Daphne's Questionable Bet, page 11
“That I should have worn a hazmat suit? Yes, you should have.”
Bentley hopped in the front, smiling wide at everyone, completely oblivious that we were all grossed out by his car, including Sierra, who had her fingers pressed against the bottom of her nose like she was trying to hold in a sneeze, but was really probably trying to block the smell.
“Who’s ready for some fun?” Bentley asked, starting up the car.
Weston and I shared a smile, and I realized we were still leaning toward each other. I casually righted myself, looking out the window as Bentley pulled away from the curb. Mom and Cody were both standing in the doorway, arms around each other, both waving.
“Okay, who is that?” Sierra asked, turning around to face me. “I’ve seen him over at your place a lot.”
“Sounds like you’ve been spying on me,” I said.
Her cheeks flared. “You live next door to me, Daphne. There are some things I can’t avoid, even if I want to.”
Bentley quickly glanced back at me before turning his eyes back to the road. “I’m dying to know, too.”
“He’s really hot,” Sierra said.
Bentley pretended like he was rubbing a long beard. “Love the beard on the guy. Do you think I can pull that off?”
“No,” Sierra and I said at the same time.
He’d look so weird in a beard. I glanced over at Weston, taking in his reddish-brown hair. I reached up and rubbed his cheek. “Is your facial hair red?”
His cheeks flared, and I realized I was touching his face. Who does that? I snatched my hand away, tucking it under my leg so I wouldn’t do anything else weird with it.
“I think Weston would look awesome with a beard,” Bentley said.
Sierra put up a hand. “We’re getting off-topic here. Who was that guy, Daphne?”
Ugh. I was hoping she’d forget about that.
I could say Cody was my uncle, but Bentley had already seen him and my mom flirt. Also, there was a chance Sierra could come home one night and see my mom and Cody making out in his car. She’d think she was either making out with her brother, or her dead husband’s brother, neither of which were ideal.
But if I told them the truth, Sierra might mock me. She might mock my mom. Or get her mom to try and sabotage Mom and Cody’s relationship like she did with Mom and Dad.
Wait. Maybe that would be a good thing. Make Mom realize how ridiculous it was for her to date a twenty-four-year-old.
“He and my mom are dating,” I finally said, hoping I wouldn’t regret it.
“What!” Sierra’s eyes practically bulged from her sockets. “How old is he?”
Even though I wasn’t happy with the situation, I had a sudden urge to defend my mom. I mean, really, they were both adults.
“Old enough to date my mom,” I said with a snappy tone. “I mean, Nick Jonas married a woman ten years older than him.”
“So, they’re ten years apart?” Bentley asked.
“More or less.” With an emphasis on the more.
“She looks happy,” Weston said, smiling at me.
I returned the smile. “She is.” As much as it pained me to admit, she was happy. But I’d be keeping a very close eye on the guy.
Sierra scoffed. “So weird.”
With pinched eyebrows and the saltiest glare I could muster, I opened my mouth, ready to tell her off, but Weston’s warm hand landed on mine. As soon as my gaze—which had immediately softened at his touch—landed on our hands, he quickly yanked his hand away and held it close to his chest, his worried eyes telling me he wished he could take the moment back. He offered an apologetic shrug and unsure smile.
When I smiled warmly back, he blew out a relieved breath. He’d only been trying to stop me from lashing out at Sierra, and it was probably a good thing he had.
Maybe it was a good thing he was with us. He read me as well as Veronica or Taylor did and knew when to stop me from doing something stupid.
Chapter Twenty-One
The bookstore we went to was everything I dreamed of and more. The moment we stepped inside the quaint store, that lovely, intoxicating smell of books welcomed me, and I wanted to bathe in it. Honestly, it should be bottled up as a fragrance because I would douse myself in all that enticing glory and prance around for everyone to enjoy it.
“Do you think they’d let me move in?” I asked, staring at all the rows of books.
Weston chuckled next to me. “I’ve always wondered that same thing. The smell alone is amazing.” He looked at me, his nose slightly inched up with his crooked smile. “You know how people say they enter Disneyland, and they suddenly breathe in the smell of Main Street, and they feel like they’re home?”
“It is a great smell.” I twisted my lips in thought. “Well, that I can remember. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to Disneyland.”
Weston glanced around the bookstore, a sense of wonder in his eyes. “That’s how I feel about this place.”
Bentley came up on the other side of me, one hand in his pocket, the other scratching the back of his head. “So, what are we supposed to do in here?”
I threw my arms wide. “Soak it in. Bask in the moment.”
Sierra had wandered down an aisle, perusing the books. It seemed like she knew exactly where she was going, like she’d been here before. Did she like to read?
I motioned to her. “Take a look around, Bentley. Check out the different genres and titles. Read the first few paragraphs of a book that catches your eye.”
He scrunched his face. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It’ll be worth it, I promise,” Weston said.
Bentley linked his fingers together and pushed them out in front of him, his knuckles cracking. “Let’s do this.” He headed for the aisle right in front of him and picked up the first book he saw. He turned it so we could see. A lady in a skimpy outfit clung to the bare chest of a muscular guy, both staring at each other like they wanted to devour the other. “Now, this looks promising.”
