Daisy Does It All (Clover Park, Book 2) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) (9 page)

“These are lots of fun,” Maggie said, holding up the box. “We’ve tried all the flavors.”

Daisy snatched it from her and tucked it face down on the loveseat.
Not better
. Just a picture of the rear view. Her cheeks heated. She looked up. Maggie was grinning, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. Daisy was starting to see where Trav got his mischievous side.

“Thanks so much,” she said as graciously as she could to the gift of edible underwear from her fiancé’s grandmother. She was pretty sure this wasn’t covered in any of the bridal etiquette guides.

Daisy handed over Bryce and stuffed all the gifts back in the bag. She’d quietly hide it in her closet when she got home.

“I’m just so happy for you and Trav,” Maggie said.

Daisy grimaced, instantly feeling guilty. She felt like a fraud agreeing to marry Trav when they didn’t love each other. Tomorrow she’d feel like an even bigger fraud in front of millions of
Mornings with Jessica
viewers. Adrenaline shot down her legs.

“I’d better run.” She avoided Maggie’s eyes and pointed to the diaper bag she’d left on the floor. “He’s got a change of clothes, diapers, and milk.” She pulled out the insulated bag with two bottles of expressed milk and set them on the coffee table. “Trav and I’ll be back soon with all the baby gear.” She kissed Bryce. “Bye-bye.”

She headed out.

“Say bye to Mommy,” Maggie said.

Bryce let out a wail of protest.

Daisy cringed and shut the door behind her. It was never easy to leave Bryce. She got in the car and headed back to her apartment. Her stomach pitched just thinking about the charade they were about to begin.

Fraud, fraud, fraud
.

The end justifies the means.

She had a nagging feeling that she’d gotten herself in too deep. As usual. But this time she wouldn’t ask her family to dig her out. She’d handle it herself.

Even if that meant she was forced to admit she’d made up her perfect life.

Even if that meant her reputation was in tatters and she’d never work again.

As long as she had Bryce, it would be okay.

She pulled into the apartment parking lot and spotted Trav right away, leaning against his car like he didn’t have a care in the world. She instantly felt annoyed. Here she was about to make a complete fool of herself on national TV, and he didn’t even care.

She stashed the gift bag under the front seat and got out of the car.

“Hey, wifey,” he said, picking up a toolbox from the ground. “I’m practicing for tomorrow.”

“Don’t call me wifey,” Daisy snapped, marching upstairs to her second-floor apartment.

“What do you want to be called?” he asked, keeping pace with her up the stairs.

“I don’t know…honey or sweetie.” She jammed the key in the lock and burst into her apartment. She snatched a baby rattle, some blocks, and a stuffed rabbit off the floor. “Just grab everything.”

Trav stood there, doing absolutely nothing.

She glanced back at him. “Why aren’t you helping?”

He set down his toolbox. “Are you okay, honey-sweetie?”

She knew he was joking with the endearment, but it still made her throat go tight over the caring she heard there. She threw the baby toys on the sofa. “I really screwed up.”

“How so?” He stepped closer, but didn’t touch her, for which she was thankful. She didn’t want to cave and sob in his arms, letting him take care of everything. Still, she couldn’t help sharing her misery.

“I’m pretending to be happily married with a beautiful house and a darling sweet baby on TV. It’s all a lie! I’ll probably crack under the pressure and admit I’m a fraud. Everyone will hate me.”

“No, they won’t,” he said firmly. “It’ll be fine. Besides, we’ll be happily married the next day.”

She shook her head. “This is my worst one yet.”

“You’re really doing a number on my ego here.”

“Nothing personal,” Daisy rushed to say.

He cocked his head. “It’s a little personal.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve been a dream through all this. I’m fine. Let’s pack up.”

She turned and gathered the toys off the sofa, yelping in surprise as Trav scooped her up. He settled on the sofa with her on his lap. She dropped the toys and gave him a good glare over her shoulder. “Trav, stop fooling around. We’ve got to get everything set up.”

She leaped off his lap. He grabbed her and put her back in place.

“We’re gonna take a little trip in the ol’ Trav time machine.”

She fought to get up, but he had her hips clamped firmly in his strong hands.

“Stop wiggling, honey-sweetie, or we’re gonna take a very different kind of trip.”

She stilled. “Don’t call me honey-sweetie.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “What would you like me to call you? Fiancée?” He lowered his voice to that shiver-inducing range. “Lo-oo-ver?”

