Page 64 of Pushing Daisy
“It certainly crossed my mind a time or two… or seven,” Daisy jokes.
Petra pulls into a parking spot, puts the car in park, and turns it off. “So what made you able to tolerate her? Don’t get me wrong, she was helpful to me last year, but she can also be… challenging.”
Daisy nods. “I think you two are a lot more alike than you think. We started talking and sharing parts of ourselves. She recognized the hurt she caused me all those years ago and has been trying to show me that she can be trusted. She helped me in a couple of rough moments too, even when she didn’t need to,” Daisy explains, getting out of the car.
“That’s great. I’m glad you two have found a way to work things out.”
“Me too. It certainly makes it easier to get the work done.”
“That’s very true. Now, where to first?” Petra asks as they stand at the entrance to the mall.
“Well, I could use a couple of new outfits for this event, particularly a new dress for our mingling night.”
Petra’s face takes on a focused expression. She loves a good shopping spree and loves even more when she gets to play dress-up with Daisy. “I know the perfect place,” she states, grabbing Daisy’s arm and pulling her toward the first of many stops.
As she tries on dress after dress, trying to find the right one, she realizes she’s looking for one that Sloan would like. One that would knock her socks off. It’s not until the third store that she spots it—a dark emerald green fitted dress with a halter neckline that shows off her tits spectacularly.
“That is… You look...” Petra sputters. “I’m literally speechless. You have to get it!”
Daisy looks at herself in the mirror—like, she really looks at herself. This dress hugs all of her curves. Normally, she would feel self-conscious, exposed, and worried that it would highlight all of her lumps and bumps. However, knowing that Sloan is going to be there to see her in this… well, she can’t wait. The way Sloan looks at her, Daisy feels like she’s the most beautiful witch in the world. It gives her a level of confidence she’s never had before, and a part of her never wants Sloan to stop looking at her like that. This dress will hopefully help with that.
She checks the price tag that hangs under one arm. Typically, she’d balk at a dress this expensive, but with the added income from coordinating Mixing Our Sprits and the fact that it’s a special occasion, she convinces herself it’s worth it. That she’s worth it.
Ringing up her purchases—the dress and a stellar pair of gold heels to go with it—she feels a piece of her slide into place. Something that has been missing for she doesn’t know how long. A sense of ownership—owning who she is and recognizing that it’s okay to be proud of herself.
CHAPTER 35
Sloan
Why hasn’t she responded?
Oh, Hecate, I fucked it up and scared her away.
“You fucking idiot,” Sloan tells herself, smacking the heel of her hands against her forehead. Her stomach rolls with regret as she replays sending that text to Daisy in a moment of honesty. After that stupid fight with Franny, she wanted nothing more than to be with Daisy, but she knew it was too late to stop by. So instead, she sent a tiny message telling her the truth, and now she’s scared Daisy off.
“Fuck this shit!” she says, standing abruptly. “I’m not going to sit and wait for a response.” She grabs her purse and keys from the table and charges out the door, needing to be somewhere other than home.
After a little while of driving aimlessly, she finds herself outside of Taster’s Delight. Deciding she could use a coffee and maybe a walk around town to help further clear her mind, she enters. Her eyes instantly find Daisy seated at a table with Petra and another gentleman. Petra catches her eye and smiles, which Sloan takes as an invitation to at least come and say hello. As she approaches the table, her insides roll with dread, like something bad is coming, while her magic thrums under her skin, warning her.
This can’t be good.
“Hi, Sloan. So wonderful to see you,” Petra says, greeting her pleasantly.
Daisy turns. Her face is a mask of surprise, quickly replaced by something else. Indifference, maybe?
“Hello. Sorry to interrupt. I was running in for a coffee and didn’t expect to see you here,” Sloan replies, rambling as if she has never spoken to anyone before. She turns her head, looking at everyone at the table, realizing the man beside Daisy is none other than the apple farmer himself, Barker.
“Nice to see you again, Sloan,” Barker says.
Waves of nausea rise up Sloan’s throat as she thinks about the last big argument she and Daisy had. The things she said to her about Barker and sucking him off. Goddess, she was horrible. And yet, here he sits with her, his arm along the back of her chair. Touching her. Her eyes carefully note every place where their bodies touch. How their knees are turned toward each other, how he lingers in her bubble, leaning forward to reach for his drink. Sloan swallows before she loses her lunch, along with her appetite.
“I sincerely don’t mean to intrude,” she says, looking down at Daisy, trying to determine if this was a date that Petra crashed or something else. She can’t stick around to find out. No. She needs to leave. “I just wanted to stop and say hello.” She turns to Daisy. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and we can provide updates?”
“Sounds good,” Daisy replies, refusing to look at her. It must be a date, then.
Sloan nods, her way of saying goodbye, and turns toward the counter. As she places her order and waits for it to be ready, she strains her hearing, hoping to catch some of the conversation at their table, but there’s too much commotion in the shop. She picks up her order, looks toward their table again, raises her cup, plasters on the fakest of smiles, then heads out the door, the chime signaling her departure and the potential end of something before it had a chance to begin.
She wanders the surrounding streets in a bit of a daze, unsure of where she is going or why she is going there. Not until she stops and looks up does she realize her feet have taken her to the Bittersweet Acorn. She enters, hoping to see perhaps the only person who can talk some sense into her.
