Chapter Six: The Man Behind the Daisies

Anastasia Greene Johnson

  It was far too early in the morning to be sweeping shards of a vase off the floor. But apparently, that argument held no weight with my son.

  It was the third thing he’d managed to break since last week with that remote-controlled airplane he was attempting to build—and still couldn’t quite get right. And apparently, giving up simply wasn’t in his vocabulary, no matter how many times I’d asked him to since last week.

  Raising a stubborn little human had never felt harder. It was high time I stopped handing him my phone. Other children his age were glued to cartoons, while mine was forever watching videos about building something new every other week.

  Honestly, how does he even understand this stuff already?! What on earth is wrong with my son?

  Then again, it wasn’t exactly a mystery where those peculiar traits had come from. Certainly not me, that much I knew. The thought left a familiar bitterness curling at the corners of my mouth.

  I’d already woken up late, and after cleaning up the disaster zone, there was no time left for a workout. Not that I needed one anymore. I’d had quite enough exercise already. I headed straight for the shower, determined not to repeat yesterday’s lateness.

  The morning slipped into its usual rhythm as I prepared Ruslan for school. And, thankfully, I reached the restaurant just on time, relieved to have a moment to catch my breath. The moment I pushed through the thick glass doors, I spotted Mrs. Stanfield by reception, chatting with Gerald, the manager.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stanfield,” I greeted her politely, making a subtle point of arriving on time today.

“Same to you, love. I see you’ve made it on time today.” She answered with her usual sunny smile.

  I blushed slightly. I had always been a sucker for kind words. Then again, it wasn’t as though I was special. Mrs. Stanfield had a habit of addressing everyone with affectionate little endearments. Very British of her.

  Gerald turned away to get on with his managerial duties, giving me the perfect opening to ask about Alexander.

“So, ma’am, if you don’t mind, may I ask you something?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“Well, yesterday—”

  Her phone rang before I could finish.

“Ah, sorry, love. I have to take this,” she excused herself. “I’ll talk to you later, Ana.”

  Then she wandered off, phone pressed against her ear.

  Ugh. Typical.

  I needed to know why Alexander seemed so familiar with her. No, I wasn’t trying to play paparazzi. I was simply curious. That was all.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Stanfield was nowhere to be found again for the rest of the day. As usual, she was busier than a one-legged man in a backside-kicking contest. So I gave up and headed into the kitchen to get on with my work.

  Brynn arrived a while later and looked surprised to see me already there. She immediately asked whether Ruslan had skipped school. Of course she’d jump to that conclusion. I told her about the morning’s chaos, and she simply laughed, saying that at least he was a genius.

  Not exactly helpful.

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  Once the breakfast rush died down, the restaurant became noticeably quieter than usual. Fewer customers, fewer voices, fewer plates clattering about. I decided to steal a little time for myself and get some fresh air.

  There was a small garden at the back of the restaurant where I often went to recharge before finishing my shift. I sat on the bench for a while, breathing in the sweet scents drifting from the flowers. They stirred old memories—some warm, others I would rather have left buried.

  The freshly bloomed daisies in the far corner caught my eye, making me smile. I loved daisies. They didn’t have the intoxicating fragrance of roses or lilies, but there was something quietly cheerful about them, a sort of gentle optimism that could brighten even the dullest day.

  I brushed my fingers over their delicate petals. Then I plucked one, tucked it into my hair and pulled out my phone to take a picture.

  That was when a man stepped through the garden door.

  The moment I saw his face, I froze.

  Alexander.

  Again.

  Wait—what the heck? What is he doing here? How did he even find this place?

  I watched the celebrity stroll casually towards the garden, completely unaware of me behind the tall bushes.

  Great. What am I supposed to do now? Run? Hide?

  Apparently, hiding won the argument because, a second later, I was crouched behind the bushes.

