Kinsley

The boutique Daisy and I are at smells of leather and mothballs, with a hint of laundry detergent. Although the smell reminds me of an old bookstore, the store is relatively new. Daisy says the previous store sold all leather products. It went out of business last year, replaced by the boutique.

It's very modern. The theme is white with splashes of lavender and dark green. Thick white floating shelves line the walls, decorated with a variety of tropical plants and woven baskets. Rustic oak flooring reflects the pendant lighting above. Mannequins line the store's front window. They're wearing a range of outfits. Shorts with a boyfriend-style cardigan. A cute floral summer dress. Jeans with a tank top. Short shorts with a knotted T-shirt.

We've been here for two hours and I've already tried on half the store.

Anything I try on doesn't meet Daisy's expectations. She has specifics for a country-themed bar. I'm still not sure what those are.

Our taste in fashion is very different. Where she like short shorts and tank tops, I'm more of a T-shirt and mid-thigh shorts type of woman. I prefer clothing that is less revealing because of my scars. The scar on my knee is inevitable. I've gotten used to that one. It's the one across my stomach or on my upper thigh. The scar on the left side of my ribcage.

Although I'm making improvements, the physical scars that have mutilated by body are still too fresh. I can feel the pain I experienced. Until I passed out, I felt every ounce of pain. After my time at the hospital, I could feel the lingering ache for months. Sometimes I still can.

Adjusting the brown off-shoulder sweater, I step out to display my hundredth outfit.

"Well, what do you think?" I lift my arms and shrug.

Daisy stands before me. Her blonde hair is styled in soft curls that cascade past her shoulders. She has her arms crossed and a skeptical expression on her face. She's calculating my outfit.

Several seconds pass.

Daisy shakes her head. "Scrap that outfit, darlin'. The dance floor isn't made for high heels."

I glance down at my shoes, shirt, and shorts, frowning. I'm wearing the same shorts as the mannequin. "They're wedges."

"Darlin'," she insists again. "You need a pair of these bad boys."

A pair of cowgirl boots lands next to me with a thump.

Frowning, I lean down and pick them up. They're heavy in my grip. I've never worn a pair of these boots. Noel, Jack, and Daisy are the only ones who wear them. Pairing boots with a dress or pair of short shorts seems strange.

I suppress a sigh, glancing at the boots. Perhaps I'm biased. I love my Converse.

"What do I pair these with?" I ask.

Tapping her lip, Daisy turns around and grabs a dress. It's a slip-on, vintage-inspired white paisley pattern. The V-neckline is deep and alluring. Sexy. As are the volume sleeves and hem. She also grabs a braided brown belt decorated with little flowers.

She turns around, tossing the belt and dress over my shoulder.

"With this," she smiles.

Trying on so many outfits is getting to my head. This started out fun. Now I'm getting frustrated. I want something that's comfortable and modest, but also makes me feel sexy.

"Daisy..."

"Kinsley." She squeezes my shoulder. "Finding the perfect outfit is never easy. Trust me, this one will work."

I give her an uneasy look. Then I turn around and step back into the change room. After hanging the dress and belt, I toss the boots into the corner. Before stripping down, I glance in the mirror. These shorts and knotted T-shirt look good on me. A small smile curves across my mouth. I may have to buy these.

Once I'm in nothing but my underwear and bra, I fold the shorts and shirt up, placing them on the stool in the corner. As I'm reaching for the dress, my eye catches the mirror again. Milky scars decorate my body. A pang of sadness radiates through my chest as I run my fingers over the scar on my ribcage. The skin is rough, and the scar is jagged.

Sighing, I grab the dress and pull it on. Then I pull the boots on. They're comfortable.

When I look in the mirror, I'm taken aback. It looks... it looks good on me. Better than good. It's a beautiful dress that hugs my body shape.

Mads would've loved it.

Tearing my gaze away from the mirror, I grab the belt. Cinching it above my waist is problematic. I'm having issues buckling it up, so I decide Daisy can do it for me.

Belt in hand, I exit the change room and hold the belt out. "I need some help, Daisy. If you don't mind."

She gasps and rests her hands on my shoulders. "Darlin'! You look stunning! You must buy that dress and the boots."

