Chapter 3 : Girl Date with Miss Daisy

Haven’s POV

Morning comes way too early for me. I forgot to close the door to my bedroom and, as a result, the morning light comes streaming in through the window in the kitchen, bounces off a mirror in the hallway for last-minute checks before going out, and straight into my eyes.

It is a good thing too.

I stare at the clock and see that it is almost eleven o’clock in the morning.

Yikes!

My alarm failed to wake me up and I have a get-together with Daisy later today. I push myself up, pull on a cute top with some massive sunflowers on it and a jean skirt, and wave goodbye to my family before heading out into the sunlight.

Before I make it down to the lobby and out the front door, I go to send a quick text to Daisy when I see that I have another message which arrived moments before I drifted off to sleep the night before.

The message is from Cruz.

It is a simple message, but it still makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

‘As you wish, my lady.’

Gosh! What a tool! What a line! What did he think this was? Some kind of stupid romcom where a line like that was going to make me swoon?

I quickly text Daisy that I am on my way before fishing out my subway pass and heading down into the depths of the city to the transit I could afford.

Within minutes, I am at the main entrance of a cute little coffee shop that Daisy and I frequently haunt, which is our funny way of saying that both of us like to hang around there at the same time, but not make a lot of noise like a ghost.

Daisy is already there. Coincidentally wearing a similar skirt and a button-down blue shirt with snowdrops on it. I know for sure there was a reason she is my best friend. I walk in, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of caffeine and the ear-splitting sound of grinding coffee.

The place is one of the more interesting ones. The interior looks like an old train station, with elements of railings and pictures of trains all on the inside. There are train whistle lights and a part of a caboose jutting out from the wall that you can actually go and sit in while you drink your coffee.

Yeah, it is expensive, but they say it is all organic and locally sourced.

Gotta support those local businesses.

I walk over to her as she is writing on a small notepad on the table. Her phone is open and, already, I spot the thirty other tabs that she has open. Whatever it is that she is working on, it is important.

“Hey there, beautiful. Come here often?” I ask teasingly. This is just our usual greeting, and Daisy instantly picks up that it is me. With a toss of her ombre hair, she turns and winks at me.

“Only if you’re buying,” she says. “Hey there, sweet thing. I could say the same to you. Wait… did you wear a flower-based pattern shirt too?” Her keen, journalistic gaze quickly darts across my body. She rolls her eyes as she stands, draping her purse across her body.

“Seems like it,” I reply as we both move in tandem to the dwindling line.

“Gosh, why are we so similar?” says Daisy exasperatedly. “Anyway, where should we sit?”

“Not sure,” I mutter as a new text message comes into my phone. I usually do not check my phone when I am with Daisy, but when I go to dismiss the text I see it is from Cruz.

This was probably important.

I check the message and see that it simply says, ‘Dress nice. Formal and fleek. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.’

“What’s that?” asks Daisy as she tries to peer over at my screen. Defensively, I turn off my screen with a dismissive click and shove the phone into my purse.

“Some guy. I am supposed to go with him to some kind of swanky event tonight I guess. Instead of sitting, mind if we hit up the thrift shop down the road? I have nothing to wear that would be decent,” I ask. Daisy’s eyes dance with possibility and, being too curious for her own good that her journalistic nature demands, she presses her question again.

“Some guy? You are not the type to…” Daisy pauses and gives me a harsh look. “You… you’re not…”

“Oh good grief,” I moan as I step up to the front of the line. “It is not like that.”

“What can I get you?” asks the barista.

“Peppermint mocha, medium, thanks,” I say. I have to fish in my purse for a handful of quarters to make the order, but I manage to pay in full the first time.

Daisy unhappily steps forward and orders some kind of latte that I cannot hope to begin to pronounce before turning back at me and giving me an incredulous look.

“Well?” she demands. “You’re not, are you?”

“No,” I say curtly. “I am not. Thank you.”

“Hey!” Daisy steps forward and gives my purse a little tug, making me stop. She keeps her voice low as she speaks, stepping close to me so no one else can hear. “I do not mean it like that, and you know it. I’m not suggesting that you are pimping yourself out. I am just trying to look out for you. Forgive the teasing tone.”

