Page 49 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“Hey, I couldn’t find you.” I jumped in surprise at the sound of Levi’s voice and touch on my bare back. I watched as he registered who I was talking to, and then in seconds, witnessed as a silent fury swept over his face.Holy shit. Two times Levi has caught me and Ethan in close conversation.

The other half of me was frustrated though. Why should I care if Levi saw us talking? Nothing was happening between us—me and Ethan,orme and Levi! Levi was busy talking to someone else anyways.

“Levi, right?” Ethan asked.

Levi nodded, rolling his tongue under his cheek, and tightening his jaw. Masculinity was rolling off of him in the way he stood, sizing up Ethan. All areas of Ethan that were light, Levi’s

were dark. Dark suit, dark hair, dark gaze.

“Evan, right?” he asked with no shame. I almost choked.What was he doing? This was a new level of the Worried Older Brother Look.

Ethan looked bothered, scratching his chin in quick thought. “Ethan.”

Without an apology, Levi said, “I need to steal my date away.” And with that, he began walking away with my hand in his.

When we were far enough away from Ethan that he wouldn’t hear my fuming tone, I stopped short. “Levi,whatwas that?” Tugging him back so that he’d stop moving.

“Exactly—what was that? Is this man following you?”

My jaw went slack.Hewasfrustrated? “That’s ridiculous, do you hear yourself? He works in this industry, of course he would be invited here.”

“I just don’t think he has good intentions.”

“I don’t care what you think, Vi! That’s my advisor. I see him every single day, do you know how awkward that’s going to be now? You don’t get to be mad when you were busy talking to some other girl anyways.” My shoulders were rising with every breath and my face felt hot with frustration and my hands were curling and uncurling into fists, itching to pull at the fabric on my dress.

I had no right to be upset at him for talking to someone. He was single. We weren’t together. And even if we were, he could stilltalkto people. I don’t know why I was overreacting.

That was a lie. Of course, I knew why I was overreacting. Because tonight I was putting myself out there by showing up alone, wearing a dress that was as revealing as the things I wore as a toddler, just so that he would notice me.

But he had no right to be upset at me for being around

another man either.

I avoided his eyes, not wanting to overanalyze every one of his emotions. I start searching the room for a reason to leave this

conversation.

It must’ve shown because his voice softened, “Daisy, wait—”

“Oh great. I see Bella.”Time to pretend, I whispered under my breath. I immediately began walking away, expecting him to follow.

Frustration or confidence, it could’ve been a tad of both that raised the hair on my arms. I was moving with intention, and I was not about to question it because the look of surprise that spread over his face as I moved to the center of the room was priceless. Taking charge was at the bottom of my vocabulary, but I could pretend. I could use this frustration as feigned confidence for a moment.

Dancing scared the shit out of me. I loved to go dancing with friends after our club meetings, but that was different. That wasn’t dancing in a gown with someone you used to be in love with while people watched.

But the high of my frustration hadn’t worn off just yet, so I led him by the tips of my fingers to dance.

I had seenPride & Prejudiceenough times to know the hand placements.

Taking his hands, I placed one on my back and the other in my right palm. A shift in his gaze took place; his eyes were no longer wide with surprise but were resigned. He seemed stiff almost.

Until he began to lead.

He pulled me in close, his right hand holding onto my lower

back with determination. Our conjoined hands remained close to our bodies as he moved us back and forth. His jaw rested above my own, his cheek against mine. There was no space between us with my chest pressed against his, and my legs finding a space between his.

I couldn’t focus on any of the footwork because we weretouching. Our chests were pressed together like two books pushed by bookends. Our faces were only inches away, similar to the way children exchanged whispered secrets behind school. His hand was firm enough on my back that his two rings were etching their shape into my skin.