AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Carol watched Daryl eat his French toast and drink his coffee with nothing short of what she might call passion.
Running a café, Carol had seen every kind of customer imaginable. Daryl didn't have the table manners someone might expect in an elite restaurant, but he was still doing better than some of the people that Carol had served. More than anything, though, he ate like he enjoyed his food. Carol liked cooking. She enjoyed feeding people. She really relished when those people truly seemed to enjoy what they were eating.
Daryl had tried to talk her into eating French toast, as well, but she'd promised him that she'd already eaten and had sat down, instead, with a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit. He'd eyed her, suspiciously, over her declaration that she'd already had breakfast, but he didn't push too hard.
They had plenty of time. He'd gotten there early, and so had Carol. She'd done a soft opening up—preparing things for when Jacqui got there to finish opening the rest of the way. Then she'd made breakfast for Daryl and coffee for both of them.
Now they were sitting outside at one of the small tables so that Carol could enjoy the fresh air, Daryl could be something of a living commercial for her café—because Carol was convinced that anyone who saw how sincerely he was enjoying his French toast would feel like it was impossible to get through their day without some, and Daryl could smoke when his meal was done.
"You got the book?" Daryl asked, after he started slowing down—either beginning to get full or simply realizing that he was coming to the end of his plate.
Carol felt her cheeks run warm. She reached next to her for the bag that she'd hung on the back of her chair. She pulled out the book she'd selected—a well-worn paperback that she'd thumbed through at least two dozen times, and had probably bought used before that.
"Are you sure you want to read this?" She asked.
"I asked for it, didn't I?" Daryl commented.
"Daryl—I'm just saying that you don't have to read this book to impress me."
He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Is readin' the book gonna impress you?" He asked. "Because I hadn't thought about that, but if it's part of the package, I won't turn down the opportunity."
Carol rolled her eyes at him.
"Why do you want to read the book?"
"Why wouldn't I? Is it a bad book?"
"No—it's…it's a pretty good book."
"Funny?"
"Sometimes. It's sweet."
"I like sweet," Daryl said. "Like this French toast. This shit's amazin'. You said you made good French toast, but like…I don't think you sellin' this shit hard enough. Oughta have a sign on the door or somethin'—best damn French toast in Livin' Springs."
Carol smiled to herself.
"It's just French toast, Daryl," Carol said.
Daryl sighed. He forked the last chunk of his stack of French toast, swirled it around his plate, and put the whole bite in his mouth. It was at least enough for two, maybe three, more bites. Still, he didn't seem too bothered by the extra effort involved in chewing his way through it. He picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and hands while he chewed, and discarded that to the side before he drank down a large gulp of coffee.
"You want more coffee?" Carol asked. "Or—I could get you more toast, if you're not full."
He waved at her like he was pushing her down in her chair before she could even begin to try to get up.
"I'm good," he said. "I'm fine. Better'n fine. You care if I smoke?"
"No," Carol said, shaking her head. Daryl helped himself to a cigarette, lit it, and put the pack and lighter in the middle of the table.
"In case you should decide you want one," Daryl said. Carol thought it was a nice gesture. She didn't want a cigarette, but there was something about the way that Daryl had offered it that appealed to something deep inside her. She felt a nervous flip in her gut, and her brain tried very hard to have a conversation with her. The feeling had come in response to what was a very minor kindness. The worst part about it was that Carol responded to it so enthusiastically because men didn't generally pay her even the smallest of kindnesses.
Daryl blew out the smoke from lighting his cigarette, entirely unaware that Carol was currently having a sort of crisis of self over the kindness he paid to her by simply offering her a cigarette.
"Good French toast," he repeated. "Good coffee." He shrugged his shoulders. "Good company. You ought not to sell yourself short all the time."
Something about the comment made Carol's stomach clench.
"I don't," she said. "Do I?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Put it this way, I ain't been here that long, and I already noticed it," Daryl said. "I mean—I get it. On account of what you said about your ex and all…some people can make you feel like you ain't worth shit. And that ain't your fault. I'm just sayin'—you oughta…consider some strengths sometimes."
Carol licked her lips.
"Do you—consider your strengths often?" She asked.
Daryl raised his eyebrows at her again.
"You gonna be an asshole about it, I ain't gonna tell you," he said.
"I'm not being an asshole," Carol insisted. "I promise."
