Chapter 150 Softness, laughter and petals
IRIS
The spa is one of those places that looks unreal, like something out of a movie. Everything is soft and warm and golden, the kind of environment that whispers calm into your bones whether you want it or not. I stare at the entrance like a child seeing snow for the first time. Daisy doesn’t even give me a second to soak it in before she loops her arm through mine and drags me toward the reception.
“Try not to gape,” she whispers. “You look like you’re seeing heaven.”
“I might actually be seeing heaven,” I say. “Daisy, what is this place?”
“A spa,” she replies as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.
“A spa that looks like a palace,” I whisper. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
She grins and squeezes my hand. “I know. That’s why we’re here. Today is all about spoiling you.”
As we check in, two women approach us and hand us warm towels and some sort of lemon-infused drink. I whisper a quiet thank you, trying not to look too impressed, but I know Daisy sees right through me. Her smile softens every time she looks at me, like she is enjoying the way I react to everything.
We are led into a dimly lit room that smells like lavender and vanilla. A soft melody floats around us, and the air feels warm on my skin. They hand us robes that feel like clouds. When I slip mine on, I actually sigh.
“Wow,” I say quietly. “This is… different.”
“Different in a good way,” Daisy says.
“Very good way.”
We are guided to two massage tables side by side, surrounded by candles. I climb onto mine and melt into the warmth. The therapist places her hands on my shoulders and I practically dissolve.
“Daisy,” I whisper.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m ascending.”
She laughs. “Don’t ascend without me. I still have to tell you about this hot professor.”
“Oh right,” I say. “Start talking.”
The massage begins and I almost forget she is there until she speaks again.
“So, classes have been chaotic,” she says. “But also entertaining because my literature professor this semester is unnecessarily good looking.”
“Unnecessarily?”
“Yes. Unnecessarily. Like he’s rude for being that fine. If someone looks that good, they should be boring or bad at teaching but no, he’s a genius. I suffer every class.”
I laugh softly, the massage making my voice come out lazy. “Do you know his name?”
“Professor Llyr,” she says. “Tall, brown hair, glasses, the kind of man who looks like he reads poetry for fun.”
“That sounds very distracting.”
“Exactly. And he knows it too. He always adjusts his glasses slowly like he’s performing.”
“Maybe he is.”
“Then he should stop.”
“No,” I say. “Absolutely not. Let him continue.”
She huffs. “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. I’m also on the side of entertainment.”
She lets out a defeated groan. “Fine. But he is too pretty.”
“I want to see him,” I say.
“You don’t. He will ruin your standards.”
“My standards are already ruined. I’m mated to Darian.”
She scoffs. “True. Impossible to beat that one.”
The room falls quiet again for a while as we enjoy the massages. I feel the knots in my shoulders melt away, the tension in my lower back vanish. It is the first time in forever that my body feels like it isn’t constantly preparing for something.
After a few minutes, I turn my head toward Daisy. “So how’s life been outside classes? Anything new?”
She hesitates, which immediately catches my attention.
“What?” I ask. “Something happened?”
“It’s nothing,” she says quickly.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I reply. “Spill.”
“It’s not serious,” she says.
“That means it is something,” I counter. “Tell me.”
She chews on her lip. And then I see it. The blush. Slow but very real.
My eyes widen. “Daisy. Oh my goddess. You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not,” she says.
“You’re very much blushing.”
“Iris please.”
“No. Tell me. Who is he? What happened?”
“It’s not… like a big deal,” she says again.
My voice goes up an octave. “There is a man. Oh my goddess there is a man. Daisy, who is it?”
“We are literally getting massages,” she whisper-yells. “Calm down.”
“I cannot calm down. You’re blushing about a man and you didn’t tell me? Betrayal.”
“Fine,” she says, exhaling dramatically. “But you have to be normal.”
“I will never be normal. Tell me.”
She turns her face toward me just a little. “It’s Adrian.”
I freeze. Completely freeze.
“Wait. Adrian?” I ask. “My Adrian? Well not my Adrian but our Adrian? That Adrian?”
“Yes,” she says in a tiny voice.
I push myself up on my elbows so fast the therapist has to gently push me back down.
“You what?” I ask. “Daisy, what? Adrian? Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Stop yelling.”
“I’m not yelling,” I whisper back fiercely. “I’m just… shocked. But good shocked. Great shocked. Excellent shocked. When? How? Why? Where was I?”
She covers her face with both hands. “I don’t know. It just happens.”
“What do you mean it just happens? Did he kiss you first? Did you kiss him? Did someone fall on someone else? Did Netflix ask ‘are you still watching’ and you both take it personally? Tell me everything.”
