Spooning Daisy (31 page)

“What do you say, Daisy? Fish or cut bait?”

Fish or cut bait?
Daisy looked at Max. Really, really looked at Max. She’d never experienced anyone so uncommitted to commitment; so horribly, terribly bad at making a proposal.

Then it hit her, like a brilliant flash of light. Something so bold, so daring, so outrageous . . . she could scarcely believe she contemplated it, let alone—

“Yes!” she gushed, reaching him in record time and nearly bowling him over as she jumped into his arms. “Yes, Max, yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Chapter Thirty

“O
h, Max . . . this is so unexpected,” Daisy cooed between kisses to his lips, his jaw, his neck. Her hands slipped inside his robe. “Let’s celebrate,” she murmured as he swelled from her touch.

Before Max could catch up, Daisy had a spatula of whipped cream. “
Je vais te sucer lentement . . . un pouce à la fois
.”

Her provocative French fogged his brain, then her provocative mouth shut it down completely. He didn’t even notice the front door opening . . .

“Good morn—” Rita froze midstep, then did a one-eighty, her long, loose braid whipping behind her. “Sorry!”

Max jerked back, calling to Rita. He helped Daisy up and wrapped his robe as Rita peeked around the door.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Coming inside, Rita ignored Max’s crotch. But she couldn’t ignore the whipped cream. “Um, Daisy . . .” She pointed to her own nose, then motioned to Daisy’s.

Daisy swiped her nose, then giggled at the whipped cream on her fingers before licking it off.

“Fitz told me about the pepper spray,” Rita said. “Obviously you two have worked things out.”

“I was just about to make waffles,” Max said awkwardly. Stupidly.

“Is that what you call it.”

“Oh, Rita,” Daisy gushed. “Max proposed! We’re getting married!”

Rita’s chin all but landed on the floor. She looked at the animated expression on Daisy’s face, at the pain on Max’s.

“You two have waffles without me,” Daisy suggested. “I’ve already eaten.” She winked at Max. “And I want to call my mom and Charity and, well, there are a million things to do . . .” She kissed Max on the way out. “We’ll finish this later.” She beamed at Rita, and shut the door behind her.

Rita stared at the closed door, then turned to Max. “You
proposed
? I suppose that’s one way to keep a cock—uh, cook.”

“Chef,” Max corrected, looking stunned. “And I did not propose.”

“Then this is quite a misunderstanding.” She reached inside a cabinet for a mug.

“Exactly!” Max followed Rita back into the bright kitchen. “It’s a misunderstanding. A horrible misunderstanding.”

Rita helped herself to coffee. “The same kind of misunderstanding you two had in the woods last night?”

“That was just plain stupid.”

Rita stopped the mug at her lips—
Is Max admitting he was wrong
?—then she sipped the hot coffee. Taking a stool at the counter, she watched his thoughts through his changing expressions.

“From pepper spray to whipped cream in less than twelve hours. You should write a book.”

With a groan and a grimace, Max dragged fingers through his hair.

Rita softened. “Do you need to, uh, clean up?”

“I’m fine.”

So how do you suppose this misunderstanding happened?”

“No idea. One minute I was quoting Seneca—”

“Who?”

“Your grandmother.”

Her generous brows lifted.

“Fate leads the willing . . . ?”

“Daisy got a proposal out of
that
?”

“Actually, it pissed her off. And then I got pissed off that she got pissed off and then that damn parrot—”

“What name came up?”

“Tina.”

“Tina?”

“
Max loves Tina!
”

A twin glance at Napoleon. Max silenced him with additional sunflower seeds. “A year ago. The Alaska Air pilot? Had a tattoo of a winged horse on her shoulder?”

“Oh, right. I like Tina.”

“Daisy doesn’t.”

“Daisy knows Tina?”

“In a roundabout way.”

“And she knows that
you
know Tina?”

“It came up.”

“Small world. So then what happened?”

“It all came out in a rush. Sharing the newspaper. Her, me, us. Fish or cut bait—”

“Fish or cut bait? That’s some pretty heavy poetry. No wonder she said yes.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” He swallowed coffee. “Obviously Daisy is in love and she’s hearing what she wants to hear.”

Rita stared at Max. “Poor, delusional Daisy.”

Max slowly shook his head. “I know.”

Rita pulled in her smile. “Did you say the L-word?”

Holding his mug near his mouth, Max frowned. “Does Napoleon count?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Especially after the mention of Tina.”

“Then no.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s it?
Hmm
?”

Rita shrugged and sipped her coffee.

“I guess you know this is all your fault,” Max said.

Her face pinched. “Me?”

“If you had been home last night—”

“You’re not the only one who has needs, Max. Although I prefer my whipped cream on actual waffles.”

“It was unexpected.”

“Like marriage?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I guess I just don’t believe in accidents or coincidence.”

“How ’bout mistakes?”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

Sometimes he wished he had that same unquestioning faith that had kept Rita hopeful in spite of a personal tragedy that would have drowned most mothers along with their sons. But Seneca notwithstanding, he always figured that even in the worst storm, people had rudders.

“Maybe subconsciously you really do want to marry Daisy.”

“Uh-huh . . . no,” Max said. “So how the hell do you tell a woman who thinks she’s getting married that she’s not?”

Rita held out her mug for a warm-up. “You don’t.”

“Are you nuts?”

Daisy held the phone away from her ear. Three thousand miles didn’t dampen Charity’s outrage one decibel. She waited for silence, then tried again.

“I’m
not
getting married. Max
didn’t
propose. But he thinks I think he did, so now he’ll have to break up with me, which makes me the injured party and gives me all the power. I’ve explained this once. Weren’t you listening?”

