Intercepting Daisy (19 page)

She brushed more tears off of her face with both hands. She needed to face this without falling apart. She could cry later, when he was gone. She would be back to first dates again. Or maybe she wouldn't date for a long time after this. Maybe she needed to take a hard look at what she really wanted in life. She wanted Grant, but he no longer wanted her.

“I really care about you,” she said. She summoned the courage to look into his face. He still wasn't smiling. The look in his eyes was sad and resigned. “Would you please take another chance on me?”

He ignored her words.

“I keep trying to decide if you have some weird fixation on me.”

“I wrote down a bunch of my fantasies. That's all.”

“Involving me. Were you ever going to tell me you wrote that?”

“Yes. Eventually.” The hot tears were streaming down her cheeks now.

“After we fell in love? After we were married? At the baptism of our first child? When?”

She bit her lip.

“So you weren't going to tell me,” he said.

“I knew I had to tell you. I tried so many times. I couldn't say it. I realize it wasn't fair to you, and I should have told you a long time ago. But I wasn't sure what would happen when I did.”

“How hard would it have been? ‘Hey, Grant, funny thing. You know that book you keep hearing about? I wrote it. Isn't that hilarious?' I had to tell people the truth about my life, but you couldn't be truthful with me? How many other things have you lied to me about?”

He folded his arms across his chest.

She swallowed hard. “I haven't lied to you about anything else. I'm so sorry. Please believe me.”

“I'm sorry too,” he said. “I don't think we should see each other anymore.”

She nodded. There really wasn't anything else to say. She'd apologized, but there wasn't an apology that would help with something like this.

He took a deep breath and stared into her face again. “And by the way, as of this morning, I'm benched. The team has signed another vet QB, and Johnny's starting on Sunday.”

“Oh my God. That's awful. Are they crazy?” Tears rose in her eyes again. It wasn't original, but it was all she could think to say. Were they nuts? The team wouldn't win with anyone else, and the thought that she was part of that decision left her shaken. What could she say to him that would be enough?

He reached out to pick up his jacket and slipped it on.

“It was nice to see you,” she said. “Thank you for the flowers.”

He nodded at her. She reached out for her crutches so she could walk him to the door.

“No, don't. I can find my way out,” he said.

He got to his feet and walked away without another word. She heard the front door shut behind him, his car driving away, and then silence.

G
RANT SPENT THE
rest of the afternoon and most of the evening sitting on his couch in front of the TV. Something was on. He wasn't watching it. He thought about calling downstairs for some food, but he wasn't hungry. He opened a beer, but he didn't drink it. He kept remembering the look on Daisy's face as he'd talked to her. The longer he'd talked, the sadder she'd looked, and he couldn't help but recall her tear-streaked face.

He knew the difference between women who cried to manipulate men and women whose tears came so seldom that they shook one to the core. Daisy hadn't cried because she thought he was going to buy it. She'd cried because she knew she'd made a mistake.

He'd told himself he was going to state the facts—her book had caused trouble for him professionally. He'd had enough of people giving him a bad time about it. He hadn't been able to remain calm and factual, though. He'd asked her if she was a stalker, and he knew damn well she wasn't. She'd done something and hadn't realized the impact it would have on his life. The teammates who had given him so much shit had told him they were a bit envious. After all, they joked, most guys would love to know that a woman desired them that way, even if they weren't into her.

His anger and hurt were fading into something much worse. The longer he thought about it, the more he realized he was full of shit and a real asshole to boot. He'd lied too. Maybe she should be mad at him for riding his high horse when he still hadn't explained that he should have been truthful about his own life. To everyone, including her.

After several hours staring blankly at the TV, he realized it wasn't the book at all. Sure, the book didn't help, but the other guys in the league who had had something similar happen laughed it off.

The problem was him. He didn't believe that a woman like Daisy would care for him when she found out that he wasn't such an exciting guy when he wasn't wearing a football uniform. She wasn't going to stick around for someone more introverted. She should be where there was excitement and variety, new things to see and new places to go. She deserved a guy who wanted to join in on every experience with her. The compass tattoo on her hip was perfect. She'd always find her way home, wherever that might be for her. She was everything he'd ever wanted but knew he could never hold onto, like starlight.

