Page 127 of Fake it ’Til Fall

I am close enough to hear him.

“You seem different,” Liam says.

Daisy looks down at her notes. “Boston will do that. So will rent, public transportation, and realizing your emotional support meal is a granola bar you found in your purse from a month you can’t identify.”

“In a good way,” he adds. “I was worried when you left.”

No.

My hand flexes at my side.

Daisy’s smile stays intact. “That’s kind.”

“It was hard for everyone,” he says.

“For everyone?” she asks.

Then she laughs.

Not sweet. Not loud. A quick, brittle sound with teeth in it.

“It was never hard for you, Liam. The least you could do is pretend to be smart.”

Carla turns from the arch. “Is everything okay?”

Daisy looks at her.

Then at Liam.

“Perfect,” Daisy says. “We were just discussing how memory is a generous little liar when a man needs it to be.”

I hate that answer.

I admire it.

Both can be true.

A low roll of thunder moves over the vineyard.

Everyone looks up.

The sky has shifted while we were on the terrace, clouds pressing in over the lake. The breeze has gone colder, carrying rain from the west.

Eleanor appears at the edge of the path, phone in hand. “Weather alert. The storm system shifted early. We need to move the tasting overflow into the barrel room and secure the outdoor setup.”

Daisy’s eyes close for half a second.

Then she opens them, already moving.

“Helena,” she calls. “Flowers inside. Lorna, tasting room backup plan. Mom, have someone call the bakery and ask if they can deliver through the side entrance. Forrest⁠—”

She stops.

Like she caught herself asking too easily.

I wait.

Her eyes come to mine.