by Zoe Lee
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
Also by Zoe Lee
About the Author
A Perfect Fit
By Zoe Lee
Obligatory Disclaimer
It must be mentioned that this is, in fact, a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people or places is purely coincidental.
A Perfect Fit, Maybelle County and all properties within are copyright © 2016 by Zoe Lee Books and Foolish Endeavors, LLC.
Cover Photo property of Foolish Endeavors, LLC
Cover Design By Peter Grundy
Formatting by Shanoff Designs
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
Also by Zoe Lee
About the Author
Dedication
For all of us who just want to be seen and loved for who we are
Chapter 1
Daisy
Daisy rolled the coat rack out from behind her secondhand folding screen with the faux watercolor crane on it. Its wheels squeaked, as did the uneven floorboards as she positioned it roughly in the middle of her studio apartment. With her hands on her hips, Daisy gave the dresses that hung off it a glare, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“You have so many,” Stephanie marveled enviously, sprawled out on Daisy’s unfolded futon. “I swear I’ve never seen half of those before.”
“They’re so cute,” Karen gushed, stroking the one on the far right.
Daisy’s shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second, but then she swung away from the offensive rack of flowery, sunshine-y, pastel, A-lines and tea dresses.
“Karen!” Stephanie chastised. “Daisy doesn’t want to be cute anymore.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Karen apologized. “It’s just, they’re just so…” She trailed off helplessly, her eyes darting over to Stephanie for help.
Daisy heaved a sigh. “I know. They are cute.”
“And you hate them all,” Stephanie reiterated.
In her robe, with her hair already wrestled into a complicated braid crown, she stabbed a finger at the offensive dresses. “I am five-one with D cups, girls. I feel ridiculous in these. One, I’ve had most of them since I was nineteen, and I’m twenty-six. Two, they’re all little girl colors with flowers and bows and lace. And three… I hate every cute one of them!” She pulled off the cutest one and shook it at them. “Look at it! This isn’t me.”
Karen bit her lip and reached out to stroke the lace overlay.
“I totally get your feelings,” Stephanie said, firm and supportive.
“But?” Daisy prompted.
“But,” Stephanie said with an ominous shrug, “you’re not going to this reception as a guest, you’re going as one of the bridesmaids. What would you wear if not one of these bubbly, oh-my-gosh-it’s-your-special day dresses? Some skin-tight snakeskin printed sheath with your boobs up to your chin and four-inch stilettos? C’mon, Daisy.”
With a melodramatic groan, Daisy started to flop onto her futon, but pinwheeled her arms and screeched, catching herself before her updo was crushed by her big head.
“Wear this one,” Karen suggested as she held up a watermelon pink cotton poplin dress. “It has pockets!” she chirped, tugging open one of the hidden pockets.
Daisy squinted hatefully, but Stephanie had made a valid point. Tonight was not the right time or place to debut a newer, sophisticated look.
“Guess the hair will have to be enough,” she grumbled, then ducked behind the screen to wrestle her boobs into one of her sturdy bras, slip on a thong, and tug on the dress. “Zip me up?” she asked.
Once Stephanie had done up the zip, Daisy began rummaging through her jewelry.
“So,” Stephanie sighed, “how was the ceremony this morning?”
Daisy knew what Stephanie was really asking. The groom was Jamie Houston, Daisy’s ex-brother-in-law. They were still as close as siblings, even though Daisy and Tyler, Jamie’s younger brother, had separated four years ago. Tyler had moved to New York right after, and Daisy hadn’t seen him until the rehearsal dinner last night, so Stephanie was a good friend to ask.
“You know Tyler and I are fine,” Daisy reminded her as she did the clasp on a pearl necklace and then hooked on matching earrings.
Daisy wasn’t lying to them, or lying to herself either. After all, she’d been the one to ask Tyler to leave. Of course the end of her marriage had been tough; she and Tyler had gotten married when she was only nineteen and she’d thought it would be forever. But she and Tyler had grown up and grown apart, and she didn’t regret how it had all turned out.
“You don’t have to tiptoe around it,” she added.
“Maybe I just don’t understand how it’s not weird,” Stephanie said.
“It was weird—four years ago,” Daisy laughed.
Karen nodded sagely and handed Daisy a lipstick. “I get it. He hasn’t lived here since y’all split. It’s not like you had to see him all over the place or hear about him dating someone new from everyone in the county.”
“Exactly,” Daisy exclaimed, dashing on some mascara. “When we saw each other at the rehearsal dinner, it was more like seeing one of my best friend’s younger brothers who I haven’t seen in awhile. It wasn’t some devastating moment where I saw my ex. I’m not still stuck on him.”
