18

I had been the artsy kid, a paintbrush or colored pencil always somewhere in my hair, with only a handful of close friends before earning a bachelor of arts in graphic design from Northeastern. There hadn’t been many relationships in my past, but the ones I’d had lasted for years—distance usually the cause of our breakup—and it would take me months and months before I could even consider moving on.

Our last name, childhood home, and our family were the only similarities.

I did me.

Daisy did her.

But that wasn’t the way she saw it.

“We both know that isn’t what this is about,” I started, taking a long, deep breath. “I have no desire to have your life or steal anything from you. I was offered a job, and I’m considering it.” I set down my coffee, the idea of drinking something warm and caffeinated making my stomach churn. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Her gaze was practically penetrating me. “This is about you, Kendall. You came here to make my world easier, and on