Heat fills my cheeks. I have to look away. Ever since the accident, compliments have been difficult to accept. They make me feel guilty. Like I shouldn't be called beautiful because of my scars and the horrors in my memory.

"I-I don't know," I stutter. My gaze stays locked on my boots. They're brown with little blue flowers.

"Nonsense!" she exclaims. She waves my comment off and takes the belt. "Noel won't be able to take his eyes off of you!" She cinches the belt just above my hips. It adds another level of texture to the outfit.

More like my breasts.

The V-neckline is so deep you can see the shape of my breasts.

But...

They look good on me. Especially with the cowgirl boots and belt. I brush my fingers across my chest. Maybe a delicate necklace will complete the outfit. Perhaps something simple and silver.

"Something's missing," Daisy says. She taps her bottom lip. Her nails are painted a light grey, which contrast against her red lipstick.

Several seconds pass before she snaps her fingers. "A jean jacket and a cowgirl hat!"

She jogs to the display. "We'll also style your hair with loose curls. Highlight your cheekbones—you've got beautiful cheekbones, Kinsley—and add some blush."

Daisy moves like a hurricane. She collects a white cowgirl hat, and a ripped jean jacket, stepping around shelving units and tropical plants with large leaves. All I see are flashes of blonde curls and her red lips.

When she's standing in front of me, Daisy sets the hat on my head. Then she helps me into the jean jacket.

She steps back, nodding. "Yes. That's perfect."

Next time I look in the mirror, I almost start crying. Daisy's right. The outfit is perfect. More accessories are pointless. The simplistic aesthetics of this outfit are gorgeous.

I look gorgeous.

"Daisy..." I whisper.

She grins at me in the mirror. "You should be thankin' me, darlin'." Pausing, she chuckles and shakes her head. "Naw, I expect nothing, Kinsley. This was fun. I enjoyed helpin' you pick out an outfit. Noel will love it."

"You think so?"

Daisy waves off my question. "Damn right. That man won't be able to keep his hands off of you." She ends her sentence with a wink. "If that's what you want."

My cheeks flare. Fine, maybe I have some questionable thoughts about Noel. So what? A woman may fantasize about someone. There's no shame in it. Anyone who shames a woman supports the false slut conduct. Just like anyone who says they've never had an inappropriate thought is a liar.

"Th-thank-you, Daisy. Honestly. This has been..."

I trail off. Last time I went on a shopping excursion that made me happy was with Jessa and Mads. It was just before the accident. We all needed to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. I remember our peppermint hot chocolates, the Christmas music playing in the background, and the glittery decorations.

My gaze flicks at Daisy again. "This has been lots of fun. It means so much to me."

Her smile resonates with me. It's almost pitiful, but not quite. There's pride mixed with melancholy. Which means she must know about the accident. Cole must've told her.

"You know, don't you?"

Daisy casts her gaze to the floor. Her smile falters. "Cole told me. He saw we were becoming friends. He didn't want me saying anything that might upset you. On behalf of Cole, I'm sorry, Kinsley. He should've left the topic alone. It's your story to tell."

I'm not mad at Cole. Instead, I feel... relieved. Him telling Daisy doesn't ruin the trust between us. I like that. For once, I don't have to tell the story. Cole's done that for me. Besides, what I sprang on Cole was intense. Just like me, he needed someone to talk to. I'm glad he told Daisy. Now I don't have to relive the pain and memories.

She squeezes my hand. "Don't be mad at Cole. He's... I've known for a while."

She expels a deep sigh.

"Cole's a good person," I finish. I squeeze her hand. My smile is weak, but it's genuine. I don't know how much more emotion my heart can handle today. With Daisy taking me out and Cole doing me a favour... I'm feeling overwhelmed. I forgot what letting people care about me feels like. "How could I be mad at Cole? He's taken the initial weight off of my shoulders. Daisy, I wanted to tell you. There are just... parts of me that are still healing. Explaining the events of my life is difficult. I just... I want to be the one to tell Noel. Especially if..." I take a deep breath. "If he accepts my date. If things develop between us."

I pause.

"And thank you," I continue. "You've known my story for a while and you haven't treated me differently. I appreciate that. Most people will tiptoe around me once they know."