And he'd hurt her. He'd hurt her as much as he believed she'd hurt him. Did that make him better somehow? Maybe it just made him an asshole.

The difference between what he wanted and what he thought he could have engulfed him. He'd lost the job he'd been fighting to get for years now. He'd met the woman he wanted to build a relationship with, and he'd walked away from her.

He couldn't imagine what was next.

One month later

G
RANT COULDN
'
T STOP
thinking about Daisy. It wasn't like he didn't have anything else to do these days. The team had benched him, and Johnny's performance on the field was abysmal, but they couldn't move forward with their new backup QB, either. The vet had torn his ACL two plays into the game last week. Terrell, the free safety (and emergency QB), had ended up taking the field. Terrell still had a hell of an arm, but the coaching staff had to dumb down the offense so badly to get through the game, that the Sharks had lost 45–3.

Grant was the Sharks' starting QB again, at least through the regular season. Or at least as long as the team continued to win.

He heard the chirp of a voice mail message left on his phone. Daisy had called a few times since the last time he'd seen her. Things hadn't gone so well for her lately, either. According to Matt, she was not only removed from the Sharks' charter flights, she'd been suspended by the airline. She'd also removed
Overtime Parking
from the publisher's servers.

The first couple of messages she'd left weren't anything like the sweet, funny Daisy he knew. “I wanted to call and apologize to you again for what I did. I am so sorry. I don't think I can figure out a way to say it enough,” she'd said. He'd always heard the smile in her voice before. Now she sounded like she wanted to cry.

She called and left a message on Thanksgiving, wishing him a happy holiday and saying she hoped he was having a really nice celebration. His conscience was on fire. She wasn't pestering him or asking for a thing. She wished him well, and he was acting like a gigantic asshole by not accepting her apology.

Everyone else was accepting his apologies these days.

Mid-December during football season meant twelve-hour days at the practice facility—watching film of the Sharks' future opponents, meeting with his coaches and teammates, and going to practice. The Sharks were in the playoff hunt. When he wasn't in official meetings, he was in the unofficial kind: sitting in front of his locker with Tom Reed, who was sharing the secrets of his long pro-football career. That is when he wasn't giving Grant all kinds of shit about every subject under the sun. He'd told Grant he was retiring at the end of the season. The actual statement was, “I'm out of here, asshole. Try not to fuck things up for yourself again, will ya?”

Today's subject was a particularly painful one. If it had been anyone else but Tom, Grant would have been looking for some type of revenge.

“Did you call her yet?” Reed said as he shoved his feet into a pair of cross trainers. “You're wasting time.” He grabbed Grant's phone out of his locker and looked at the screen. “She sent you a text. You need to answer her.”

They both knew who
she
was. Grant had gone back to Daisy's parents' house about a week after he'd told her they couldn't see each other anymore and knocked on the door. He wanted to talk. He actually wanted to apologize for the fact he knew he'd hurt her too, but more than that, he wanted to see her. Nobody had answered.

He'd also stopped by her place, where Catherine answered the door.

“She's not here,” Catherine said.

“Will you tell her I was here?”

“I'll consider it.” And the British, very proper Catherine shut the door in his face. Catherine's reaction was calm in comparison to that of some of his teammates' wives and Amy Stephens when they discovered that he had broken up with Daisy. The guys got it. The women, while sticking up for him publicly, told him privately that they really liked Daisy and they wished he'd reconsider.

His favorite reaction: Amy Stephens had sent him a bill for flowers from Crazy Daisy and written across the front of it,
“Apologize to each other and move on. Love, Amy.”

Grant picked up the water bottle next to him on the bench and took a long swallow.

When he wasn't thinking about telling Daisy what a stupid asshole he was, he was getting told by guys like Tom to man up and make his move.

