His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

now. I doubted my bangs in 7th grade and Melody was right there to tell me, who cares what Shonna in 8th grade says, if you like them, then own it!

“It’s not insane if you want it. You want to marry Donny?” I ask.

“I do. It’s not just what you see, you know. There’s more to him. He comes off like a lazy asshole, I know. Trust me, I know,” she fiddles nervously with her hoop earring. “But he takes care of me in ways that I never had.” Her gaze goes out the windshield and I realize now we’re both just looking for all the things that we never had but always wanted. Love, security, money, all of it.

“No dream is too small. He never tells me I’m stupid. He always reminds me how much I can do. He loves me, you know?” her eyes go dreamy for a moment and it’s a way I haven’t seen her behave in ages. It occurs to me then that Melody’s been under a lot of stress for a long time, too.

“I know. You should do it, Mel. Do what you want. You’ve earned it,” I reach over and grab her hand with mine, squeeze her once before bringing my hands back to throw my long hair up into a ponytail. “I’ll miss you,” I say, smiling.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Brooks.”

I shrug. I don’t want it to cloud her happiness. “Let’s go,” I push the door open, “You can get fired but I can’t,” I toss her a playful wink and we enter the house we’d been parked in front of and get to work.

All there is for me now is work.

Once I realized my mom drank far more than what was normal and acceptable, I was too worried to leave her. Afraid that if I was gone too long, she’d drink too much, leading to me being up all night, pacing the hallways and checking her pulse, turning her on her side and making sure she stayed that way. In my mind, if I never left, I could always protect her. When my friends went to the movies or rollerblading, I stayed home to make sure I was there, in case. I still remember fourth of July weekend when I was thirteen years old.

Mom had promised to come home straight after work but instead came home at two o’clock in the morning on the fifth, not knowing where she was or who she’d been with. As soon as I heard the scratching on the front door, I knew she’d been dropped off and was doing her usual “struggle with the keys” routine. I’d pulled her in, black out drunk, and put her on the couch. After taking off her shoes, getting the sick bowl, water and aspirin, I refused to stay up and just sit by her side, nervous and anxious all night like I usually did. Instead, I stayed up the remainder of the night trying to make French macarons. I failed the first four times but with the desire to keep my hands and mind busy, I got them close. And it was that morning at 6am, exhaustion and worry the only thing keeping me standing, that I realized baking was something I enjoyed. And it kept my mind occupied from my problems.

Over the course of the next five years, I’d make nearly 1,200 French macarons and many cakes, cupcakes, sugar cookies and far more. The best part of baking out of anxiety and worry is that I never wanted to eat any of it, my stomach always the state of turmoil, waiting to see if mom would come through each bender or not. Around the time I was fifteen, Melody’s parents had split and her mom was coming to visit my mom a lot more. They partied together, leaving Melody and I at my house together. Instead of being scared alone, we baked together. And Melody fell in love with baking, too.

Mom always told me I needed to go to college. “Cookies are great but they don’t put a roof over your head,” she’d say. To make her happy, I enrolled in a junior college and spent a good chunk of money I’d earned at the Stop’n’Save buying books, registering for general education classes I didn’t want to take, and bus passes. Without a car, I relied heavily on public transportation and nothing in life makes you want to be financially free as much as public transportation does.

With mom gone and Melody pursuing her baking dreams, I was left wondering what to do with myself. I could go to culinary school, too, but in three years when the debt was paid off, I’d be nearing twenty-four—most bakers have finished school and done apprenticeships by that age. Would I ever get my foot in the door? I didn’t usually even let myself think this far ahead because it just brought me stress but with Melody moving forward, it made me think. And I returned to the same thought.

All there is for me now is work.

18

Brooks

I’m so fucking mad at myself for not telling Britta about Darcy. I had plenty of opportunities—especially since I’d told her about Lucy. I’d never told any of the agency girls—including Darcy—about Lucy. No one knew I’d been married before, except my business partner. While the reasons I didn’t tell her ended up coming true, the outcome could’ve been far less detrimental had I just told her. Why hadn’t I told her? She definitely misunderstood the relationship I had with Darcy but still, I’d broken her trust after what had happened with Nolan. As it was, she’d been through such a huge amount of trauma in the last few years, all she needed was a safe place, love and care. That’s all. And I fucked it up. Omissions, I’d learned in business, are as good as lies. And no one wants to be with a liar.

She didn’t want