SEVEN, Only For Conard.

776 29 6
                                    


CHAPTER SEVEN. Only For Conrad.

• DAISY BARDOT'S POV •• 12 MONTHS BEFORE •

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

• DAISY BARDOT'S POV •
• 12 MONTHS BEFORE •

    I HAD always seen my birthday as an exciting day I expected everyone to know about. I know, that's an odd, self-absorbed thing to say, but the one thing I loved about my birthday was when people would wish me a happy day. That's all. But I hated telling people it was my birthday or the fact it was coming up, so I had always mentally hoped people just automatically knew. Whether it was from a simple post my friends had sent out or overhearing a conversation about the topic. I didn't care. I just wanted this one single day to be about people congratulating me.

I had always forgotten about my birthday and would randomly remember how close it was coming up. It helped me forget about the fact I was turning 17, gaining another year that means I'm closer to adulthood and leaving my teenage years behind. Then again, it also means one step closer to fixing myself up. I always tried my best to learn from the mistakes I make, even if it seems like I'm not.

The entire Aubrey situation is the worst I had done. I feel guilty, I do, even if it seems like I'm not. I know I have to properly apologize to her one day, but then again, I'm able to sleep at night. The only person I'd satisfy in an apology is Aubrey. I was always weak at producing a genuine apology, a flaw of mine that adds to the list of many. At least I was aware.

It was the day after Conrad, and I had our first interaction in the Rosemary Tide. It was currently 8 am, I was setting up the store on a gloomy Sunday with the radio faintly playing in the background. I was running on only iced coffee, zero food. I wasn't much of a breakfast person — I never seemed to enjoy any offerings when it came to that type of food. I was just a picky eater.

My head bopped to the rhythm of the music overlapping the rooms stillness, distracting me from any possible thing. I was so involved in fixing up this front window section of the store to not even care to look back behind me when I heard the chime of the back door entrance opening. I knew it was Conrad. I was so anxious on how this day would go. My parents were encouraging me to keep a kind attitude and cheery face, even though every time I saw him, my stomach swirled into a million swarms of nervousness. But I obeyed what they ordered.

See? I wasn't that bad of a daughter.

"Hey." His hoarse voice spoke behind me, the dinging of his car keys falling onto the check-out counter catching my hearing. I glance over my shoulder, subtly glancing down him to observe his outfit, before meeting his dull irises. I gave him a head nod, facing fully towards him.

"What's up." I mutter, scratching the back of my neck — a nervous quirk I had caught over the years. He didn't say anything, he just continued to stand there looking deprived of any emotion. "Uh, you did good yesterday. My dad said he was impressed you caught on so quickly, so I thought I'd show you how to properly sand boards today, if that's okay?"

THE SUMMER I LOVED HER, Conrad FisherWhere stories live. Discover now