“You think I snapped my fingers, and my wife came running? Oh, hell no. I had to put on my track shoes and chase her.”

“So you think I should pursue a woman who actually published a book saying she wanted to boink me on the top of the Space Needle?”

Tom Reed rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Some guys would think that was a benefit. I get that you're still pissed, but she's apologized over and over. How long are you going to make her grovel?”

“I'm not making her grovel—”

Tom stared at him. “Don't kid a kidder. Back to how I met my wife. There were so many other guys who wanted to date her, and I was one more. I set myself apart from the pack by finding out what she liked and listening to what she was talking about. Not the
uh-huh, yes, dear
listening, the kind of listening when you bring up something she told you a week later. She kept talking to me; I kept listening to her and bringing her little things, like a flower or one of the peanut-butter cookies she liked from the coffee place down the street from our college campus, and she finally agreed to go out with me. I still bring her a cookie when I stop by the coffee place to get her skinny latte. Every time, she acts as if I handed her a fistful of diamonds.” Tom leaned forward and poked Grant in the chest with one finger. “You want to build something that will last a lifetime, you start small. You can't forget her, and she can't forget you. That sounds like something you might want to look into. What does she like to do? What makes her happy? Get out of your head and start talking.”

“I stopped at her house. She wasn't home.”

“A month ago. Text her. Start the conversation. Come on, Parker. You persisted until you were a starter, and now you've earned your damn job back. Are you giving up this easily? Be a man. Talk to her.”

Grant heard the chime of an incoming text on Tom's phone.

Tom whipped the phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and said, “I'm out of here. Gotta go see about my girl. Later.”

D
AISY
'
S SPRAINED ANKLE
healed, and she went back to work about a month later, after a meeting with her bosses. After some good-natured razzing from her coworkers, she settled back into her weekly flying routine. She really enjoyed her job, but she wanted something to do on her time off that distracted her from thinking about Grant.

She'd tried to call him a few times to apologize again and say she understood why it wasn't going to work with them. It was best to let go, especially when he didn't return her calls. She knew she'd always care about him.

He'd meet a wonderful woman someday, ask her to marry him, and move on with his life. She needed to move on with hers. As a result, she'd sat down at the kitchen table in her house during her month-long suspension one day with her tablet and keyboard, opened the word-processing program, and typed the first sentence of what she hoped would be a funny and interesting memoir of her life as a flight attendant.

She kept writing. Some days were a struggle to get any words on the page at all. Other days, the words poured out of her faster than she could type them. It was a good distraction from reality. She wanted to keep flying. She also wanted to publish something that she could actually admit she'd written it. The more she wrote, the more she realized how much she wanted to keep writing. Maybe she should take an online creative writing class or something.

The day the doctor gave her permission to go back to work, she got back in her car and drove to Children's Hospital. She'd met with a CPA and paid the taxes on the royalties for
Overtime Parking
a week ago. She'd gotten the last (big) chunk of royalties after she'd pulled the file off of the publisher's server. It was nice, but the money was burning a hole in her bank account (and her conscience). She knew what Grant would have done with the fifty thousand dollars. As a result, a cashier's check for that amount was riding around in her handbag.

The writing wasn't the only thing she aspired to do. She'd heard Grant talk before about how going to the hospital to visit the kids was the highlight of his week. She knew they accepted volunteers. It would be nice to feel like she was giving back to the community by volunteering once a week or so.

Daisy parked her car and walked into the hospital's administration office.

“May I help you?” the receptionist at a long, low desk asked.

“Hi, I'm Daisy Spencer. I talked with someone about volunteering here the other day, and I have an appointment. And I have a donation to the hospital, as well.”

“We're happy you're here, Daisy. You've been highly recommended to our board by a friend who prefers to remain anonymous.” Her eyes twinkled.

“A friend?”

“Oh, yes. You'll need to fill out some paperwork and have your picture taken. We'll do a background check as well. If you come with me, we'll get this started,” the receptionist said. “Would you like a tax receipt for your donation?”