“Daisy! Just call me Daisy!”

He straightened up. “Okay, Daisy-just-call-me-Daisy, let’s go for a ride. Close your eyes.”

She did.

“Vrrrr…putt, putt. It’s slow to warm up,” he told her.

She smiled a little in spite of her dark mood.

“Rrrr…okay, now we’re cooking.” He rocked her crazily side to side.

Her eyes flew open. “Trav!”

He stopped. “Time travel’s a little rough. We’re going back to the day after Thanksgiving at the bar.”

She stiffened.

“Hang in there. We’ve only had one drink, and now I ask you out. Our courtship begins,” he said grandly.

She relaxed again.

“We have the requisite number of dates before we do the deed. And I’m spec-tac-u-lar.”

“Of course you are,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Naturally. And so are you, of course. And, in the heat of the moment, I propose. Two months later, we’re happily married. How do you like that story?”

She leaned her head back against his warm chest and sighed. “I can’t tell Jessica Larsen that you proposed in bed.”

“Might be good for ratings.”

“Be serious.”

She shifted off his lap. He took one of her hands in his, and she felt the rough calluses of a man who worked with his hands. Her mind flashed to those hands on her bare skin. She snatched her hand back.

“How would you like me to propose?” he asked.

She thought back to the two proposals she’d had from her ex-husbands that were nothing special. More like spur-of-the-moment ideas. Then Trav’s proposal at the Valentine’s Day dance had been pretty nice, if she’d actually wanted to marry him. They needed a story for Jessica. One that put Bryce on the map after the wedding.

“You’re going to have to start the time machine again,” she said. “Go a little further back.”

He pressed some imaginary buttons. “Boop-boop-boop. Where we headed?”

“Fourth of July two years ago. We’re at the town fireworks.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet. Their eyes met, and she felt something deep inside flutter a bit in hope.

“Go on,” he said in a husky voice.

“So just as the last firework display fires in the air, you go down on one knee and propose. I say yes, and we celebrate later with champagne.”

Nerves ran through her as she remembered telling him no the last time he proposed. She had no business marrying him. This could be a disaster. She’d screw up Bryce for sure.

“Then what?” he prompted.

Her attention snapped back. “We marry in October. Bryce is conceived over Thanksgiving. So we’ve been married almost a year and a half.”

“I like that version even better,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

She fidgeted under his attention. Her past relationships gave her little faith she’d do any better with this one. And now that Bryce was part of the deal, a relationship scared her. She never wanted Bryce to suffer because of one of her screwups. She wasn’t so sure she could go through with a wedding.

“We’d better get packing,” she said.

He stood and retrieved his toolbox. “I’ll start with the crib.”

She picked up the toys again and paused. “Thanks, Trav. For everything.”

He gave her a jaunty salute and headed to her bedroom for Bryce’s crib.

Please don’t let me mess everything up for Bryce
, she said in silent prayer. Then she got to work.

Chapter Eight

The crew of
Mornings with Jessica
ran through Maggie’s house like a pack of rambunctious puppies destroying everything that was charming about the place. The red velvet chairs, floral loveseat, antique end tables—gone. All of it shuttled to the basement. At least they left the paper heart chain and roses on the mantel. In went Jessica’s cushioned, white leather swivel chair and a pair of smaller matching swivel chairs for Daisy and Trav, along with lights, cameras, and a slew of wires that ran everywhere.

“Now be careful with that!” Maggie hollered as some burly men hauled her antique coffee table to the basement.

The baby gear that Daisy and Trav had spent
hours
loading in yesterday—gone. All of it moved upstairs.

“Great,” Trav muttered under his breath.

“I know,” Daisy said. At least they’d given the impression a baby lived here, though they probably could have done it with a lot less effort.

Just then a tall, blond woman, Jessica Larsen, strode in wearing a blue and white checked dress with a deep V-neck and a skinny belt flaunting an impossibly narrow waist. Daisy immediately felt underdressed in her white ruffled V-neck pullover, burgundy pants, and her favorite black leather ankle boots. At least the daisy pin Maggie had given her made her feel special.

Jessica thrust her hand out to Daisy. “Hi, Jessica Larsen. So nice to meet you finally. I feel like I know you from your blog. You’ve got your finger on the pulse of the twenty-five to forty-year-old mom, a key demographic that we need to capture.” She smiled, a plastic smile, showing off painfully white teeth. Her ice-blue eyes and sharp cheekbones gave little warmth to her expression.