  Then I had absolutely no idea why I was hiding from him. Still, I remained perfectly still. I could practically sense Alexander drawing closer, and the musky, woody scent of his cologne reached me before he did, completely drowning out the fragrance of the flowers.

  I slowly crawled towards the opposite end of the daisy patch, hoping to slip away unnoticed. Somehow, it worked. The only casualty was my dignity—and the green stains now decorating my clothes.

“Whew! Thank God,” I breathed.

  When I glanced back, Alexander was standing among the flowers, hands buried in his jeans pockets, his expression lost somewhere far away. He looked almost sombre as he stared at the daisies, as though they had dredged up some memory he’d rather forget. Or perhaps he was simply exhausted from the relentless machinery of his life.

  I watched him for a moment, but guilt soon began scratching at the back of my mind.

  No. This isn’t right. I can’t stand here spying on him like some creep when he doesn’t even know I’m there. I also have a job to attend to.

  I was about to sneak towards the exit when Mrs. Stanfield suddenly stepped outside.

  I nearly launched myself behind the bench. “Holy crap—”

  Jesus Christ! Why do I keep doing this?! Why am I hiding from them like I’ve committed a crime?

  Mrs. Stanfield walked over to Alexander and began chatting with him as though they were old friends—or perhaps affectionate relatives. Alexander was remarkably respectful towards her; his gestures made that much obvious.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their familiarity was impossible to miss.

  At this point, the whole thing was starting to itch at my brain. Still, this definitely wasn’t the place to interrogate them. They’d probably assume I was some obsessed fan who had been eavesdropping.

  So, before I could make an even bigger fool of myself, I left.

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  When I returned to the kitchen, Brynn looked horrified at the sight of me.

“Did you take a tumble in the garden instead of just enjoying the view?” she asked.

  Cornered, I told her everything. For approximately three seconds, she looked intrigued.

  Then she dismissed the whole thing.

  Clearly, Alexander wasn’t remotely her type. Brynn had a very specific taste in men: older, dangerous-looking bad boys and fictional mob bosses straight out of dark romance novels.

  Ironically, her actual boyfriend, Nicholás Fernández, was practically the polar opposite.

  Well, not entirely. Nick was a little older than Brynn, but he certainly wasn’t a bad boy, let alone a mob boss. He was a decent man who worked as a real estate agent in Columbia.

  They’d been together for nearly three years and were clearly madly in love, despite the long-distance relationship.

  Truly, distance was hardly the end of the world where love was involved.

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  By the time my shift ended, there hadn’t been a single hint of the chaos I’d expected from having a celebrity in the building.

  So Alexander really just came and left without causing a stir? How is that even possible?

  On my way towards the exit, however, I spotted Mrs. Stanfield in the bar area, apparently giving Lara another lecture.

  Honestly, this was becoming a regular feature. Lara was far too touchy with the customers, and it was beginning to tarnish Cloud Nine’s reputation.

  Still, this was my chance.

“Mrs. Stanfield!” I called urgently.

  She turned around, exhaustion etched across her face. But the moment she saw me, her expression softened.

“Oh, hello. Looks like you’ve finished your shift.”

“I have. I stopped because I remembered there was something I meant to ask you this morning.”

“Oh, that’s right! I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. Otherwise, I would’ve come and asked you myself,” she said apologetically.

“No, no, that’s absolutely fine. You’re a very busy woman. Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was about. . .” I hesitated.

“About?” she prompted, eyeing my nervous expression.

“Haha. . . I was just curious. I’m sorry if this is somehow offensive—”

“Oh, honey, spit it out. You know I don’t offend easily.” She laughed.

  I chuckled and nodded. “Well, um. . . it’s about Alexander. You know, yesterday, it seemed like you two were rather close.”

“I see. So that’s what this is about?” She laughed softly. “I suppose it’s easy enough for people to think that. After all, that boy happens to be my nephew.”

  She said it as casually as if she’d just mentioned the weather.

  I stared at her. For far longer than was socially acceptable.

  She has to be joking.

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