Page 35 of Picking Daisies on Sundays
“Why?”
He hesitated for a moment. “When I look at it, all I see is you.”
“I’m most definitely not this fashion forward.”
“I completely disagree. Everything you wear is perfect.”
I tilted my head down at my overalls for effect.
“I love your overalls most of all, especially when you fill your pockets with ridiculous little things.”
My cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “I don’t fill them with ridiculous things.”
“Hm,” he hummed, knowing he wasn’t wrong. It made me unreasonably frustrated.
“I would think most men enjoyed mini skirts and low-cut shirts.” The second the words were out I regretted them.Completely unnecessary, Dani, we didn’t need to argue with every person that complimented us.
“I never said I didn’t like those,” his gaze moved to the side of my face. He cleared his throat. “Let’s write.” He gestured to the empty bench in the middle of the gallery where we could still see the painting from our seats.
Instead of pulling out my notebook for ideas on my essay, I grabbed my sketch pad. He watched as I took out a pencil and drew the silhouette of a woman. He didn’t say anything only watched for several minutes. I felt anxious having his eyes on what I was drawing. But the longer he watched, the calmer I felt.
I’m unsure how much time had gone by when he asked, “I never understood how you did that.” He sounded like a child filled with wonderment. I popped my head up, partially forgetting that he was seated beside me.
“Draw?”
He shook his head, trying to reword his question. “Yes, but no. How do you come up with so many designs?”
It wasn’t the first time I had been asked that question, but it had gotten harder to answer. “Actually, I’ve been struggling to come up with anything for a while. It’s like I’ve been drained of all creativity and now all that’s left was numerous quilts made of pieces of past projects. I haven’t created anything original that I love in a while.”
“The Hepburn films don’t work anymore?” he asked casually, but it feltanything butcasual. How did he remember that I used to rewatch Audrey Hepburn films when I needed inspiration? This was the same person who forgot his locker combination every day, and itneverchanged, but he somehow remembered this.
I used to turn to Hepburn films the way a 9-5 real estate agent turned toMillion Dollar Listing. Her movies were filled with dated fashion trends, but they were made by classic designers that used elements of fashion that were timeless. It made my heart tremor.
“Not as well as they used too. I’ve bled every idea out of Audrey Hepburn’s discography. My heart still stops though during the scenes where she walks into a crowd with a breathtaking dress on and everyone turns and watches.Thosewere the best scenes, the ones with a gala or ball.”
“Have you ever been to one?”
“A gala? God no,” I laughed.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes, because I know you’d feel like you
needed to say yes, and I know how busy you are and—”
“Levi spit it out,” I laughed with eagerness.
“There’s a gala, next week, at the Plaza to celebrate Sarah’s engagement. Jeff’s father set it up.”
“Oh. That’s awfully nice of him.”
His Worried Older Brother Look appeared in the lines in his forehead. “It’s a political thing; his father is running for District Attorney. Something about publicizing the wedding will show a ‘strong family front.’”
“Afancygala then, that’s fun. If you’re trying to rope me into stealing a suit for you from my school then you owe me a lot more than strawberry shortcake,” I narrowed my eyes in the way I knew would make him laugh.
A shot of laughter left his lips. It was so loud in contrast to the quiet museum that I gripped his arm, shushing him. It didn’t help that I was also laughing.
His laugh settled. “Be my plus-one, come with me.”
My heart shuddered. That was the worst possible idea for how I should spend my Saturday. I should be pulling a mini skirt over my ass to go out to a bar and get plastered like most college students—not go out with my high school best.
