“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I am. I miss her. A lot.”
He blinked rapidly, horrified when his vision blurred.
“Uh, so how do you like your dress for the wedding?” He changed the subject and left the table abruptly, ostensibly to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He took a moment to compose himself while his back was to her.
“It’s pretty. Daisy says it’s exactly like the other bridesmaid dresses, only theirs are knee-length and mine is long. I’ve always wanted a long dress. And I’ve never been a bridesmaid before.”
Shortly after Charlie had moved in with the McGregors, Daisy had insisted that her new sister be included in the bridal party. Charlie had initially played it cool, but it was clear to see that she was very excited about it. Spencer didn’t know how complicated these things were, but evidently it had taken some doing getting a dress organized for Charlie on such short notice. But somehow, apparently against all odds, they had managed to pull it off. Spencer turned to face the smiling teen and felt his own mouth quirk in response to her sheer happiness. He really didn’t care about the particulars—what mattered was the end result. And—if Charlie’s bright and excited face was anything to go by—the result was pretty damned great.
He was so damned grateful for Charlie. So happy to have the opportunity to provide a stable home for her. He had no real idea how to raise a girl, but he knew where she came from and he would make damned sure that nothing in her life from here on out was anything like she had experienced in the past.
“I’m glad you’re here, Charlie,” he said, that gruffness creeping back into his voice, and this time Charlie was the one blinking rapidly.
“I guess I am, too,” she finally admitted, then added with that usual air of teenage insouciance, “I mean, you’re not that bad for a boring old fart. And you are letting me have a dog.”
It was an ambush, plain and simple. Daff knew Shar Bridges would be at the only salon in Riversend for her bimonthly dye job and caught her as she exited the salon.
“Why the hell did you tell all of my boyfriends that I was into BDSM?” Daff launched at the other woman without preamble. Firing on all cylinders was the only way to get results with Shar, and Daff knew that stating her suspicion as fact would get the most honest reaction from the other woman.
“Daff. I hear you’ve been spending time with that mouth breather Spencer Carlisle. Slumming, are we?”
Daff inhaled deeply. Oh man, the bitch was courting a slap, and it would be Daff’s greatest pleasure to lay one on her.
Don’t lose focus, Daff! Keep it together.
“Answer the question, Shar.”
“Why should I?” Shar asked laconically, showing her disinterest in Daff and anything she might have to say by keeping her focus on her phone and lazily scrolling through her texts and e-mails.
“Oh, I don’t know . . .” Daff mused. “Maybe because of Ryan Casey? Or Dirk Pieterse? And let’s not forget Bryan Pienaar.”
Shar’s head shot up, and she went paler with each name Daff itemized.
“You wouldn’t!” Shar gasped, and Daff’s lips quirked.
“I so would. And those are just the names off the top of my head. If I really put my mind to it, I’m sure I could come up with many more. Now you tell me what I want to know, or your husband and I are going to have a very interesting conversation.” Shar was married to an extremely wealthy man, old enough to be her father. She loved the lifestyle that went hand in hand with being his wife but cheated on him quite indiscriminately. The older man cheated on her, too, but they both enjoyed pretending nothing was amiss with their marriage.
“I remember you once telling us that Frank’s an old-fashioned man . . . cheating’s all well and good as long as you’re discreet about it, right? He won’t like learning that half of the town knows that you’re sleeping around on him.”
“You and your fucking sisters,” Shar hissed suddenly. “With your perfect parents and your perfect lives and your perfect bond. You were always so perfectly fucking insufferable.”
“Why did you tell those lies about me?” Daff pressed, ignoring the bitter diatribe.
“It wasn’t a lie, though, was it? You stayed with Jake for three years, and he was heavily into that shit.”
“Wait, you didn’t tell Jake I was into bondage?”
“No. You saw Jake and decided you wanted him. And perfect Daffodil McGregor always got exactly what she wanted. Jake and I were . . . I liked him.” Daff blinked in surprise.
“But you introduced us,” she reminded her, a little blindsided by the revelation that Shar had liked Jake.
“Because he took one look at you and forgot all about me, didn’t he? He demanded an introduction, and that was it. Daff got the guy. Of course, I knew about his little bondage games—I quite enjoyed them.”