I covered my mouth, holding back my laugh.
“Classic,” Weston said. “One of my favorites.”
Bentley cocked his head to the side. “Really?” He skimmed the pages of the book, settling on a page toward the middle.
“I’m kidding.” Weston pointed to the right of the store. “Try the crime thrillers over there. They’re my real favorites.”
Bentley’s eyes were wide as he read, his face scrunching up in disgust. “Okay, my mom reads books like this, and now that I know what’s inside, I’m totally grossed out.”
A middle-aged lady waddled down the aisle, stopping next to him. “The best scene is on page two-thirty-five.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Always gets me going.” With a wink at him, she sauntered toward the cashier, a stack of romance books in her arms.
Bentley gently tucked the book back into its spot, barely touching it, the look of disgust on his face not gone. “So, where are these crime thrillers?”
With a laugh, Weston took off toward the right. “Follow me.”
Bentley was quick at his heels.
It gave me a moment alone in the bookstore. Aside from the rows of books, there were couches and chairs lined up around the perimeter, all cushy and inviting. Origami of all different sizes was randomly scattered through the store, all folded from pages from a book. 3D artwork lined the walls, all from book pages that had been shaped and painted. One was a bouquet of flowers, the stems made from old spines.
I stopped in front of one, staring at it with a smile. The artist had created a masterpiece, using the pages to create waves in the ocean, a sandy shore, birds flying in the air, and seashells on the sand.
“Don’t worry,” an older gentleman said next to me. “I only use books that have been so loved, they’re no longer staying together.” He stared at the picture. “Why throw a book away when you can turn it into something else to love?”
“You made these?” I asked, not able to hide the awe in my tone.
He turned to me, grinning, showing off what had to be dentures. “Keeps me busy when the store is slow.”
“Do you own this place, too?”
He nodded. “Opened it all the way back in nineteen-seventy-four with my sweetheart.”
I glanced around. “Is she here? I’d love to meet her. This store is amazing.”
Smoothing the top of his white hair, he shook his head. “She passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Using his finger, he brushed some dust off a 3D bird. “She lived a good life. I buried her with all her favorite books, so she’ll have something to keep her occupied until I join her.”
This was hands down the most adorable story I’d ever heard.
“What did she like to read?”
He chuckled, all raspy and wet. “Horrors. That woman loved to be scared.”
“Sounds like we’d get along.” My perma-wedgie was starting to get to me, ruining this whole moment. I wanted to pick it so badly, but there was no way I was doing it in front of someone. Especially not an old man talking about his late wife.
His white, bushy eyebrows shot up. “You read horrors?”
“I know it doesn’t match with me,” I said, motioning to the pink Cherry Coke sweatshirt and Dutch braids. “But I’m a sucker for them.”
I’d always had a great relationship with books, and now “Sucker” was officially our love song.
He pointed a wrinkly finger at a spiraled set of stairs near the back. “Margot’s favorites are up in the loft. There’s a whole shelf of them. Why don’t you go pick one out? On the house.”
I quickly shook my head. “I can pay for it. I want to pay for it.”
There was a twinkle in his eyes. “Buy one get one free. Special offer that you can’t pass up.”
“I think I can handle that,” I said with a smile.
Getting up the old spiral staircase was more difficult than I thought it would be. Mostly because of my too-tight pleather pants and too-small underwear. The pants made a weird squeak with every step.
I was practically winded when I got to the top of the stairs. The moment I looked around, though, a new high entered my system, and the Stranger Things theme song gave my mind the ambiance it needed.
A black couch and end tables sat in the middle of the loft. The black coffee table was decorated with skulls, spiders, and everything scary.
The black shelf on the left had a sign that said, Customers’ Favorite Horror Picks. Fake spiderwebs clung to the sides of the shelves, adding the perfect creepy feel.
On the wall straight ahead was a black shelf with a sign that said, Margot’s Little Shop of Horrors.
With a smile, I headed straight for that shelf. I perused the titles, my fingers hovering next to them, but not quite touching the books. When I passed over one, my spidey-senses tingled. Sorry, Captain America, but Spiderman would always be a part of my life. The Tom Holland version.
I picked up the book, and something inside me warmed, like I needed to read this book. Flipping it over, I read the summary on the back.
My wedgie was so far up that I really needed to do something about it. After a quick glance around, I noticed I was the only one on the loft, so I set about the task of fixing my stupid underwear.
Problem was, it was such a small pair to begin with, there wasn’t much material to pick out. But even what I did get out gave me the slightest relief.
“This place is awesome!” Bentley’s sudden voice behind me made me jump, sending the book I was holding into the air.
It thudded on the ground, and I cringed at the sound, like I’d just dropped a masterpiece, totally disrespecting it. I quickly bent down and scooped it up, wiping off the sides and front.
Sierra let out a mixture of shock and laughter. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
I looked over my shoulder at her. “What?”
She was staring wide-eyed at my backside. In fact, so was Bentley.
I pressed my hand to my butt, and my own horror story started right up. My pants had torn. Right down the middle of my butt, exposing not only my Care Bear underwear, but way too much skin for my liking. Well, no skin would be my ideal liking. And no underwear showing. And pants without rips.