“Okay, okay,” Stephanie finally caved with a grin. “I get it. You’re so mature.”
Daisy snickered as she pulled on her cream-colored heels. Then she went into her bathroom, where the world’s worst full-length mirror was hidden behind her robe. She tossed the robe onto her toilet seat and stepped back, examining herself.
“Good enough,” she decided.
“Ready to go?” Stephanie asked.
Daisy opened a can of wet food for her cat, Lempicka, dumping it into her bowl and mashing it up a little with a fork.
“Ready,” she said while she slung her purse over one shoulder. “Bye, Lempicka, be a good guard kitty!”
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The three women clattered down the stairs of Daisy’s apartment complex and got into Karen’s car, the top forty station already cranked up. They sang as Karen drove over to Wild Harts, the restaurant owned by the bride, Leda Riveau, and her two brothers, where the reception would be.
“Y’all did a great job with the decorations,” Karen said in admiration as they pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot.
Admiring the extra lanterns and twinkle lights she, Leda’s friend Chase, and the Wild Harts staff had spent all day yesterday putting up on the building and around the parking lot, Daisy said with satisfaction, “Thank you. And thanks for the ride, too.”
“Of course, sweetie,” Karen said as Daisy hopped out. “Have a great night!”
Daisy bent over to wave at them. “Enjoy your movie.”
Daisy walked inside using the side door, which lead to the back where the kitchen, storage and office were, so that she could stash her purse.
Then she went out into the restaurant and couldn’t help but beam.
“Daisy, thank Jesus you’re here,” Jesse Riley, the bride’s best friend, practically bellowed. She plowed across the room, which was already three-quarters full of guests, and grabbed Daisy’s hand, dragging her towards the stage. “It’s picture time,” she groaned.
“Daisy!” everyone chorused when they got there.
“Hey, y’all,” she said happily, letting Jesse cram her into the front row.
When Leda Riveau had asked her to be a bridesmaid, she’d thought it was a trap. Leda was the jealous type and had yelled at Daisy until she was blue in the face a few months ago, just because Daisy had hugged Jamie, the groom.
Well, he had only been in his undies, not that Daisy had paid it any mind.
So, yeah, maybe Leda had asked her because Jamie wanted her to be a part of the wedding—and because she knew how to handle Jamie and Tyler’s difficult mother.
But Daisy had had a wonderful time getting to know Leda and her group of friends, who had been seniors when Daisy was a freshman back in high school, cool and rowdy. Now they were surrounding her, loud and happy and laughing, jostling each other. They tried to take some serious, formal shots, but the photographer gave up pretty quickly in favor of letting them mess around. Daisy, who had been a full-time artist up until recently, was sure that their giant smiles and long-standing camaraderie were easy to capture on film.
After the pictures were introductions, dinner, the first dance, and then the speeches, which made Daisy cry a little, her head resting on Jamie’s dad’s shoulder. “They’re so happy,” she hiccoughed.
“I know, Daisy,” he said, hugging her and rubbing her shoulder.
Once the toasts were done, the partying started in earnest.
Daisy wasn’t really much of a drinker, but it was a wedding and she was so happy for Jamie, Leda, and Jamie’s little boy, Hunter. So she had some champagne and danced with her friends and other guests, that wedding reception camaraderie turning everyone into best friends. They shouted while they danced to “Don’t Stop Believing” and “Marry You” like fiends, madly happy on behalf of the bride but also crazy jealous of the love she’d found.
Of course, weddings could make singlehood sting a little, so plenty of the other women were on the prowl. They evaluated all of single men except Tyler, in deference to his status as Daisy’s ex, which she appreciated.
But everyone else was fair game.
“He’s so hoooot,” one of them moaned.
Daisy followed her laser-beam-like eyes across the dance floor to the bar and definitely had to agree with her judgment: Dunk McCoy was so, so hot. He was the quintessential jock with a tall, broad body and slabs of bulgy muscles, a too-wide smile like a dog with its tongue hanging out, and dumb and twinkly light brown eyes.
“Oh my god,” she continued to moan, “like, seriously, he’s perfect.”
Dunk high-fived the bartender at that exact second.
“I did not hear that,” Chase, who was dating Dunk’s best friend, shouted, circling her pointer fingers around her ears to make the ‘you’re crazy’ gesture.
“Please. Look, even Daisy agrees with me and she’s perfect!”
Daisy scrunched up her face and shrugged apologetically at Chase. “Um, well, he is a, ah, a very good specimen of… man…” She and the other woman hummed in agreement, nudging and jostling her. “And,” she whispered, since Chase had deliberately turned away in horror at their talk about her friend, “we know he’s got the experience to back up those hots.”
