Page 21 of Picking Daisies on Sundays
Gabe: You’re saying you don’t want to know?
Dani: I do know! Levi’s not into me.
Gabe’s name appeared on my phone, flashing. I accepted the call. “Yes,” I sighed.
“Leave the purse then if you’re so sure,” Gabe said on the other side of the receiver.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll tell Levi about the tongue story.”
I snorted; he caught me off guard with his serious tone. “About the thing I did with my tongue?”I quoted, laughing. Now Gabe was just making fun of me. The tongue story was an inside joke; I
kissed a guy sophomore year of college who, unexpectedly, had a tongue ring. And I may have possibly touched his piercing with my tongue… I thought it was going to be hot! But instead, it made the guy cry because the piercing had been so new. Jia and Gabe thought it was hilarious, so anytime one of us kissed someone, they always asked if we, “did that thing with our tongue?” It was a habit for one of us to laugh at the joke.
“You’d never tell him; you want this relationship to happen more than High School Me. But I’ll leave my purse to make you happy.”
I ended the call and pulled my keys out of the bag, reluctantly leaving the bag on the couch near the foyer.
I didn’t know where Gabe was getting this idea of Levi being interested in me when Levi’s been writing love poems the past four years about the numerous women he’s dated. But fine, I’ll humor him to prove a point.
On the drive back, we chatted about his family and plans for the week. It was nice. It was always nice talking to him. But I had this nagging feeling behind my rib cage; my mind continuously going back to the love poems.
He walked me up the steps of the brownstone in the darkness, every light in every shop nearby turned off. That didn’t change as we reached the top of the stairs since the motion censored light was still broken from the time Gabe tried throwing something into my window, and instead smashed the light.
As we stood there in the dark, the nagging got heavier. It felt like there would never be a better time to ask. “Levi,” I prompted, looking up at him.
He looked at me in wonder, his brows slightly furrowed. His
eye contact made my nervousness rise. I turned away for a moment, pulling my hair to one side over my shoulder. Which was useless because the length was just short enough that it missed and fell back.
His loose curls were falling forward, getting in the way of his eyes as his head was tilted down to meet mine. Without thinking, I brushed the hair out of his face, grazing my finger against his skin. His hair was as soft as it looked. His eyes followed my hand as if I was going to do more.
I was thankful for the shield the night sky granted me on those steps because I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. The way his tongue ran over them, and the deep color they took in the dark, like he was in a black and white film.
“Sorry,” I whispered. Apologizing for touching him, I reiterate, “I should’ve asked.”
“Don’t say sorry, you don’t ever need to ask,” he whispered in a husky voice. My skin was humming at the tone of his voice and the closeness of our bodies.
I didn’t know how to react. Luckily, he picked the conversation back up. “What were you going to say?”
If it weren’t for the complete darkness we stood in and the intense awareness of no one else around, I think I would’ve just said that I had forgotten. “Were the poems about Bella?”
He must’ve not understood what I was asking about at first, because he didn’t answer immediately. After a moment that felt like minutes, he said, “Yes.”
My heart folded in on itself like the air was ripped from my gut. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have asked. Who did I
think was?
I’m not sure how he took my lack of response, and I didn’t care in that moment because I felt so much sadness for thinking he had thought about me all of these years.
He placed a hand on my bicep as he leaned in and kissed my forehead, sending a chill down my spine. “Good night, Daniella.”
It felt equivalent to a rejection.
10
Don’t worry if the flowers pass, I’ll be right there to