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"I done a couple workbooks," Daryl said. "It's my brother—sometimes he'll…pick some shit up like that. Like these work on yourself or whatever books. Like you do a lesson each day. Read some shit, do some self-reflectin' exercises."
"Self-help books?" Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. It was very evident to Carol that she was treading dreadfully close to territory that might embarrass him. "I think that's wonderful," she offered carefully. Some of the visible tension that had come into Daryl's body relaxed.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"I had a self-help book," Carol said. "For the survivor of spousal abuse."
"You like it?" Daryl asked.
"To be honest? I threw it out."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"You threw it out?" He asked. Carol hummed and nodded. "Why'd you do that?"
"It—made me uncomfortable," Carol said. "Every time I tried to read it or to do any of the exercises? It made me uncomfortable. I put it on the shelf forever and then, one day, when I was cleaning stuff out to take to Goodwill, I just tossed it in the box. To be honest, I felt lighter getting rid of that book than I ever did reading any of those passages or doing any of those reflections."
"Some of that shit's pretty damned uncomfortable," Daryl offered. There was something in his tone that Carol couldn't quite pinpoint. Was it just compassion? Empathy? She practically shook the curiosity out of her mind, but some of it lingered. Daryl spoke again. He was studying the table. "Maybe you just work better through that kind of thing with somebody. Some people like that, you know? Havin' somebody to—get through it all with them."
"I don't know anybody else who was stupid enough to let herself stay in such a bad situation for so long," Carol said.
"Not stupid. People get—bogged down in shit. Stuck for one reason or another. Besides—a person don't got to have the exact same experience to listen to you," Daryl said. "Help—steer you toward sayin' some affirmin' things about yourself every now and again."
"Affirming things?" Carol asked.
Daryl cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair.
"You know—like you talk back to the shit you hear in your head. Like you hear—let's just say you hear like—you can't do shit right. Everything you do just…you know…just turns to shit. Say you hear that. But you would hear it and you'd say—well, that's bullshit. It's like—it's what I think, maybe, but it ain't even what I think. It's horseshit. I fuck up—every damn day I fuck up. And a lot of what I touch might turn to shit. But, hell—don't it for everyone? So, you come up with somethin' affirmin'. You remind yourself of that. But you do it on purpose."
"Like what?" Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"Like—everything don't turn to shit," Daryl said. "Because—I'm pretty damn good at what I do, you know? I can fix—I can fuckin' fix anything. You give me enough time to work it out and…I'll get it fixed. That's not too damn bad."
"And that's just it?" Carol asked. "Then it all goes away?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"No," Daryl said. "that's the point, I think. It don't never go away. None of that shit goes away. Not unless—you had like a huge ass brain eraser or somethin' and you could just wipe everything clean and start over. But even then—you'd lose everything. Good and bad." He shrugged again, crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray, and gnawed at his cuticle. Carol could practically see the tension rising up in his body again. She reached a hand out, wanting to somehow relieve him of some of that obvious discomfort, and touched his hand. He watched her fingers, and he looked at her when she withdrew her hand. A hint of a smile curled up the corner of his mouth. "I think the point is that it don't go away. You just learn—how to fight back."
"Ed was a pretty formidable opponent," Carol said. "I never bested him, no matter how hard I fought."
"Yeah, but he ain't here," Daryl said. "You ain't fightin' him. You're fightin'—a ghost, really. One of them things I read said—they ain't here no more, so why you lettin' a ghost take up space in your head? You need that space for other things…like books like that one that you brung me, right?"
Carol laughed to herself, and Daryl smiled at her sincerely.
"Am I allowed to ask—who's your opponent, Daryl?" He hummed in question. "Who do you fight? You know so much about it—it had to be someone."
Daryl nodded his head.
"My old man," he said.
"I'm sorry," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head again.
"Thanks," he said, reaching for another cigarette. "And I'm sorry about—about your ex, for all the good it does either one of us." He pointed toward the book, and Carol understood that he wanted to change the subject. Honestly, she had no reason to want to linger any longer, either, on the unpleasantness that was her failed marriage. She felt sorry for what had happened to Daryl—throughout at least some portion of his childhood—but she understood his not wanting to linger over it during breakfast.
Carol passed him the book and he studied the cover of it, flipped through the pages, and flipped it over to look at the back before he put it down on the table in front of him.
"So, tell me about it," Daryl said.
Carol smiled to herself.
"What do you want me to tell you?" She asked.