“Hell yeah, Daisy Rhys!”
They weren’t that far from Jamie and Leda and all of their siblings, who all looked over at the shriek of Daisy’s name.
Daisy might have been fine with being around Tyler before, but Tipsy Daisy panicked and bolted out of that clamshell and off the dance floor, towards the bar that was very far away from her so-called friends and her ex-husband.
“Vodka martini, please,” she half-gasped, half-begged when it was her turn at the bar. “Can you make it strong? Like, I’m-in-the-bridal-party strong, please?”
The bartender’s eyes widened at her request, but he did what she asked.
Once she was sagged against the bar, all but hugging the martini glass, the bartender went to the other end of the bar to help a happy gaggle of girls—someone’s cousins, probably; the drunk, slutty girls at weddings were always someone’s cousins.
All of a sudden she felt eyes on the back of her neck.
Daisy’s ex-husband was a good guy, one of those guys who liked to repair fences and rebuild bridges. He had never tried to do that with her before, but she absolutely didn’t want to have some stupid heart-to-heart at his brother’s wedding.
“Fuck, fuck,” she breathed.
Then she edged smoothly along the bar until she could duck and back under the thingy servers used to get out from behind the bar, so close to the swinging door into the back of the restaurant where she could hide.
Her heel caught in one of the holes in the honeycomb-shaped rubber mat.
She had a martini in one hand that she didn’t want to let go of.
Just before her ass or her elbow could hit the ground, sending her sprawling, giant paws caught her around her upper arms, and she snapped her head up to find the dangling, grinning face of Dunk McCoy.
“Hey there,” he said, cheerful as all hell.
“Don’t—” she hissed, not wanting him to draw attention.
But instead of helping her to her feet, he just kicked out with one shiny, brand-new dress shoe and crab-walked them through the swinging door.
Or, he crab-walked and dragged Daisy like she was being saved from drowning on Baywatch.
She gaped at him, her hand held out past his shoulder to hold the martini steady.
Once they were in the back and the swinging door closed, he bounced easily to his feet, hauling her up along with him. She stumbled back a few steps, the heel that had gotten caught a little off-center, and blinked up at him. He was an honest-to-God foot taller than her and she swiped her free hand across her forehead as if she had any bangs to smooth out of the way.
She was a drink or two past tipsy and he was just grinning at her, hands on his hips, his suit jacket gone, his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up, a vest gloriously outlining his torso. If it weren’t for his completely unpolished grin and his dopey hair, he could’ve been someone who was born in a suit, that was how good he looked.
“Thanks for the assist.”
That grin widened, all white teeth, his canines a little sharp.
“So, Daisy Rhys,” he invited as he slouched against the hall wall, “what’s a pretty girl like you need to duck away from a wedding party for?”
She gulped down the rest of her martini and then twirled the glass in her fingers as though it were a rose. “Oh, you know, just my ex-husband,” she answered, and it was probably only the drinks she’d had that allowed it to come out calm instead of choked-off and completely panicked.
But instead, his head was tossed back and one fist was crammed into his mouth, his whole body shaking as he all but seized with laughter.
Daisy’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
Everyone in Maybelle County treated her like some fragile, sugar-spun fairy princess locked up in a tower, guarded by her big brothers. No one else would ever dream of laughing at her. It was always old ladies clucking “poor dear,” or other women smirking like they thought she didn’t know anything about being a woman. Or, which was the worst, men’s eyes zigzagging as they came up with lame excuses for why they couldn’t dance with her or ask her out.
But Duncan McCoy was laughing at her.
She should’ve been outraged, even if it was a strangely nice change of pace.
But then, a great big laugh burbled out over her lips.
“Oh shit,” Dunk gasped, “I’m such an asshole, that was so mean—”
“Shut up,” she wheezed out, smacking him weakly on the arm.
His big chest shuddered as he finally got his laughter under control. “Okay. Seriously. That was mean. You should say something mean back to me.”
The very idea of her being mean, or of anyone thinking she was capable of being mean, made one last uncontrollable giggle get past her lips.
“Nothing?” he challenged. “I’m that perfect, huh?”
“Well, you know what they say,” she answered without thinking.
“No, what do they say?” he countered, like she was about to tell him a terrible joke.
Caught off-guard because she’d really meant you know what they say about you, she sort of stared stupidly up at him.
“If it’s something mean,” he teased, “now you have to say it.”
She made some sort of oh-my-God-help-me sort of face, but he just swept one hand through his hair and grinned that giant, dopey grin at her.
“I’m pretty sure gossip that you have a perfect record of getting a girl into the endzone isn’t mean,” she said breezily, as if she had conversations like this all the time.