Claimed by my Best Friend's Brother

Chapter Three

Daisy’s POV

I wipe down the counter in front of me with a wet rag, smiling robotically as a father and daughter stand up from their table and thank me before leaving.

I tuck a stray curl of my hair behind my ear, heading toward the table to pick up the empty milkshake glasses, plates and the one dollar left under the salt shaker which I shove into my pocket. Looking up, I come face to face with my reflection, my tired eyes staring back at me, slight shadows underneath from the fact I haven’t really slept properly in over a year. My hair, plain black, is pulled back into a ponytail, a few wisps framing my face. No colour, there hasn’t been any added since my dad . . .

I swallow hard, the familiar grief I’ve carried with me for three hundred and seventy four days as fresh as the day I buried him. It is worse right now, his anniversary hit me hard, people wanted to see me, but I shut myself up in my father’s house, now my house, and refused to open the door. I only left to leave flowers on his grave, before ordering takeout and hiding once again.

Ten days later and I’m going through the motions of living, trying to navigate this second round of grief that no one ever told me would happen. How can it hurt more today than it did the day we lay him to rest? How is that fair?

Carrying the empty crockery, I take it through the door to the kitchen where, Laurence is carefully icing cookies for the display case.

‘Miss Daisy, did they enjoy the food?’ has asks, glancing up at me.

I nod, carrying the dishes to our industrial washer and placing them on the waiting rack.

‘Left us a whole dollar tip’ I reply, pulling it out and shoving it into the meagre tip jar on the shelf.

Laurence grins, ‘a dollar we didn’t have Miss Daisy’ he replies good humouredly.

‘True’ I sigh, ‘I just wish we had a few more of them . . your food is to die for’ I add honestly.

The Jamaican man blushes, ducking his head back to the cookies to avoid my compliments. That is how he has always been, quiet, unassuming, not wanting or needing praise for his work.

Moving closer, I lean over and steal one of the cookies, biting into it as I moan my appreciation.

‘Damn Laurence’ I groan through my mouthful, ‘it’s like heaven in cookie form.’

My cook chuckles, etching an artistic curled design into the icing of the cookie in front of him.

‘It’s because they are made with love, Miss Daisy’ he replies.

Leaving him to his work, I head back into the café, leaning over and resting my elbows on the counter as I stare around the empty space.

As I sigh heavily to myself, the bell above my door jangles as it’s pushed open, and I shove upright just before the doorway is filled with the hulking form of the man that haunts me in more ways than one, Noah Waycott.

Gone is the gangly teen that openly drooled over me when I stayed over for the night with his sister. Back then he was annoying at best, a pain in my ass at worst and I spent my time smacking down his crude attempts to flirt with me.

Now, he is, unfortunately, all man, the well defined and muscular frame of the twenty four year old hasn’t faded at all despite his football career ending injury. It’s something I have tried and failed not to notice for a while now, which has only gotten harder due to my complete lack of male interest for well over a year now.

I pretend to organise the cakes in the display cabinet beside me, as I sneak another look at Noah who allows the door to swing shut behind him before fixing his gaze on me, those deep blue, brooding eyes capturing me in a way they shouldn’t.

His muscles flex as he strides toward me, that cocky grin on his face as his piercing blue eyes rake over me with the same obvious interest of his youth. He still trains and works out like a man who is headed to the big time, and we all thought he would get there too if Seona’s douche of an ex husband hadn’t have stolen it from him.

My mouth goes a little dry as I peek at him from the corner of my eye, trying not to be too obvious as I take in his too tight shirt that shows off a well defined six pack. The sleeves barely contain his biceps, which I have no doubt would be able to hold any woman up against a wall as he pounds into them for hours. . . . God, I bet he has stamina for days, and that wicked tongue can no doubt curl more than sexy words around it.

I shake myself out of my sudden lewd thoughts, Jesus, what the hell! pack it in Daisy! He’s Seona’s little brother for Christ sake!

Maybe I need to think about getting myself laid . . . I should ring around my friends and try and coax one of them out for the evening. I bet I could find someone in a bar to deal with the dry spell I seem to be having, I haven’t been on a date in well over a year . . maybe it’s time to put myself out there, because if I’m having that particular thought, I obviously need something!

I shove down the embarrassing thoughts that keep trying to crowd my mind, and put on my best disgruntled expression instead, the one that I reserve especially for the man in front of me.

‘Don’t you have anywhere else you can get your lunch?’ I sigh huffily, ‘that bistro across town has a twenteen behind the register, I’m sure she’d enjoy your lame ass pick up lines.’

Noah grins wickedly at me, just the look on his face makes my lower region clench, because Noah Waycott has definitely grown into seven levels of sin wrapped up in a s*x package, not that I have noticed any such thing because he is too young, too full of ego and I’m just blatantly not interested.

‘Support the enemy?’ he replies, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over the front of his chest, making everything bulge, damn him! ‘Ma would kill me, bury me, dig me up, and shock me back to life just so she could skin me alive and burn my whimpering body.’