Daisy shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m a fan of the show.”

Jessica smiled politely. “Thank you.”

Daisy usually slept through Jessica’s early morning show, but she’d recorded and watched it faithfully this week once she knew she’d be on it. Jessica liked to interview actors, chefs, authors, and, well, her. She always managed to get some juicy story out of her guests that they swore they’d never told anyone before. Well, not Daisy. She’d be the perfect wife and mom. Pleasant, charming, and drama-free.

Jessica turned to Trav. “And you must be Darling Husband.”

Trav shook her hand. “Travis O’Hare. Nice to meet you and welcome to our humble home.” He gave her the charming, lopsided smile that made most women up their flirt factor. Jessica was no exception.

Jessica leaned in and touched Trav’s arm. “I wouldn’t call it humble. It’s lovely. Old Victorians like this fetch a pretty penny from people looking for a little country getaway. What’d you pay for it, if I may ask?”

“Well, Jessica, I don’t like to talk money,” Trav responded. “Ask me anything else you’d like.”

“Anything?” Jessica’s eyes lit up, and she smiled a predatory smile. “I’ll save that option for filming.”

Daisy discreetly stepped on Trav’s toe. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and smiled. The happy couple.

Maggie approached wearing a lemon yellow Jorge Chavez Dance Studio T-shirt with skinny jeans. A cute lemon yellow bow was pinned to a lock of her short white hair. Daisy wondered if she got the bow from Babies-N-Things. It looked just like the bows she saw on little girl babies.

“How ya doing?” Maggie asked, grabbing Jessica’s hand and pumping it vigorously. “Jessica Larsen, I’d know you anywhere. You rouse me and my Jorge every morning with your fantastic guests, and now you’ve got the best of them all—Daisy and Trav.”

Jessica smiled her plastic smile. “Thank you! It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“Just a minute.” Maggie jammed her hand in her jeans pocket, pulled out her cell, and dialed. “Hey, hon, come downstairs. I want you to meet Jessica. Don’t forget the T-shirt.”

Jorge appeared a few minutes later wearing his matching Jorge Chavez Dance Studio T-shirt and carrying an extra T-shirt in his hand.

“Delighted to meet you, Ms. Larsen,” Jorge cooed, kissing her hand. “I am Jorge of the Jorge Chavez Dance Studio.”

Jessica took this in stride, seemingly used to men kissing her hand. “Nice to meet you too, Jorge.”

Maggie grabbed the extra shirt and tried to hand it to Jessica. Jessica didn’t touch it. She looked horrified, like it was just pulled from the garbage.

“We’d love it if you wore this on the air,” Maggie said. “Doesn’t have to be today, could be any show you want. Just to, you know, put a plug in for Jorge’s dance studio.”

Maggie held the shirt up to show off the front with a couple ballroom dancing; then she turned it around. The back read: Dancers do it backwards and in heels.

“Gran!” Trav exclaimed, grabbing the shirt. “Did you design this one?”

Maggie’s chest puffed out proudly. “I sure did. It’s just for the women. The one for men says ‘Dancers do it in the ballroom.’ Cute, right?”

Trav laughed. Daisy elbowed him.

“We didn’t mean to overstep,” Daisy said.

“Not at all,” Jessica said smoothly. “I like her. Cute and kitschy. You should write her into your blog.”

“Does that mean you’ll wear it?” Maggie asked, holding the T-shirt out to Jessica again.

Jessica pushed the shirt out of her personal comfort zone. “I don’t wear T-shirts. My stylist, Kimberly, does a fine job scouring the city for the right Jessica Larsen look. Wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. Oh, our producer is here.” She turned, and her voice hit a husky purr. “Max, finally.”

Jessica airkissed a tall man with jet black hair. When she stepped back, Daisy sucked in a breath. It couldn’t be. He looked like…her Max. Her heart raced. She clutched Trav’s arm; she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Oh, God. No, no, no. Not now.

“I’ve got to get some Perrier and organic lemon slices to the set,” Jessica said. Hand on her hip, she said playfully, “You know I depend on it when we’re on location.”

“Of course,” Max murmured.

Daisy stood, frozen in shock, everything in the room fading away except this man who’d left her a wretched mess. He wasn’t fat and bald. He was gorgeous, even more so than he’d been all those years ago. His hair was still black, not a single gray hair, and cut short now. His eyes, that stunning blue-green with the thick lashes. He was fit and muscular.