”
Hire a damn divorce solicitor. I want to shout the words but force myself to slowly drink my Scotch and temper my anger. I thought what Aaron and Kate had was real, the true love bullshit that turns movies into Hollywood hits. I know it exists in theory; I also know it’s not for me.
But how do I tell my brother his family is about to implode? Glancing back up at Aaron, noting the lost expression clinging to his face combined with the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I know my suspicions are correct. Sighing, I ask, “Do you think she’s cheating on you?”
I can almost hear the sound of his neck snapping up at my question. His eyes bore into mine and I register his anger, followed closely by shock. And then, resignation. Damn it.
“I don’t know, Finn.” He says quietly, turning away and finishing his Scotch. He places his glass on the mantle and keeps his back to me as he repeats. “I don’t know.”
I wince at the pain in his voice and curse Kate for causing this mess. But isn’t this the way of things?
“Aaron, maybe you and Kate should sit down and talk about –” I start to explain rationally before my brother cuts me a look. I take in his expression, the worry lines around his mouth, and the purple smudges underneath his eyes. “Hire a solicitor. That’s what I’d do.” I finish off my Scotch, pointing to my guest bedroom. “If Livvy is sleeping at Aunt Jenni’s, why don’t you stay here tonight?”
Aaron nods, not saying anything as he walks over to the window and peers out into the darkness of the night. I leave him with his desperate thoughts, his uncertainty and doubt, his memories of what was and what will never be again.
I know better than anyone that in the end, it never works out. Not the way you imagined anyway. This is why men shouldn’t hand it all over to a woman and give up the biggest pieces of themselves in the name of love. Because when it all comes crumbling down, and it almost always does, there aren’t enough pieces to build something whole again.
When my alarm sounds on Sunday morning, I groan, even though it’s my favorite day of the week. Swinging my legs to the side of the bed, I sit there for several seconds, letting sleep clear from my eyes.
It’s early, barely five. I know the weather without having to check my app; it’s frigid cold, grey, and windy. Layering up in my warmest clothes, I grab some hard-boiled eggs and orange juice from the fridge and pound them back. Checking in on Aaron, I’m relieved he’s sleeping, snoring loudly in fact. Shouldering my rugby bag, I lock up just after five-thirty and head toward the rugby pitch. Nothing like watching the sunrise while playing the greatest sport ever invented.
Throwing myself into the game, I finally clear my head from everything that happened this weekend. Daisy being here, stirring up a bunch of feelings I’m not used to. Aaron and Kate’s marital bliss crashing and burning. The never-ending stack of folders on my desk that I’m barely making a dent in. I let all of it go and focus on the game, enjoying the distraction, the physical exertion, and the camaraderie.
Stretching afterwards, my muscles ache and throb, partly from playing and partly from the bloody cold. But my mind is clear, my energy good, and my spirits high. All in all, it’s the perfect start to the day.
“Nice job out there, Anderson,” my best mate, Roger, comments, sitting down on the cold ground beside me.
“You too.”
“Want to grab a pint?” he asks, the same way he does every week.
“Absolutely. And some breakfast.”
He shrugs, the way I knew he would, but agrees. This is our tradition. Every Sunday morning, we have breakfast and pints at a local pub that’s open twenty-four hours a day. Roger and I have been mates a long time, since our school days, since before Mum and Dad passed, and Uncle James took Aaron and me under his wing and transitioned us into the family business. In many ways, Roger knows me better than my friends from today. He knows me from before, back when I was a scrawny punk getting into stupid fights and cursing wildly at whoever would stop to give me attention in the wake of my parents’ death.
Through all the changes that occurred after my parents passed, Roger was there. When the lads from my town grew jealous at my new life with Uncle James, Roger understood I’d trade it all back for more time with Mum and Dad. After all these years, it doesn’t matter that I’m a solicitor and he tends bar at a restaurant in Leith Docks, we’re still cut from the same cloth and are as close as brothers.
“Ye ready?” Roger asks, interrupting my thoughts. “After breakfast, I told my sister I’d take Gerry for a bit. She’s got a cleaning job in Stockbridge so I thought Gerry and I could play some catch, take a walk through the Sunday market. Wanta come?”
“Yeah.” I stand and shoulder my bag. “I’d like to see the little bugger.” Roger and I walk to the pub in silence, the cold wind whipping around us, making conversation difficult.
I’m grateful for the solitude. During the walk, my mind wanders, settling on Daisy. I almost kissed her last night; bloody hell, I wanted to kiss her last night. What was I thinking?
It’s true t
hat she makes my blood hum and my mind freeze. I’ll admit that I sabotaged my own hook-up on Hogmanay because I couldn’t stop thinking about Daisy, wondering if she was kissing some random bloke when the ball dropped on New Year’s. But we have too much history, too many personal connections, for a casual hook-up. Shaking my head, I try to clear my jumbled thoughts as Roger and I approach the pub.
No, I need to lock down my attraction to Daisy and treat her respectfully, like Sierra’s best friend and someone my entire family cares about. I’m not the right guy for her and I like her too much to pretend otherwise.
Arriving at the pub, Roger and I slide into a booth at the back.
“All right, mate. What gives?” Roger asks me.
“What do you mean?”
“Yer brooding, thinking of a lass, yeah? Still the same girl from Christmas?”
“I’m not brooding. And her name is Daisy.”
“That’s right. Daisy. Yer cousin’s best friend.”
“That’s the one.”
“She’s still got ye tied up in knots? I thought ye added some distance?” He taps his fingers against the tabletop.
I give him a look and blow out a deep breath. “She landed in Edinburgh this weekend, starts at Anderson tomorrow morning.”
“And?”
“Nothing. She’s fine, a good girl.”
“Then why do ye look so miserable?”
I sigh, scraping a palm down my face. “Things between us are complicated.”
Roger clucks his tongue with mock sympathy. “Yeah. Must be bloody awful to like a woman and want to take her home. I feel sorry for ye, mate. It’s a tough situation yer in.”
“Fuck off. Of course I’d like to take her home for a night. But there’s too much history between us to do that. So I can’t really do anything, can I?”
He laughs then, the sound loud and rich, almost echoing in the early morning quiet. “History has never stopped ye before.”
“It’s different with her.” I bite out.