“Sure,” Daisy said. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the long, white sealed envelope with the check inside. She was led along a corridor to a series of office doors. The receptionist stopped in front of one of them and indicated a chair in a waiting area. “Why don't you have a seat, and I'll get that tax receipt for you.”

“Thank you so much.”

Daisy glanced around at the colorful artwork on the walls and winter sunlight streaming through the windows. The small waiting area even had a fish tank. Plump, colorful fish swam through a variety of scenery. She took a deep breath and felt herself relax. Hopefully, the volunteer organizers wouldn't mind if she asked not to volunteer on Tuesdays.

The receptionist skidded into the waiting area again with a look of surprise on her face.

“This check is for fifty thousand dollars. Did you mean to give us this much money?”

“Yes. I'm happy to,” Daisy said.

“I wanted to make sure,” the woman said. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you. I really admire what Children's does for so many kids. I hope the money will help.”

The woman hurried away again, and a few minutes later, a boy in fuzzy blue pajamas, slipper socks, and a picture book in one hand padded into the waiting area. He walked over to the fish tank and stood transfixed as he watched them.

“Do you like the fish?” Daisy asked.

“Yeah. This tank is bigger than the one by my room. There's more fish,” he said. He turned to face Daisy. “What's your name?”

“I'm Daisy,” she said. “What's your name?”

“I'm Alex,” he said. “My dad's name is Alex too.”

“That's pretty cool,” Daisy said.

“Yeah,” the boy said. He scrambled up on the empty chair next to Daisy's. “Will you read this to me?” He held out a well-used copy of
Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site
. “It's my favorite.”

“I'd be glad to,” she said. She took the book and opened to the first page.

Alex leaned against her arm so he could see the pictures as she read. She was so absorbed in the little boy's enjoyment of the story that she didn't glance up when someone else walked into the waiting room.

“Daisy,” Grant said.

She hadn't seen him for a month, but she was never going to forget the sound of his voice. Her heart began to pound.

Alex was off the chair and threw his arms around Grant's neck in seconds.

“Hey, buddy. Good to see you,” Grant said. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay. The medicine's icky.”

“I know. Want to hear the rest of the book?”

“Yeah,” Alex said.

Grant sat down in Alex's chair, pulled him up onto his lap, and glanced over at Daisy. “I'm so glad to see you,” he said.

“Me too,” Daisy whispered. Tears blurred her eyes. She blinked them back as she fought for control. Crying in a public place wasn't her favorite thing. The volunteer coordinator was going to think she was some kind of nut or shouldn't be working around sick little kids.

“Why is she crying?” Alex asked. Daisy felt Alex's chubby little hand on her cheek. “Don't cry,” he said.

“It's my fault, Alex. Want to look at the fish some more?” Grant said.

“Yeah.” Alex scrambled off of Grant's lap and went back to watching the fish.

Daisy swallowed hard. There were better places for all of this to happen, but before he walked out of her life again, she needed to speak up. He reached out and took her hand in both of his.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to do anything that would hurt you. I wasn't thinking, and I'm just so sorry. I understand why you were so mad at me. I deserved your anger and hurt.”

He reached out to stroke her face. “I should have called you a long time ago. I've accepted your apology a thousand times in the last month, and I should have been man enough to tell you that.” He brushed a tear off of her cheek with his thumb. “Will you accept my apology for not making this right a long time ago? I was a real asshole myself.”

Alex turned to face them. “You said a bad word, Grant. My mom would make you have a time-out.”

“That's true, buddy. I'll have to talk to your mom about that.”

Alex went back to watching the fish. Daisy was still trying to blink back the tears.

“Yes,” she said. “But you should have been mad—”

He put a fingertip over her lips. “Maybe we should start over. You know—Daisy, the beautiful woman who works next door to Purple in Bellevue, and Grant, the guy who works in a cubicle somewhere.” He stuck out his other hand. “Nice to meet you, Daisy.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she whispered.

“I miss you all the time,” Grant said.

“I miss you so much too,” Daisy said.