“Believe me, Daisy, I heard every word. From the pepper spray to the whipped cream. Nice, by the way. But you’re in very dangerous territory.”

Daisy scowled at the phone, then eased down to the kitchen floor and sat against the wall. “But you said—”

“I said you should try a little flirting, a little flattery, a little
nice
to soften Max up. I never said to marry him—”

“I’m
not
marrying him! I’m just giving him the taste of his own medicine. He scared the hell out of me last night. And now he knows what that feels like.”

“Are you
sure
that’s what’s happening? Are you sure you haven’t fallen for the man? Are you
sure
you don’t actually
want
to marry Max?”

“Are you kidding? I was engaged for ten years! I’m thinking I never wanted to be married at all.”

“I’m thinking you never wanted to marry
Jason
.”

“Good heavens, Charity, the
last
thing I need is to be married! What I really want is my restaurant and my spoon and this is just part of my plan to get my life back.”

“Interesting plan. But I’m not so sure Max will cooperate. He might really love you. And you said
yes
, Daisy. What if Max takes you up on that? What if he really did propose?”

“Please.
Max
and
marriage
are two words that will never again be in the same sentence. And Max loves himself more than he’ll ever love me. I’ll bet my Cuisinart that right now he’s conniving a way to break our engagement.”

Max’s blue eyes hardened on Rita. “So I should just order my tux now . . . ?”

Rita ignored the hard stare and sarcasm. “As much as I’d love to see you in a tux, you’d make Daisy miserable.”

“I would?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Uhhhh—”

“You’re not husband material.”

“I’m not?”

“Are you?”

“Women seem to think so.”

“That’s because they experience only a
snippet
of your life. And I just used today’s word,” Rita proudly added.

“Snippet?”

“They experience you at your best. You give them romance and attention and incredible sex—”

His eyes flinched.

“—It’s no wonder they think a lifetime of that would be great. But if they experienced the real you—”

“The real me?”

“You know. Selfish, self-centered, rigid, uncompromising . . . forgetful.”

“Forgetful?”

“My birthday was two days ago.”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture. Let me know what you want.”

“You need to paint that picture for Daisy,” Rita explained. “And she’ll be the one who breaks your engagement. But you can’t be obvious.”

“Obvious?”

“No blondes-in-the-bed kind of thing.”

Max remained conspicuously silent.

“In fact, I’d ask her to move in.”

“
Move in?
”

“A few weeks of day-in, day-out living, and Daisy will be over you before you can say
I do
.

Is that what he wanted? For Daisy to be over him? “Sounds risky.”

“As risky as . . . Acapulco?”

Max narrowed his eyes on her, wondering what she knew, how she knew, and who else knew.

Rita waved away his concern. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Max relaxed . . . a little . . . and answered, “Different kind of risk.”

“And you’d rather have a gun to your head?”

“I’m not sure I don’t have one now.”

“Fine. Do it your way. March over to Daisy’s place and hit her with the truth. But put on some clothes first and don’t forget your knee thingy. You’ll need all the sympathy you can get not to come off as a jerk. And one more thing . . . I assume you’ll never want to make
waffles
with her again.”

“Why?”

“Because after you tell her she’s an idiot for thinking you want to marry her, she’ll feel too humiliated to even
think
about waffles with you . . . ever again.”

Max visibly mulled that over.

“It’s certainly a good thing I put those ads in for a chef. We’re going to need one,” she reminded him. “But if you must know, I’m kinda relieved to be rid of her.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since Daisy came into the picture, you’ve been a little moody.”

“
Moody?
”

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. Fitz said you were as surly as an old mule last night.”

“He did, did he?”

“He really felt sorry for Daisy. But then it all works to his advantage—you and Daisy being on the outs, I mean.”

Max drew back. “How so?”

“Duh. It leaves a clear path for him.”

“Fitz isn’t Daisy’s type.”

“That would explain the bottle of wine they shared at her place.
Before
she blasted you with pepper spray.”

“Daisy and Fitz? I don’t believe you.”

“Ask her. After you tell her you don’t want to marry her. Should be an interesting conversation.”

“Wait a minute . . .”

Rita looked at Max with big, brown, innocent eyes.

A gleam electrified his blue eyes. “I can’t believe I almost fell for this.”

Wider and more innocent. “What?”

“You can cut the act, RJ. I’m on to you and I’m on to Daisy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And while I might be able to—on some level—
admire
Daisy’s gamesmanship,
you
, Rita, are supposed to be on
my
side.”

“I am on your side, Max.”

“Then cut the crap and tell me what you
really
think.”

Rita dropped her eyes to her mug as if it might offer advice, then she looked up. “I like Daisy. More importantly, I think
you
like Daisy. A lot. And I think Daisy likes you. A lot. But I also think you and Daisy are about the stupidest people I’ve ever met. Each of you trying to want something different than you both want because it will ruin what you
think
you want and you’re both too damn obstinate to accept that what you
really
want is a lot better than what you think you want.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, RJ.”

Rita pressed the counter. “I mean it, Max. Happiness doesn’t show up on your doorstep every day. Not like this. Not in Otter Bite. You’re lucky if it finds you once. And you keep slamming the door in its face. What’re you afraid of?”

Max twitched back at the unexpected question . . . at the unexpected answer. He ditched the sarcasm. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s as simple as you make it.”

“Daisy has plans—”

“We
all
have plans . . . until something—or someone—changes them.”

Admiration softened his eyes as he thought about the heartbreaking changes Rita had endured. “You’re the one I should be with.”