She lets out the most dramatic sigh of her life. “We’ve been hanging out more. A lot more. Ever since this starts and everything gets crazy with you and Darian, he keeps checking in on me. And one time he comes over with snacks because I say I am stressed. And we end up watching a show together and talking all night. And then the next week it happens again. And again. And then he just… stays sometimes.”
“Stayed?” I ask, eyes wide. “As in slept over?”
“It isn’t like that,” she says quickly. “We just fall asleep watching movies.”
“Daisy.”
“Okay sometimes he sleeps on the couch.”
“And other times?”
She lets out a tiny squeak. “My bed.”
I shriek.
The therapist touches my shoulder gently. “Is the pressure okay?”
“Yes,” I say instantly. “Sorry.”
Daisy mutters, “I knew you would react like this.”
“Daisy, Adrian? Adrian? The man who refuses to let anyone carry heavy bags around him because he wants to do it? The man who knocks on our door every day even when he doesn’t need anything? The man who alphabetizes spices for fun?”
“He does not alphabetize spices,” she says.
“He does. I have seen him.”
She hides her face again. “Please stop.”
“No,” I say. “I need the details. When do you realize you like him?”
“I don’t know,” she says weakly. “He’s easy to talk to. And funny. And we genuinely enjoy each other’s company. And then I notice he looks at me a certain way sometimes.”
“Ooh,” I say. “What way?”
“Iris.”
“What way?” I repeat.
She takes a moment. Then she whispers, “Like he sees me.”
My heart warms at that. “Daisy, that’s beautiful.”
She lets out a groan. “I hate how soft that sounds. But it’s true.”
“So who kisses who?” I ask.
She delays answering, which is a clear answer already.
“He kisses you first,” I say confidently.
She stays quiet.
“He kisses you first,” I say again.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I squeal into the massage table. “He kisses you!”
“Please stop announcing it like a town crier.”
“I am happy for you,” I say. “Extremely happy. Adrian is a good man. And he cares about you. I can see it.”
She sighs. “I know. That’s why I don’t tell you yet. I don’t want you to assume it is serious.”
“But is it serious?” I ask.
She hesitates again. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think it could be.”
“Oh my goddess, Daisy.”
“Iris, don’t make it a thing,” she begs. “We’re taking it slow. We haven’t even talked about what it is. It just feels good. And natural. And easy.”
“That’s how it starts,” I say happily.
She groans. “Please don’t make heart eyes at me. I can’t handle it.”
“I am not making heart eyes,” I say even though I absolutely am.
“You are,” she says.
“And I will continue. I’m proud of you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Be proud quietly.”
We both laugh at that. The massage continues, and we fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. My whole body feels like warm sand. My mind is light, airy, content. For once, there is nothing pressing on me. No danger. No grief. No fear. Just the dim lights, the scent of lavender, and my best friend telling me something sweet and soft and unexpected.
“So,” I say eventually. “What now?”
“Now we enjoy this spa,” she says. “And then we get you ready for the ceremony of your life.”
“And you?” I ask. “Are you going to tell him how you feel?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. When the time is right.”
I smile into the face cradle. “You two are going to be adorable.”
“We do not,” she argues.
“You will.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. Maybe.”
I laugh. “I cannot believe you and Adrian.”
“I can barely believe it myself.”
“Well,” I say softly. “I’m happy for you. Really.”
“I know,” she replies. “And I’m happy for you too.”
We both fall quiet again. The kind of quiet only best friends can share.
The massage continues. The lights flicker softly. The world outside doesn’t matter.
For the first time in a long time, life feels warm. Safe. Sweet.
\-----
I cannot help myself. The moment we leave the massage room and enter the hallway with those ridiculous rose petals on the floor, I turn to her with the slowest, most wicked smile I can manage.
“So,” I say. “Adrian.”
She groans immediately. “Iris, please.”
“No, no. We’re talking about it. You. And Adrian. My sweet, soft Daisy and the man who apologizes to door hinges when he bumps into them.”
She covers her face. “Stop.”
“I will not stop,” I say. “Does he hold your hand? Does he brush your cheek? Does he use that deep voice he gets when he tries to pretend he is not shy?”
“Why are you like this?”
“Because you keep this from me,” I reply. “Do you know how betrayed I feel? I should be informed the very second your heart flutters.”
“My heart does not flutter.”
“It flutters. It does a little dance. It cartwheels.”
She glares at me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing,” I say triumphantly.
“No I’m not.”
“You are. Look at your cheeks. Look at them. You look like someone kisses you on the mouth and steals your common sense.”
She shoves me lightly and mutters, “I hate you.”
“You love me. Now tell me if he’s a good kisser.”