Shaking off my negative thoughts, I smile as Gage eats a third portion of, well, everything. “You like it?” I want to laugh at my question because it’s obvious he does. He’s barely spoken since he took his first bite.
“Mmhmm,” he says, nodding. Shoveling a scoop of potatoes in his mouth, he closes his eyes and nods again. “Good.”
Oh, he said a word. I giggle to myself because it feels wonderful to do something for another person—one who appreciates the gesture.
I didn’t set out today to be Betty Crocker for Gage. No, I left right after he did and hopped on the bus en route to a phone store to replace the one I left on CyRide. This time, the phone’s in my name, and I’m the only one who has access to it. I made sure to choose a different service provider, just in case.
After that, I walked to my favorite thrift store to shop for more clothing. The things I bought yesterday are fine, but I needed more since the weather is turning colder. I found several sweaters, a wool skirt, and a pair of retro-looking shoes, then moved on to another large chain store to buy more underwear and a black bra and some tights. As I passed the grocery section of the store, I decided I would cook Gage a good meal. It was the least I could do, you know other than sleep with him, since he was letting me stay at his place. But I didn’t sleep with him for him. That was all for me.
Making meatloaf and mashed potatoes was a no-brainer—it was my mom’s favorite meal, and because she loved it, so did I. My attempt at homemade bread was all my idea, though. I didn’t ever recall her making bread, but how hard could it be, right?
It turns out it’s harder than it looks. Not even YouTube videos helped me.
Reaching out, I pick up my slice of bread with butter slathered on top and bite. “Mm,” I say aloud. “That’s not bad.”
“Good,” Gage grunts again, and I laugh.
“What?” he asks with his mouth full.
“Nothing.” I smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
I watch him swallow his bite. After drinking a sip of water, he smiles at me. “I do. It’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”
For some reason, his words make me blush.
“I’m happy to hear that.”
I really am.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gage
We’ve eaten dinner, done the dishes, and now we’re sitting on the sofa watching a sitcom. It feels so damn domestic. I should probably cringe at the notion and run for the hills, but that’s not the way I feel about it. No. I’m content. Happy, even. I mean, my stomach is full—very full—and my arm is wrapped around my girl, who’s cuddled into me and laughing at something funny on TV. Pepper Anderson is curled up in Daisy’s lap like she’s meant to be there, all while Daisy strokes the top of her yellow head.
This is the life.
At least it’s the life I’ve always wanted. A life I only imagined with one other person, but she’s better off where she is. I know that now, because I was never supposed to be with Quinn Maxwell. No, I’m sure I was always meant to meet Daisy.
“Well, that was a funny show.”
“It was,” I say absently as I run my fingers over a strand of hair that must’ve fallen out of her bun. It feels silky as it slides along my hand. “I’ve never seen it. I’m usually on patrol at this time of night.”
Daisy turns her body until we’re facing each other. “That’s right. I forgot about that. You were on patrol that night.”
“I was.”
“So, after this investigation, you’ll go back to working nights?” Her dark brows furrow, and her nose scrunches up. It’s fucking adorable.
“I assume so. Why? Does that bother you?”
I’m waiting for a response, but all she’s doing is blinking. I can see worry in her eyes. “No. Of course not. Are we…?” she stammers. “Is this…?”
Taking her hands in mine. “I think we are, and I think this is, but only time will tell.”
She’s searching my eyes, though for what, I’m not sure. “It’s moving fast.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I don’t think so.
Turning back to her spot cuddled up against me, she says, “I don’t know.” Picking up the remote, she presses the Guide button. “It’s only eight. Let’s watch something else.”
I guess we’re done talking about that, which is okay with me because it got heavy real fast, and I don’t have any answers for us right now. Neither of us does.
As she slides through channels, I spot something I’ve wanted to check out. “Let’s watch The Great Gatsby.”
“Ha-ha,” she deadpans. “Funny.”
“What? Why not. It’s got that Leo guy in it, right? I heard it’s good.”
Daisy presses her face into my arm and groans. Or maybe growls is a better word.
“What?”
Pushing away from me, she looks me square in the eye and says, “I’m named after the heroine in The Great Gatsby, although ‘heroine’ denotes someone good or heroic, and she was definitely neither of those things.”
“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure where she’s going with this. “So, no to the movie?”
I guess what I said was funny because she laughs. “Fine. I haven’t seen this version of the story, so if you want to watch it….” She looks me square in the eye, “But if you think I’m anything like that character—”
Raising both hands, I pronounce, “I promise. No comparisons.”
“Because my father is an asshole, and it started the day I was born. He cursed me with this name, and he did it on purpose.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Because his father, Rochester Buchanan, who was named after the character Edward Rochester from Jane Eyre, named my father after a character in an
