Safely ensconced in the same room where Daisy had fallen through the ceiling and nearly kicked him in the nose, Lance had to wonder if she’d chosen it on purpose. He laid on the bed, remarkably comfortable, and slipped off his shoes, leaving them on the rug. He would probably trip over them later.
If this weekend was going to work, he had to be fully committed. Lance hadn’t expected Daisy to fall into his arms when he showed up on her porch. It would have been nice, though. At least she hadn’t kicked him out. Lance had an entire weekend to convince Daisy he was the only one for her.
Even if she was practically tripping over her own feet to put some distance between them. It wasn’t the first time she’d run away instead of facing her feelings. Kissing him in the crawlspace was the first of many times where Daisy admitted feelings for him and then talked herself out of them.
This weekend, he needed to quell those objections. It shouldn’t be hard. They were the same misgivings he’d wrestled with. The two of them were different—wildly different. When it came to tackling a problem, he and Daisy had radically different approaches. When it came to cleanliness, Lance was ‘socks arranged by color’ and she was ‘socks that might or might not match’. But they shared important things too.
Faith.
Loyalty to family.
A love of restoration.
Irresistible chemistry.
With important things like that unifying them, the rest seemed terribly unimportant. When he admired her sense of adventure, her confidence and her vivacious spirit; it seemed foolish to dismiss a future because she sometimes forgot to turn off the lights.
He just had to convince her of the same thing. Starting today.
Lance flipped through the welcome packet, which highlighted the amenities of the bed-and-breakfast and nearby attractions. Along with local state parks, restaurants, wineries, and the tourist-centered dairy farm an hour away, Bloom’s Farm invited the guests of the bed-and-breakfast to explore the farm on horseback, visit and taste the offerings of Poppy’s winery, or bottle-feed baby goats. He skimmed the note page, making note of one sentence in particular: To arrange farm excursions, contact Daisy Bloom or the host for your stay.
An idea began to spark, and Lance smiled to himself. He knew Daisy wouldn’t want to leave this evening, at least not until after all the guest were checked in. But tomorrow? He was going to shamelessly guilt her into spending the day with him.
He grabbed a book from his bag and made his way downstairs again. Daisy might hope he would stay in his room all weekend, but he had other plans. Starting with seeing Daisy as much as possible.
* * *
Daisy ran the feather duster over the already clean shelves, stealing glances at the man who seemed to dominate the space in the parlor. Lance looked far too comfortable in the cozy room, casually reading a book. She tried to peer around a lamp to read the title on the cover, extending to her tiptoes and leaning over to one side. Lance hadn’t even looked up from the book since he sat down, despite her flitting around the room.
Daisy wasn’t exactly trying to get his attention, but wasn’t he there for a reason? What book could possibly have him so enraptured? Lance shifted his weight and Daisy startled, her back foot coming off the ground, the feather duster flailing through the air as she tried to catch her balance. Why did this always happen around him? She had been a professional dancer, for crying out loud!
She caught herself, her foot coming down loudly on the wood floor. Daisy winced and opened one eye to see if Lance had reacted.
He flipped a page, and she narrowed her eyes. He was doing this on purpose, right? Ignoring her?
Should she say something?
Daisy walked around in front of him and fluffed the pillows, already perfectly staged. Finally, she caught a glimpse of the cover of the book that had him so entranced. Who Moved My Cheese?
A snort escaped before she could stop it, and she covered her mouth. Piercing brown eyes shifted up toward her, his expression teasing, even as his words betrayed nothing. “Have you read this book?” He held up the cover so she could see it clearly.
Daisy pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Not exactly something I struggle with.”
Lance nodded and placed a finger on his chin as though she’d said the most philosophical thing in history and he needed time to properly digest the wisdom.
“You know,” he said after a long pause, “I’ve been told I’m too rigid.”
“You don’t say?” Daisy couldn’t help but respond sarcastically, hearing him quote her own words about him.
Lance nodded. “I know, hard to believe, isn’t it?” A chuckle escaped from Daisy and he continued, “But, I’m learning that perhaps my way isn’t always the best way.”
“Thus, the book?” she replied skeptically. It was one thing to say the right words, or even to read the right book. But what about the reality?
“Yes, the book. And other things.”
“Oh?”
“I’m finding that the more I surround myself with people who operate with more flexibility—the more my own way of thinking changes.”
Daisy couldn’t respond. A faint glimmer of hope flickered inside her, and she desperately tried to squash it.
“For example, there was this woman.” Daisy raised her eyebrows. “She taught me a lot about the... merits of creative thinking.”
Daisy needed an escape and looked around desperately for a way out, but Lance kept talking. “The more time we spent together, the more I wanted—”
The knock on the door interrupted him, and Daisy’s heart clamored at the intrusion. What did Lance want more of?
Lance disappeared while she checked in the Porter family. While she was charmed by the nine- and eleven-year-old brothers and their friendly parents, Daisy hadn’t appreciated the interruption and wanted to continue the conversation.