I didn’t know where to turn. I didn’t want to face them with my bright red face and their shocked expressions, but I didn’t want my backside facing them either.
I twisted side to side, not knowing what to do. Heat flared inside me, and my lungs started to burn. Breathe. I needed to breathe.
Weston trotted up the stairs, pausing when he saw Bentley and Sierra still staring at me.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Oh no. Another person to add to the humiliating situation.
Bentley just pointed at me, like he had no idea what to do. That made two of us.
I needed to cover up. I tried to take off my sweatshirt, but my arms were practically locked into place, not bending how I wanted them to.
Sierra lifted her phone like she was going to take a picture.
Weston gasped. “Oh.”
Now my sweatshirt was stuck over my head as I tried to tug it off. Footsteps pounded toward me, and suddenly two warm arms wrapped around my waist, tying something around me.
“Your sweatshirt is too short,” Weston said. He tugged it back down so I could see. He’d taken off his zippered hoodie and tied it around my waist.
I couldn’t breathe. Why was this happening to me?
Bentley and Sierra argued in the background, but I couldn’t make out their words. Everything closed in on me. Each breath was ragged and quick, drying out my lips. I slid down to the ground, pulling my legs into my chest and rocking.
What was I supposed to do during a panic attack? My mind reeled but came up empty. All I could do was breathe in a deep wheeze, my chest heaving in and out.
Weston knelt in front of me, softly putting his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe, Daphne. Slow it down.”
Slow, yes, that was what I needed to do. Slow my breaths. But how?
“What did Veronica have you do?” he asked, his eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Oh, yeah, happy thoughts, right?”
I nodded, my head bouncing as rapidly as my breathing.
Weston glanced at my sweatshirt. “Cherry Coke. Um, Captain America. Care Be …” He trailed off, his eyes going wide. “Probably not them right now.”
I shook my head. Definitely not Care Bears right now. I mean, sharing was caring, but not like this!
“What else?” Weston kept his tone low and even, calming me. “Your mom. Veronica. Taylor. Uh. Grandparents? Oh. Pets?”
My head shook so fast, I worried it would fall off.
“No pets,” Weston said with a nod. “Just breathe, okay? Slow your breathing. Everything is okay, I promise.”
“Is there something I can do?” Bentley asked, kneeling next to Weston.
“Get her some water,” Weston said.
With a nod and a soft smile thrown my way, Bentley stood and trotted down the stairs. Sierra had sat down on the couch, her arms folded in a pout. What could she possibly be upset about? She wasn’t the one who got humiliated.
I hadn’t noticed my breathing had sped back up until Weston placed a finger under my chin and turned my head away from Sierra and toward him.
“Slow down,” he said, concern in his eyes. “Don’t worry about her. She doesn’t matter.”
She shouldn’t, but she did. Everyone’s opinion of me mattered. I hated that about myself. I shouldn’t care what they thought.
I needed to shut out the noise, like stupid Sierra and my pessimistic thoughts.
“In and out,” Weston said, soft like Veronica always did.
Happy thoughts.
“In and out,” he said.
Dancing in the kitchen with my family as we cooked dinner. Trips to Disneyland.
“In and out.”
My dad’s laugh. Our family hikes in the Wasatch Mountains in Utah.
“In and out.”
Making snow angels with Mom and Dad in the front yard.
The burn in my lungs subsided, my breaths slowing down.
Bentley came back up the stairs with a bottle of water and handed it to me. The cool water felt nice against my dry throat.
“Are you done freaking out?” Sierra asked.
“Sierra!” Both Weston and Bentley shouted. She shrunk back on the couch, her face turning red.
I smacked my dry lips together. I needed Chapstick. Pronto. My shaking hands tried to open my bag.
“What do you need?” Bentley asked.
“Chapstick,” I managed to squeak out.
Bentley unzipped my bag and rummaged inside until he came back out with my cherry Chapstick. He grinned as he handed it to me. “Why am I not surprised it’s cherry?”
My lips absorbed the moisture, immediately reducing the sting. “Much better.”
“You okay to get up?” Weston asked.
“I think I’d rather curl up in the corner and die if that’s okay with you guys.”
Weston glanced at Bentley, then back at me. “No one will ever know this happened, we promise.”
Bentley held up his hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t tell a soul.”
They both turned to Sierra, their eyes narrowing in on her.
With a huff, she rolled her eyes. “You already made me delete the photos.” When they continued staring, she grunted. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone, okay? What happens in the bookstore, stays in the bookstore.”
Bentley relaxed, satisfied by her words, but both Weston and I stayed a little stiff. No way Sierra could keep something this juicy to herself. Thank goodness Bentley made her delete the photos.
It would be her word against ours.
Weston held out his hand and helped me to my feet. His warm arm wrapped around my waist, holding me steady. “Think you can walk down the stairs?”
I slowly nodded. “I think so.” I pointed to the book on the ground. “I want that book, though. It talked to my soul.”
Bending down, Bentley snatched it up, his eyes roaming the cover. “A creepy mansion with the title dripping blood speaks to your soul?”
