Page 11 of Sunshine
“Daze,” I say gently. “Are you sure this fixation on Dylan’s happiness isn’t just a way to distract you from what happened last year with…you know?”
Daisy shrugs and swirls a fry through the little pot of ketchup. “What if it is? Is that such a bad thing—if it makes my brother happy?”
I manage not to frown. “No, I guess not, but—”
“Can we not talk about this now?” she asks. “Please?”
I watch her for a moment longer, noting the tightness around her eyes, and nod softly. “Sure.”
“Good.” She pulls out her phone and opens her notes app. I squint at the letters, but they’re upside down and make no sense. “I made a summary of all the things we’re looking for in Dylan’s perfect match.” Daisy clears her throat and reads. “She needs to be smart—to keep up with Izzy if for no other reason, though we know Dylan is attracted to intelligence.”
“Yeah.” I tuck my hands under my thighs, and my shoulders curl in as I measure myself against Daisy’s criteria. Like I need all the reasons I’m a bad match for Dylan written down in black and white. “She should definitely be smart.”
“She needs a stable job and real, solid roots in the local area—but nobody from high school.” Daisy shudders dramatically. “I can’t live with someone like Hannah Casey as my sister-in-law, but no flight risks either. I don’t want another woman drifting in and out of Dylan and Izzy’s lives.”
“Stable,” I repeat, because—of course—the love of Dylan’s life should be someone who plans to spend the rest of their days in Aster Springs. “Someone who lives nearby. Got it.”
“She must want kids and have some kind of maternal quality about her.”
“Makes sense,” I agree, putting a tally against my name as if it matters.
“And she must be mature with a sensible, responsible, dependable outlook on life.”
My face involuntarily contorts, and Daisy responds with an uncertain look.
“This is about what’s best for Dylan, remember?” she says like she’s reminding both of us. “He shouldn’t have to deal with someone else’s bullshit, and this list is for Izzy too. I won’tapprove of anyone who isn’t a solid, reliable influence in her life. That little girl has been through too much already.”
I hold up my hands, palms out. “You’re right, but this perfect woman sounds a little…”
“Boring?”
A beat of silence passes, then another, as we contemplate the wisdom of Daisy’s scheme, but then she visibly straightens and nods to herself.
“This is about what’s best for Dylan and Izzy, and the last thing they need is mess and instability. Dylan needs someone he can rely on. Someone who can help him raise his child. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. He’ll thank me when I’ve introduced him to Miss Right.”
I reply with a relenting shrug. “So, you’ve got a plan, and you’ve got a list. What do you need me for?”
“You’re the nanny,” she says. “You’re already doing everything you need to do—giving Dylan time to focus on himself. He can’t keep using a busy schedule as an excuse not to put himself out there. Whether he likes it or not, it’s time for Dylan to get on with his life.”
“Great.” I reach for my soda, gulping it down to wash away the sour realization that it’s now my job to be with Izzy while Dylan spends time with other women. Dates them. Touches them. Kisses them. More.
I want Dylan to be happy. I do. And I want Izzy to have a real family. But if there’s anything more painful than loving someone I can’t have, it’s got to be standing on the sidelines watching him fall in love with a woman who is nothing like me.
four
Dylan
It’s seven a.m. onMonday morning and I’m an hour into breakfast service when Charlie arrives at The Hill with Izzy. We’ve got the weekday routine down pat, so when they walk through the front doors of the restaurant—Izzy in her school clothes and sneakers with her bag on her back; her Aunt Charlie in jeans, boots, and black Silver Leaf shirt, her chestnut hair in its standard ponytail—I’m waiting at our usual table. It’s the best in the house, positioned next to a wall made entirely of tall glass doors that open onto a balcony overlooking the Silver Leaf vines. The stack of books, pencils, and activities I keep here for Izzy is pushed to one side to make room for her herb and mushroom omelet, toasted house-made sourdough with jam, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Morning, Little Bee,” I say as she approaches. “Are you hungry?”
She tilts her head from side to side. “Um…medium.”
I relieve her of her backpack and winter jacket, then scoop her up for a hug. She giggles and squirms as my stubble grazes her cheeks.
“Daddy! Your chin’s all scratchy.”
I set her down and rub my jaw, sharing an amused look with my sister, who has expressed dislike for my disheveled look many times before.