"Of course," she replies. "Your past doesn't define you, Kinsley. It may play a part in moulding who we are in the present, but it does not define you. You standing here proves that."

We fade off into a comfortable silence, and my chest feels warm but also tight. All these emotions are too much for me. I feel happy. It worries me. Sometimes, I feel like when things get good, something bad will follow.

I know I can't let that feeling control my life.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "What are you doing after?" I ask.

"Nothin' much. My daughter has a soccer game." She glances at her watch. "Speaking of Willow, I need to pick her up from my mom's soon."

Jessa used to play soccer. Both of us did, actually. The accident took soccer away from both of us. It's been years since playing or attending a game.

"Do you... do you think I could come?" I ask. My voice is timid. This is a big step. Although my stomach feels uneasy, I know this is a good idea. Just because I can't play soccer anymore, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. Watching Willow play would be a delight. Although five-year-olds don't have the mindset to correlate skill with competition, their games are never dull.

"Yeah," Daisy smiles. "Maybe we could go out for lunch after."

I smile. "That sounds wonderful."

Glancing down at my dress, my smile broadens. "I'll just, uh, get changed quickly."

"And buy the dress," Daisy says. Her voice is firm and conclusive.

"And buy the dress," I nod.

* * *

Daisy told me about Willow. However, this is my first time meeting her. Upon first glance, Willow looks like her mother. One major difference is Willow's eye colour. Where Daisy's are brown, Willow's eyes are a dark green. Her cheekbones are more defined, too. Willow's hair colour is more of a dirty blonde and more wavy than curly.

Willow is a ball of positive energy. As we're walking to the local sports field, Willow walks between Daisy and I. She interlocks one small hand with mine. The other with Daisy's. She continues to blab about soccer and how she prefers to be running on the field as opposed to playing goalie. Her voice is unique. She has a little of Daisy's twang, but there's something foreign amongst it. A unique combination of two accents. One I can't pinpoint.

When we arrive at the field, Daisy gives Willow her soccer bag and ushers her to the opposite side of the field. While they prepare for the game, I find a seat for Daisy and I. The stands are old and rusted, but they're not very full. Many parents have brought their own chairs. I can't blame them. These stands are uncomfortable.

While waiting, I survey the area. The field is within an urban park. Meaning, on the far end, there is a playground. Well-defined pathways wind around the grassy, tree-filled area. Large maples create a shaded effect until you come to the field, which is vast and wide open. It's currently split into four different sections for four different occurring games. Willow mentioned something about teams shuffling after their twenty minutes is up.

Daisy joins me several minutes later. When she sits down, she smooths her blouse and props her chin on her fist. Her elbow is resting against her thigh and she's leaning forward.

"Willow looks adorable in her soccer uniform," I say. Through my lashes, I peek up at the sky. We're in a shaded area, beneath a large maple tree, so all I see are patches of sunlight. The temperature hasn't reached its peak yet, which is good for the soccer players. Today's supposed to be stifling.

A crease forms between her brows. "How's Cole doin'?"

Her questions surprises me. How did Cole come into this conversation? And shouldn't she know the answer? Daisy's been over, and I'm not the only guest at the McLean farm.

Something tells me there's more to this story. Between Cole and Daisy, the air sometimes feels combustible. They never take their eyes off of each other. Like I said before, Cole looks like he wants to devour her. He never looked at Tristan that way. And Daisy always comes back—even when we have enough eggs to last us three weeks.

"Someone has a crush."

Her face blanches. Her posture turns ramrod straight as she turns to me. "On Cole Robinson?"

I give her a look. "Duh."

Daisy glances at the field, watching her daughter. They're taking their positions now. Most of the kids look like they're off in la-la-land, but Willow is focused on the ball. The ref blows the whistle.

"We hooked up," Daisy says. "Years ago. When we were teenagers. In the barn on the ranch." She pauses. "Fine. It wasn't just a hook-up. We dated for a long time. Cole, Noel, and I went to the same high school. Cole moved to Canada during our first year."

This is news to me. I thought Cole came here for university. Which, now that I think about it, makes little sense. I should've known better. Cole and Noel are too close to have met each other in university. A high school environment makes more sense.

"What?!" I grab Daisy's bicep, giving it a squeeze. "Tell me the details!"