I sigh and nod. I know she means well and I know I just feel on edge for going on what is, essentially, a blind date with some guy I met in the bar last night for just five minutes. Still, admitting it out loud makes me feel uneasy. This is exactly the type of story you hear about on the news where the girl goes missing and is found in a barrel of acid two weeks later.

It is important for Daisy to know. At the very least, she can report on the crime if something did happen. She would make sure the guy got what was coming to him.

“I know,” I mutter. “I just feel a little hesitant with this guy I am seeing tonight.”

“Promising guy? How’d you meet?” asks Daisy as she snags our coffees off the counter when our orders are called.

“Work last night,” I say, taking the coffee from her. “He… intervened when a couple of guys insisted on taking me to another bar to show me a good time.”

“So, a knight in shining armor comes to your aid and you give him your info? Still not like you,” says Daisy, daring to take off the lid of her cup and lick the whipped cream.

“He… wanted to take me to some kind of swanky event and, after some consideration, I said yes,” I say. I do not want to mention the use of money, and I do not want to mention the mounting bills on my kitchen table.

Daisy eyes me suspiciously but seems to keep some of her other questions to herself. Instead, as we enter the thrift store, she elects to ask me other questions.

What are we doing tonight?

Did he provide any other details for the events of the evening?

What kind of swanky was he wanting? More sexy or classy?

Was I going to forward the details to her so that she could check my progress and call the police if necessary?

The entire time, we search through racks of dresses in hopes of finding something that meets all of our criteria.

We find a beautiful lavender dress that will definitely fit my average height frame with a set of sterling-colored heels to go with it. The straps are thin, almost spaghetti straps, and the neckline goes down into a deep “V” shape, which will definitely please Cruz. The material is very flowy and layered, making it look like lavender flower petals that swoop down in a traditional ball gown shape, though without additional tulle so it is not as fluffy.

After we check out, I pack up the dress and the two of us head off to a little sandwich shop down the road. By this point, she had stopped asking because a lot of my answers were, “I don’t know.” Instead, I start bothering her about her work.

“Why don’t you tell me about your story?” I ask, adding in a teasing jab. “I spent enough time being interrogated.” Daisy smiles and winks.

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” she smiles. “And I have the normal stories here and there. I have a feature piece I am doing on the police officers in the area, loads going on there, and I have a triple feature on the park renovations, so that ought to be really interesting… NOT.”

I laugh as I take a seat opposite her. We both laugh and push the menus aside, knowing what we want already.

“Okay, but what about the other one you were working on before I got to the coffee shop?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. You always have three pieces working at the same time, and the third one is the one you try and keep under wraps until it breaks for the splash effect. Police. Parks. What is the third?” I ask. Daisy smiles mischievously. “Come on! You had thirty tabs open, meaning this is a big one.”

“I really do need to mix things up a little and not be so predictable,” she says, biting the edge of the nail on her right pinky finger, meaning she is in a debate on whether or not to tell me.

Succumbing to her own argument, Daisy leans forward and keeps her voice low so no one else can hear. I lean forward to mirror her. The noise of the nearby tables seems to die down as my hearing focuses solely on what Daisy is saying.

“Okay, I have a third feature on some big shot who is in town. Socialite. Very mysterious. I have no idea why he is here, and everyone is asking questions,” says Daisy. She gets this look in her eye, and it is definitely one I have learned to tolerate since high school, where she expects me to know exactly what she is talking about with minimal information.

I give her a long look in anticipation before prompting her.

“Well? See this face? This is the, ‘I do not know what the fuck you are talking about’ face,” I say. Daisy grins, enjoying the mounting anticipation.

“Fine. I thought you would have heard. Evidently, this guy is rumored to have quite the nightlife,” says Daisy. “He is some kind of wealthy Spanish prince who came to the States for reasons unknown. I am hoping to get an interview, and it seems promising. At least, I hope it is promising.”

“With you and your small newspaper?” I ask. Daisy playfully slaps my shoulder.

“Okay, rude! All the more reason they should talk to me. A girl to break the real story and shatter unsubstantiated rumors,” says Daisy. I roll my eyes.

“You sound like a lawyer,” I mutter.

“Another jab? When I have been so accommodating?” she asks, scoffing.

“You have a name at least? Or is it as mysterious as this guy?” I ask.

The next words out of Daisy’s mouth make my heart drop into my stomach.

“Cruz. His name is Cruz Martinez.”