Chasing Waves

Chapter Five: resting beach face

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5: Written communication between the parties will only take place during ordinary business hours.

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Honey didn't get mad often.

There was little point. Why scream, or shout, or cry? It didn't achieve anything, fix anything. Honey was about solutions, not more problems.

For two days after her meeting with Estelle and Adam, Honey found herself thoroughly enraged.

She snatched a spoon from the kitchen drawer. Slammed the drawer shut. Marched to the stove and taste-tested the sauce, scowling before tearing a fistful of leaves from her oregano plant and dumping them into the pot.

The face Daisy pulled when Honey threw the spoon into the sink was pitiful. "It's really that bad?"

Honey drew a sobering breath before turning to Daisy, who was sitting on the counter, her long dancer's legs laced beneath her. Honey offered something she hoped resembled a smile. "It's fine, Dais."

"Fine?" Daisy threw her face into her hands. "That's it. I'm cancelling dinner."

"Hunt will love it."

"Hunt always cooks for me." Daisy slid off the bench and aimed for the drawer that Honey had rifled through, her movements a lot more refined as she plucked out a spoon and headed for the stove to stir the sauce she'd been working on all afternoon. "He cooks for everyone, and he's so good at it. I just wanted to do something nice for him..."

Honey schooled her features into something softer and joined Daisy by the stove. "He'll love it," she repeated firmly, peeling the spoon from her hand. "Honestly, you could serve Hunt roasted offal and he'd still look at you as if you wake up every morning and light the whole sun."

Daisy glanced up at her. "That was beautiful, Hon."

Honey rolled her eyes as she taste-tested the sauce again, then added salt. As if you light the sun? Who was she—Emily Dickinson?

It was true though. Daisy and Hunt's relationship could make Jane Austen swoon like a schoolgirl. Their sex life could make EL James blush. Honey knew that for a fact; their apartment was expensive, but the walls were whisper-thin.

Daisy grabbed another spoon, testing her creation. Her eyes popped. Her smile widened. Her mood instantly lifted.

"You're an angel." Daisy closed her eyes and groaned, slumping back on the counter as she basked in the rich taste of the Napoli sauce. "How did you do that? Without even a recipe?"

"It was salt and herbs," Honey said modestly. She took their cutlery and popped them in the dishwasher, scouring the counter for anything else she could add. "No big deal."

"Don't be coy. I'm telling you, Laia better watch her back."

Honey shielded her meek smile behind her unbound hair. She didn't do compliments. Didn't do praise. Growing up, she'd rarely received it. Hadn't even known it was missing until she met Daisy and Laia and Belle. Even Lai's fiancé Kenji complimented Honey more often than Honey's father did. And the first time she'd met Belle's fiancée Ruby, the bleach-blonde punk princess had gaped as she took Honey in from head to toe, then asked to set her up with every member of her band.

"Honestly," Daisy said, popping the lid on the pot of sauce and turning the stove down to simmer, "if you weren't one of my best friends, I'd probably hate you. You're so perfect that it hurts."