Daisy stares at the soccer field. She's the only mom who isn't screaming. I'll never understand the urge to scream at your child while they're playing sports. Maybe when they're teenagers, but when they're five? I don't see the point. Their skills are still developing at this age. Screaming doesn't do them any good.

"He ghosted me," Daisy admits. She glances at her daughter. She's a rambunctious ball of energy on the field. "Then he tried to come back. I ignored his calls. Noel was going through some stuff with his family, and Cole focused on his best friend more than me. I understand why Cole needed to support Noel, but..." She shakes her head. "That was five years ago, Kinsley. The details don't matter..."

Daisy trails off. Again, she's looking at her daughter.

"Are you mad at him?" I ask.

Her eyes flash with hurt. "No. I could never stay mad at Cole. He's the best man I've ever met. As much as I want to talk to him, I can't. There are too many secrets now. One that's too big for him to handle."

Daisy stares at the field again.

I follow her gaze this time, watching as Willow passes the soccer ball to a teammate. When Willow bounds past us, chasing the soccer ball, she glances in our direction, waving at Daisy. Her green eyes are—

Fuck.

Shock courses through me. "Wait. Willow is Cole's daughter? Is that the big secret?"

I run a hand through my hair. How did I not see it before? Willow's accent is a mix of country twang and British. She has Cole's eyes and his cheeks. His wavy hair. 

"He got you pregnant, didn't he? Five years ago." 

Daisy drops her face into her hands. A sob wracks her body. "How do I tell him, Kinsley? Every year I see him, the truth becomes harder and harder to bear."

Her confirmation sends another wave of shock through my body. "Why didn't you tell him you were pregnant?"

"I was eighteen. He was seventeen. Young and stupid..." She sighs again. "Noel's father didn't want him attending university. He didn't want Noel leaving the house. Noel didn't always live on the farm, Kinsley. Yes, he'd spend many summers here. During the school year, though, he lived with his father in a house closer to our old high school. When Noel started saving money and applying to universities, his father wasn't happy."

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. Noel's father was abusive. To what extent, I'm unsure. Something tells me his nightmare was based on the actions of his father, though.

"That night, Cole and I were in the loft in the barn. We'd had a nice dinner and set the mood. Now, I don't support virginity—it's a social construct. But sharing our first time together was magical. Cole..." She sighs and shakes her head. "He got a call from Jack. Noel'd been administered into the hospital. His father had beaten him up. Slashed his back with broken glass and given him a concussion." Daisy glances down at her hands. She's picking at her cuticles. "At the hospital, while Noel was having shards of glass removed, Jack and Cole concluded they needed to get Noel out of the house. Cole worked day and night with a lawyer. Rightfully, Noel could've decided who he wanted to live with. He was seventeen. But Noel's dad was friends with the judge. Plus, Noel felt obligated to control his father. He didn't want anyone else facing his wrath. Too much of Cole's time was allocated to discussions with lawyers or convincing Noel to leave. It damaged us. In the end, Cole convinced Noel to move in with Jack. The judge was overruled by evidence; he had to cave. However, Cole and I didn't make it. By the time I found out I was pregnant, the damage had been done."

My heart breaks for Daisy. For Cole. Neither of them did anything wrong. Mistakes were made with good intentions. It happens to the best of us.

"I'm not mad at him," Daisy continues. "Noel is one of my best friends. I've known him since elementary school. I admire Cole for fighting. Makes me feel like I should've done something for Noel. The past is the past, Kinsley. I'm glad Cole and I can be friends. I'm glad Noel broke the cycle. Losing Cole and I's relationship was difficult, but I'll never regret that condom breaking. We made her out of love. One day, I will tell Cole. When I'll find the courage to do that? That's unknown."

She stares down at the field, and I have to pull her in for a hug.

"I'm sorry, Daisy," I murmur. "That must've been so hard."

She sniffles. "It was. It is. How do I tell him, Kinsley? He'll be furious."

"He may be upset and shocked," I agree. "But I don't think he'll be furious. As for telling him? I'm not sure. But if you need support or if you want someone there, you can count on me Daisy."

She hugs me tighter, burying her face in my shoulder. I rest a hand against her back as I stare ahead.

At Cole's daughter.