Twist of Fate by Louise, Tia (free ebook reader for ipad .txt) 📗

She always says this, and while I agree there isn’t a wrong choice, inside me I know there’s an optimum choice. I need to talk to Daisy.

My conversation with Gran is heavy on my mind as I watch Daisy move around the small kitchen in her loft apartment. She’s slicing carrots and celery, onions and bell peppers, and I’m leaning against the couch with a glass of red wine in my hand.

“You sure you don’t want me to help? I have been cooking for myself for a while now.”

“You stay right there.” She points at me with the knife, and I hold up my hands, which makes her laugh. “I invited you to dinner, and you’re going to take it easy. You’ve been helping me so much at the store and with Melody, it’s the least I can do.”

“I’m glad to help you. I want to spend time with Melody.” Who is currently in a bubble bath singing a little kid song I don’t know.

The conversation we need to have is heavy on my mind, and I know I’m running out of time to stay here if I intend to return to Los Angeles.

Daisy moves all the ingredients to a sauté pan, and the luscious aroma of tomatoes and garlic mixed with steak and Italian seasoning fills the room.

“Hey, you want to open the French Doors to let some of this out? The one design flaw in this place. No hood for the stove.”

“Daddy! Come get me!” Melody is yelling in the bathroom, and Daisy shakes her head, smiling.

“I can get her if you don’t—”

“No way, I’ll get her. You keep doing what you’re doing. It smells amazing.”

French doors open, I head to the bathroom to retrieve the princess. She’s standing in the tub with a pouf of bubbles on the top of her head and shoulders.

When I enter, she holds up both arms. “Catch me!”

“Whoa, hold it right there, Miss. You’ve still got soap on you.” She looks down, and I scoop suds off her head to show her.

She reaches up to feel her head, and I poke her round belly, which makes her squeal a laugh. A quick spray of the shower attachment, and I hold the towel under her arms for her to jump out.

“Only do that when somebody’s here to hold you.” She nods solemnly as I dry her off then she takes off running naked to their shared room.

Standing in the bathroom doorway, I look around their apartment. It’s designed for the two of them, one bedroom, one bath. Melody’s in the room she shares with her mother still singing that song, and I walk slowly to the kitchen, which flows into the open living room. There’s not room for me here.

“How’s she doing?” Daisy glances up from where she’s stirring the pasta in boiling water.

“We need to figure out a way to bottle all that energy. We’d make a killing.”

The unwelcome image of my father pops into my head. All his supplements and attempts to stay young.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy’s watching me.

“I’ve been thinking about what we should do—”

“Mac and cheese! If you please!” Melody marches into the room in her pink pajamas with her pink tutu on top, pumping her little fist over her head like she’s leading a parade.

“We’re not having mac and cheese,” Daisy corrects her. “We’re having spaghetti and meat sauce.”

“Mac and cheese!” She pumps her little fist again. “If you please!”

She faces her mom, and I’m fighting hard not to laugh.

Daisy narrows her eyes at me, and I step up. “I’m actually pretty good at making mac and cheese. I can whip up a little for her.”

“You are spoiling her rotten.”

“I’m making up for lost time.”

She points me in the right direction, and I take out a small boiling pot, elbow noodles, a block of sharp cheddar, and a carton of half and half.

Melody climbs up on a stool beside me, and she watches as I season the water. She makes me tell her everything I’m doing, and she’s so cute in her getup, I put a hand around her waist and kiss the top of her head.

Daisy puts the lids on our dinner and slices a loaf of French bread into bite-sized pieces before coating them with butter and popping them in the oven.

“What were you trying to say when the little boss marched in?” She leans against the counter watching us.

“It can wait til later.” We exchange a smile, and her eyes are so warm.

I’m pretty sure I know my decision.

We have a lively dinner in which Melody declares my mac and cheese almost as good as Mr. André’s.

“Almost as good?” I pretend to be offended, until Daisy explains André invented a New Orleans style mac and cheese poboy specifically for Coco and now Melody.

I decide I’ll have to try it next time I’m in the store. “Sounds like I’m not the only one doing the spoiling around here.”

Daisy just shakes her head, and again I note how seamless their life is here. People know them and love them, customers come specifically to Daisy for vintage finds, and she’s so serious about helping them, she’ll drop everything and drive an hour to try and convince a reluctant seller.

I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room, turning these thoughts over in my head as I gaze out the open French doors at the starry night sky. Daisy is putting Melody to sleep when my phone buzzes, and I slide it out of my pocket.

A text is on the face from Lorraine. Big news. Good time to chat?

I touch her name to place the call and walk out onto the balcony. “Lorraine? It’s Scout, what’s up?”

“Scout!” She cries out my name, and I hold the phone away from my ear. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

“I had a little break. I’m in Fireside visiting my family.”

“I need you in L.A. tomorrow! Bob Donner got a screener of your