Page 24 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

The tone of his voice brought me back to reality. He almost sounded embarrassed. “I called Linda.” Oh my gosh, he called my mom. “I hope you don’t mind; I wasn’t sure how important it was that you had everything in there,” gesturing to my purse.

I shook my head in disbelief. It was 8:30 AM on a Monday morning in the city, or in other words, the equivalent to a Macy’s on Black Friday. “Levi, you didn’t have to do that—”

“I really didn’t mind. I was on my way to class anyways,” he replied with a soft voice, nodding towards the window where we could see the street.

“Oh, what class do you have? That’s a lot of books…” I

murmured in thought.

He laughed. “It’s because I’m teaching the class,” he responded as if it was no big deal. But it was most definitely a big deal. This was actually theepitomeof a big deal. You could put it under the dictionary description as an example because that’s how ideal it was.

The Jane Austen class he was TA’ing, that was filled with college women, got to see Levi—academic, shy, sweater, glasses-wearing Levi—who knowshow many times a week? Attractive Levi, with attractive forearms, attractive hair, and attractive glasses.

I pulled at my button down, trying to straighten it out again. Why did I stop ironing my clothes? In the process of trying to fix my shirt, my bag slipped off my shoulder and fell, causing all of its content to spill out with it.

I was a mess. He makes me a mess.

I squatted down immediately to grab everything, but he followed, pulling up the pant legs of his trousers before kneeling, then picking up twice as many things with his larger hands. “Have I completely ruined your morning yet?” I exhaled.

“My whole day actually. Maybe even my entire month, despite it being May 1st.” When I tilted my head back, he had a smile. His sarcasm made me laugh. “I’m going to think about how I was forced to stop at a much cooler college than mine, dropone thingoff, and then talk with my friend.”

My heart felt a pinch at the wordfriend.“I guess my collegeisa bit cooler than yours,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, feeling more comfortable—moreus.

“Muchcooler,” he corrected me. Kneeling on the ground, we were close enough that the warmth of his breath felt like the whisper of a kiss on my cheek. “I would love to see what you’re

working on at some point.”

“Only if you’ll recite me Jane Austen like we’re in a period piece,” I requested.

“Only if you’ll be my seamstress,” he argued.

“Yeah, yeah,” I rolled my eyes, standing up and straightening out my jeans.

He stood with me, fixing his slacks, and situating his glasses. “I’m serious, I need my suit tailored for the wedding, and I rather pay you than someone else.”

Surprise waved through my shoulders. “You wantmeto do it?”

“Well I definitely wasn’t going to ask Claire.”

I disregarded his joke because stress was reverberating through my spine now.

“You haven’t even seen anything I’ve sewn in like…four years—”

“Yes, I—”

“—and you could probably find a professional that could get it done quicker—”

He looked confused. “But that’s not what I’m—”

“—and better and—”

“Dani, I want—”

He wasnot understanding. “—and cleaner and—”

“Daisy.”

My mouth stopped moving, and I could tell by the exasperated look on his face that he was as taken aback as I was by his words. His cheeks were flushed, and some of his waves had fallen forward over his brow, as if we had just pulled away from a kiss.