Daisy thought she would be happy for him to get out of her sight. He’d been lounging around like he owned the place since he checked in, and her awareness of Lance’s presence was making it impossible to concentrate. Not that there was much to concentrate on. Everything had been ready for days. Washing sheets and cleaning up after the previous weekend had taken up her Monday, but beyond that? She’d been pacing and trying not to be anxious about the grand opening. Daisy needed everything to go well, if only to prove to herself that it could.
She knew there would be hiccups along the way, and that sometimes guests would cancel or complain. But the first real weekend needed to be a success.
And then Lance shows up on her front step and derails the whole thing. What was he thinking? Daisy needed to remember why she and Lance hadn’t worked in the first place. He had walked out, frustrated and blaming her for shutting down his business. Which had been her fault. Getting involved again would only lead to trouble for both of them.
Clearly, Lance had forgotten. It was up to her to remember for both of them. She didn’t have time for philosophical discussions about how Lance thought his rigidity and her carefree attitude could coexist.
When she’d walked past his room to take the Porter family to their rooms, she spotted his open suitcase on the bed and a dirty pair of socks on the rug. It seemed uncharacteristic of him, to say the least. But she’d never been to his house. Maybe he was a slob.
Even as she had the thought, she laughed at it. Lance could be called many things—inflexible, demanding, intense, driven, thoughtful, handsome... She shook away the list of increasingly positive attributes. Lance was many things, but slob was not on the list.
After the Porters checked in, Daisy gave them directions to Minden so they could grab dinner at B&J Bistro and enjoy the small-town shops. Dinner sounded good, but her final guests hadn’t arrived, and she needed to stick around. The gourmet kitchen was perhaps her favorite room in the inn, even though she didn’t cook herself. It had been a key point of her vision, and she’d made it happen. Whenever she pulled a dish from the cupboard, she knew she had driven in the screws holding it up.
There was one thing missing from the kitchen, though.
Food.
Oh, there were plenty of ingredients—supplies her chef, Bonnie, would use tomorrow morning to make apple-cinnamon French toast and eggs to order. Nothing for dinner, though. Daisy grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper from the bottom shelf of the fridge and popped it open. At least she had the essentials. Dinner would have to wait until later. Surely her mom or Lily had something she could grab after all the guests were settled in.
A car door slammed, and she ventured to the window, hopeful the Higgins were here, but Lance was jogging up the steps holding a plastic bag with a familiar logo. He stepped inside and wiped his shoes carefully on the welcome mat. She waited as he walked through the parlor and around the living room. He continued toward the kitchen and finally spotted her watching him. Daisy hid her smile behind her soda can, unwilling to show her reaction to his presence.
Lance held up the bag, “Somewhere I can eat this?”
Silently answering, Daisy gestured to the dining room. Then, determined to be a good hostess, she pulled a plate and silverware from the kitchen and brought them to him.
“Thank you! I’m starving.” He pulled a takeout container from the bag and the scent of garlic wafted toward her, sparking the hunger she’d tried to quiet with soda. Lance continued speaking casually, “I think I accidentally ordered too much food. Would you care to join me?”
Daisy smirked. He was too obvious and totally shameless! Sure, he just happened to accidentally order two full entrees at the bistro?
Still, when he opened the boxes, she couldn’t help but look at the Friday night pasta special with longing. Her mouth watered, and she swallowed heavily.
Lance looked up at her hopefully, still trying to maintain his nonchalance.
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Come on, it’s just dinner.”
It wasn’t just dinner, though. It was an invitation to so much more, and Daisy was desperately afraid saying yes to takeout would lead to saying yes to other things. Although, an increasingly large part of her was screaming that saying yes wouldn’t be so bad.
Lance must have sensed her resistance softening and dished up a portion onto the plate she’d brought him. He slid it in front of the chair she stood behind.
He stepped through the French doors into the kitchen, and she heard him opening cabinets and drawers while she studied the plate of food. Lance came back carrying a second plate and silverware, plus napkins and glasses.
Hunger won, and she sat, though she couldn’t have said whether it was hunger for food or the desire for connection. Lance did an admirable job of concealing his celebratory reaction.
During dinner, Daisy noticed something odd about Lance. He was, personality-wise, the same as he had always been—kind, witty, a good listener. But she noticed other things. Instead of setting his glass on a placemat, it was always on the table. From anyone else, she would not have batted an eye. But for Lance, who had lectured her about coasters and the potential for water rings from her soda cans more than once, it was strange.
When he dripped red pasta sauce on his shirt, an oddity in itself, his reaction was even more striking. Daisy had immediately started to get out of her chair to find him a spot remover or club soda. But Lance? He barely dabbed at the red stain with a napkin before shrugging his shoulders and giving her another of those blasted winks. Who was this and what had happened to Lance Matthews?