Twist of Fate Louise, Tia (read dune .txt) 📖

She’d exhale a noise of resignation and go back to hand-washing the dishes. Sometimes she’d break one.

Sometimes, when she was sitting in her chair, tearing the pages in one of dad’s old books, she’d tell me to forget about trying to be pretty.

“Smart is the only thing that matters,” she’d say. “No matter how pretty you are, it’s our fate to be alone.”

I didn’t know what she meant. I thought she was pretty. I can still see her hair shimmering like turned maple in the sunshine, rare and beautiful, and I was here.

She left us in late May. I don’t know what finally made her do it.

I was a junior in high school, listening to boy bands and wishing my stick-straight blonde hair would have the slightest bend. I had a crush on the cute boy in my Algebra 2 class, but he turned out to be a real dickhead.

“Don’t ever expect a man to put your dreams ahead of his.” Fear knotted my throat as I watched her slamming her clothes into the open suitcase. “Men are selfish, self-centered… You have to look out for yourself. Men won’t make you happy.”

What about me? The question pressed against the insides of my temples. Daisy means happy. She’d told me a thousand times. The daisy is the happiest flower. I could make her happy.

I followed her to the door, unable to make my voice work, and she paused one last time. “I’ll send for you as soon as I’m settled.”

But she never did.

She wasn’t the person I thought, either. She threw us away like old trash. Then one day, standing in a junkyard, someone magical found me...

One

Daisy

It’s a giant cock.

Shoving a curl behind my ear, I wrap my arms around the oversized metal rooster, doing my best to lift it out of the back of my light blue Ford Bronco without destroying the paint.

Last time I scavenged Owen Pepper’s junkyard was senior year with my cousin Joselyn, who we all call Sly. Scout was there with his brother J.R. helping us move the heavier scrap.

I can still see him, golden brown hair flopping over his forehead attractively, golden skin and lean muscles flexing as he worked. His shirt lifted, revealing his luscious, lined torso, the V that disappeared into his jeans…

He caught me looking. Then he smiled and asked me to homecoming. Then he kissed me.

That was years ago, before I left for college, before I got my degree in interior design with a focus on antiquities. Before I offered to help my aunt transform her late husband’s family home in Fireside into a bed and breakfast.

“Where the hell did you find that thing?” Spencer Carrollton scowls down at me, snapping me from my trip down memory lane.

He stands at the top of the red-brick steps leading to the front porch of Aunt Regina’s massive colonial. I offered to fix it up for her if she’d let me use it to build my résumé.

“I found it in Owen Pepper’s junkyard.” Where I find all my treasures. Pausing on the sidewalk, I squint up at him. “Don’t give me a hand or anything.”

My hopefully future coworker is dressed in navy pants and a tan blazer over a light blue tee. His dark hair is cut short and slicked back from his face. With that square jaw, he’s totally Tom Ellis, prepared for a three-martini lunch, not helping me.

“A metal rooster? Seriously, Daisy. When I worked with Miles Klaut on the Sledge House, we designed the concept based on the native birds of south Louisiana. Each room was anchored by a massive Audubon print, the blue heron, the brown pelican. It was featured in Antiquities Today.”

“That’s not Fireside.” Shaking my head, I grip the giant yard bird around the neck and take the steps one by one so I don’t fall. It’s as tall as I am, and in my tank and denim overalls, the metal edges prick at my skin.

“Maybe not, but you have the power to transform Fireside… And possibly a moral imperative to do so.” He strides to the side of the porch with a sniff. “This old place has such stunning curb appeal. The interior should be equally stunning.”

“Aunt Regina doesn’t want stunning. She wants cozy. She specifically said it should be a place where anyone might feel instantly at home, surrounded by warmth.”

“Red checks equal warmth?”

“It’s one tablecloth.” I drag the sculpture up the final step. “And aren’t we supposed to give the client what he or she wants?”

“Yes, but we also steer them away from design faux pas.”

“Mixing old and new is very on-trend, haven’t you heard?”

“Says who? Elle Décor? Didn’t they also say arches were out? Idiots.”

“I’m making it fun.”

As I lift it, the bird turns in my arms and the metal beak scrapes across my bicep. “Ow! Shit…”

Spencer leans in for a closer look. “The skin isn’t broken. Luckily.” He tugs the denim strap of my overalls. “You should wear long sleeves if you’re going to be digging around in a junkyard. You’ll get tetanus.”

“I won’t get tetanus. Hold the door.”

“You’re bringing it in the house? Isn’t this more of a yard ornament?”

“It’s going in the kitchen.”

“Seriously, I thought you were trying to showcase your style with this job.” His snobby tone makes me even more defiant.

“You’ll like it when I’m done.

“Doubtful. I couldn’t possibly add my name to this renovation.”

“I don’t want your name on this renovation. It’s mine.”

We cross the oak-paneled foyer, and I carry the statue down the narrow hall into the oversized kitchen. It has the same paneling, but the windows make it brighter during the day.

“You should cut this down to wainscoting.” He drags a finger across the wood.

“Maybe.” Pushing around the table, I position the rooster in the back corner. “I found the most amazing gold velvet armchair for the master suite at my dad’s store.”

“Your father has impeccable taste.”

Stepping back, I cross my arms to survey the finished room. Distressed-white cabinets cover most of the walls, and