Page 3 of Sunshine
Do not think about spreading Poppy’s thighs. Donotthink about spreading Poppy’s thighs.
I sink back into my chair. “I’m the executive chef, and it’s our family restaurant,” I tell Daisy with a voice that barely cracks at all. “My name—ourname—is on the line, plus coming up with new dishes is my favorite part of the job.”
“Then hire someone to run the kitchen on weekends,” Daisy suggests.
“I’m working on it,” I hedge, and it’s not a total lie. It’s number eight hundred and nine on a list titledThings I Need to Think About.
“Fine.” Daisy heaves a manila folder stuffed with papers into the air. “How about the farm? Finn can help with that. He’s got time.”
Finn, our middle brother, was discharged from the military nearly a year ago, and after backpacking around the country for a few months, he showed up out of nowhere last summer with his duffel and a rescue dog. He claimed Mom and Dad’s old bungalow by the river, moved himself in, and has barely said more than a dozen words at a time ever since.
“Finn already pitches in with the farm labor,” I argue, using Daisy as an excuse to ignore the warm weight of Poppy’s gaze as it bounces back and forth between my sister and me. “He works with the maintenance team every other afternoon, and—correct me if I’m wrong, but we both know I’m not—you need his help with the horses. You can’t manage five of them and the trail rides on your own.”
Daisy scowls but drops the papers because she does, in fact, know I’m right.
Next, she sifts through the debris until she finds a copy of Izzy’s schedule. I pluck it from between her fingertips and speak firmly over whatever’s about to come out of her open mouth.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” she protests.
“Yeah, I do. Something about hiring a nanny to help with Izzy, and the answer is no fucking way.”
“Dylan—”
“Nope. Not going to happen.”
I push back my chair, ignoring the way it screeches against the hardwood floors, drop my empty bottle in the recycling bin, and then stick my head in the fridge for another beer.
Of all the people who need me to be there for them, nobody is more important than Izzy. Her mother glides in and out of her life when it suits her, and if I wasn’t already feeling guilty about not setting firmer boundaries around Annalise’s role in our lives, I am now that Izzy can’t fucking fall asleep without her tiny hand tucked into mine. I refuse to give my daughter another reason tobelieve her parents don’t love her, so it’s a hard no on asking a stranger to share any part of my duties as her dad. End of story.
When I return to the table empty-handed, the beer I was looking for forgotten, Daisy has removed the paper mask from her face and replaced it with a thoughtful frown. Poppy’s expression is too still. Too passive. Too…innocent.
They’re up to something.
“What?” I ask.
“Tell Poppy what’s going on with Izzy,” Daisy orders.
I cock an eyebrow. I know what she means, and I have no problem sharing it with Poppy, but I’m suspicious about Daisy’s motives, so if she wants my cooperation, she’s going to have to work for it.
“You mean you haven’t already told her everything?”
It’s a valid question. The two of them are so tight that I doubt there’s a single secret between them.
Daisy kicks my ankle under the table, and I wince. “Just explain the details because it’s kind of complicated. Tell her about the tests and Annalise and the money.” Daisy tilts her head in Poppy’s direction. “You know. Theplan.”
Poppy watches me with patient expectation, and I know that whatever these two have up their sleeves, they genuinely care about Izzy. That’ll always be my weak spot, and it doesn’t take much to convince me to talk about my daughter.
I release a heavy sigh and drag a hand down my face. I’m so freaking exhausted. Not tired.Exhausted. The kind of fatigue that can’t be fixed by a good night’s sleep. A fatigue that’ll probably live in my bones until the day I die.
“We always knew there was something special about Izzy,” I explain, wonder tugging at the corner of my mouth as I run a thumb over the edges of Izzy’s report cards. “I know all parents say that about their kids, but this was different. She could hold a pencilanddraw a circle before she was a year old. Hervocabularyexplodedlong before she turned two. She learned to read while other kids her age were still figuring out their letters, and when she started kindergarten…”
I run a hand through my hair, noting for the hundredth time this week that I desperately need a haircut. “Her teachers couldn’t extend her far or fast enough. Reading. Writing. Spelling. Numbers. Izzy raced through her work like she’d done it all before and kept asking for more.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” Poppy’s focus shifts from me to Daisy, who nods like the proud aunt she is, and back again, this time with a mischievous indentation in her cheek. “She gets her brains from her mother, I assume?”
“Ha ha.” I throw her a sarcastic smile that she matches with a bright grin, the little gap in her teeth drawing my eye again. “But also…yes.”
