When the opening credits start to roll, Gage steps backward, then turns. I had hopes of him sitting next to me on this sofa—you know, extra close with his hand on my thigh—but that’s not going to happen if he’s sitting in the chair.
Damn it.
Chapter Eighteen
Gage
I knew if I sat next to her on my extra comfortable couch, I’d have wanted to get close to her. Touch her. Maybe even kiss her. But I can’t, so I do the right thing and take the chair.
Damn it, this sucks, because I’m having such a great time with her. I don’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around a woman. There’s an ease about her that I can’t quite figure out, even though her life seems sort of sad and complicated––she’s not. She’s bright and happy and, like I said, easy.
Well, not easy in that sense, at least not that I know of, but comfortable. I’m not saying any of this right.
Comfortable, Gage? Jesus, she’s not a blanket.
Clearing my throat, I ask her, “Have you read the books?”
“Oh yeah. Multiple times.”
“And have you seen the movies?”
“I have. They aren’t as good as the books, but I’ve seen them so many times now, they work.”
“Agreed.”
We both turn to watch the opening scene unfold. “God, I remember seeing this in the theater and holding my breath at this exact scene. It’s magical.”
I chuckle at her words. “It is magical.”
“Smartass,” she says, leaning over the arm of my sofa in an attempt to slap my arm.
I beat her to it, though. When she’s about to make contact, I reach out and grasp her hand. When that happens, both of us freeze. She’s staring at our clasped hands just like I am. Without thinking, I intertwine my fingers with hers, and I’m not sure how to describe the feeling other than to say it feels right. Very, very right.
Thankfully, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, our joined hands rest on the arm of my chair for a good long time.
“Thanks,” Daisy says with a shy smile. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Me too.” We’re standing on my front porch now. The temperature dropped quite a bit since she arrived, so now she has her arms wrapped around herself. She’s shivering.
“Hang on.” I run back inside to my bedroom. Opening a dresser drawer, I pull out the sweatshirt on top. It’s an old army one, gray and a little worse for wear. Rushing back out to the porch, I hand it to her. “Here. Put this on.”
“Oh, no…,” she says hesitantly.
“No. Please. It’s too cold. Your dress is….” What? Flimsy? It looks like the fabric is light, and there aren’t any sleeves.
Reaching out, she takes it. “I’ll get it back to you.”
“No worries.” It is one of my favorites, but I can get another one.
“Thanks.” She smiles.
I watch as she slips it over her head and then down. The bottom of it falls past her hips, and the arms swallow up her hands. She’s adorable.
She scrunches up the sleeves, revealing her hands once again. I feel a hand on my shoulder and warm lips on my cheek. “Thanks,” she says as she turns to leave.
“Text me when you get home.”
“Okay,” she agrees but doesn’t look back.
“Drive safe.”
This time she does. She laughs as she says, “Okay, Gage.”
Damn. I don’t want her to go, but it’s the right thing to do. “Night.”
“Night.”
Chapter Nineteen
Daisy
The minute I pull into my spot in the parking lot, I reach for my phone.
Me: Home.
I wait for his response. Actually, I’m holding my breath. Weird, right? I don’t have to wait long.
Gage: Good. Had fun tonight.
Yeah, I should be cool and wait to respond, but why?
Me: Me too.
Gage: We should do it again. Watch the second one.
Me: I’d love to.
Gage: We could get food from…
Gage: What’s your favorite restaurant in Ames?
That’s a tough one. I have to think about it.
Me: Well, don’t judge, but I love Blaze Pizza.
It’s a chain restaurant, but I love their crust made crispy by the open-flame oven. Dang, I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.
Gage: Never been. Can’t wait to try it.
I don’t know what to say to that, so the smiley face will have to do.
Me: :)
Me: Night, Gage.
Gage: Night, Daisy.
Stepping out of my car, I’ve got a stupid grin on my face. It can’t be helped. Unfortunately, that grin only lasts until I get to my apartment. It’s there the smile drops because there’s something taped to my door. An envelope. Moving closer, I see my name scribbled on the front in handwriting I recognize. Dad’s. Grasping it, I carefully pull it away from the door so paint doesn’t come off.
While I’d like to tear it open and read it now, I know I need to wait until I get inside. With key in hand, I open my door and step into my apartment. The sense something isn’t right is immediate. Well, I guess I suspected something the minute I spotted the envelope. Moving past my kitchen, I freeze. “That fucker.”
Yanking my phone from my pocket, I don’t bother with the letter.
Me: Where’s my computer?
He must’ve been waiting because he responds right away.
Daddy Dearest: In your old bedroom. With your clothing and the rest of your things. Didn’t you read my note, honey?
“Honey” my ass.
Stomping into my bedroom, I see my bed has been stripped of all sheets, pillows, and blankets. No matter, I’ve got another set. Back in the hallway, I open the cupboard where I keep towels, sheets, blankets, and so on and growl. “That motherfucker.” Everything’s gone.
Well, the couch is still here. And the chair, coffee table, and my one stool. Also, the pictures on the wall and doodads on my shelf above the television are still in the same places.
I spend the next ten minutes looking through my closet, the bathroom, and the kitchen. He took everything I use every day, from my clothes