"What's it about?" Daryl asked.
"It's—a romance book" Carol said. "It's not like—one of the heavy bodice rippers or anything."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"The fuck does that mean?" He asked. Carol's face felt hot.
"Sex," she said, lowering her voice and leaning toward him, even though there was nobody near them.
"What about it?" He waved the book at her and smirked. "There's like—what, porn in here?"
"No," Carol said. "Not—exactly. Not in that one."
"But in some of 'em?"
"This one's less detailed than some of them," Carol said.
"You didn't want me to have one of the fun ones?" Daryl asked with a snort.
"If you think it's boring and you don't want to read it," Carol said.
"Don't get your panties twisted," Daryl said. "I was playin' with you. I wanna read the book. I just—weren't expectin' that. I don't know what I expected. Like those movies, I guess. There's hardly any sex in them. Just—love."
"It's like your movies," Carol said. "A little sex, but mostly just love. This one's a western. They—find each other and that's really all they need. He has a ranch and her father works in town at the general store. Unless—you don't like westerns."
"I like westerns fine," Daryl offered. "What made you pick this one, though?"
"What?" Carol asked.
"Well—you got more books, don't you?"
"A lot more," Carol ceded.
"So, what made you pick this one? You looked at all them books, and you picked this one. What was it that made you pick this one?"
"I don't know," Carol admitted. "It's—one of my favorites."
"Why?" Daryl pressed. Carol laughed to herself. She shrugged her shoulders. "You gettin' embarrassed? There ain't shit to be embarrassed about. I just wanna know—why's it one of your favorites. That's all."
Carol sighed.
"Because—I guess, because I thought it was really romantic."
"Good enough for me," Daryl said. "The next one you lend me, though, I'm requestin' one of those ripper things, just to see."
Carol laughed to herself.
"You want to read a bodice ripper?" Carol asked.
"Hell yeah I do," Daryl said.
"I thought you…weren't a fan of cheesy pornos," Carol said.
"Thought you weren't, neither," Daryl countered.
"Touché," Carol said. "I guess—it's different. It's—there's sex, but…it's more about romance than just sex. But, Daryl, even that one—and it's not very detailed—they're written really more for women, I think, than they are for men."
"So, men can't read 'em?" Daryl asked.
"Of course you can read them, it's just…"
"Just what?"
"It's more like—what a woman would want," Carol said.
Daryl held her eyes for a moment and offered her a soft smile.
"How do you know that ain't what I wanna read about?" Daryl asked.
Carol's heart drummed in her chest, picking up speed.
"I really should—start helping Jacqui get ready," Carol said.
"I'ma go—start this book," Daryl said. "Before work."
"You don't have to read it," Carol insisted.
"I want to," Daryl said. "Thank you for the French toast. And the coffee. And the book…hell… and the company and conversation. All so good—I'd be hard pressed to say which part…which part was the best."
Carol's face ran warm again. She stood up, as did Daryl. He stood in front of her for a moment.
"You want to—tell me when you've finished the book?" Carol asked.
"Thought maybe I could—talk to you while I was readin' it," Daryl said. "Just—if I got ideas or somethin'. It's more fun to read a book with someone to talk to, ain't it?"
Carol's stomach flipped, and her heart continued to pound. Another trap, and she'd walked right in. Still, she didn't want to close the door—not even if her anxiety might tell her it was best to close it and put the padlock on.
"You can talk to me about the book any time," she said.
"Good," Daryl said. He held his hand up, like he was beckoning her to wait. "I know I've already pushed it—too damn far, maybe. But..if I were to kiss you, and I'm not sayin' I'ma do that…but…if I were to kiss you, would you run away screamin'?"
Carol's heart slammed to a screeching halt before it began thundering wildly again. She was happy that she hadn't eaten anything, because her stomach twisted in response.
"I wouldn't run away screaming," she offered.
Daryl stepped closer to her and raised the hand not holding the book to touch her face. He brushed his fingertips down her face to her jaw. He tipped her face up and Carol closed her eyes. There was no way he couldn't tell that her breathing was ragged. He could probably hear her heart beat.
He pressed his lips to hers, gently, and released her almost immediately, his fingertips lingering just a beat longer on her face than his lips had lingered on her lips. He smiled at her when she opened her eyes.
"Text me about the book, Daryl," Carol said.
"Damn sure will," Daryl said, waving the book. "I can't hardly wait to start it."
