Page 4 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

Receiving a slap on the shoulder from him, she only erupted

in more laughter. “You owe me a drink for that performance,” Jia stated, pointing at Gabe.

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded, “It’s on its way.” Rolling his eyes and scrunching up his button nose, making him look like a kid. His height alone gave him a child-like appearance, standing two inches shorter than me, meaning several inches shorter than Jia. You could never tell though because he wore platform sneakers, a gift from the company he interned at as a marketing assistant.

Turning another corner, we made our way to the bar down the street, entering into the usual crowd.

“A beer and a Dirty Shirley,” Gabe asked the bartender, squeezing in between those also asking for drinks as Jia and I shouted our thanks.

Turning to me, Jia took another fry out of the basket, “You never explained the cute outfit.” Her gaze swept over my clothes, from the well-fitting jeans to the low-cut, long sleeve top that accentuated my chest in a way I know she commended, but I opposed. It was a stark contrast from my usual attire which often consisted of overalls, trousers, midi dresses, etc.—anything that didn’t stick to my body.

I pulled at the top, trying to cover more of my chest, but it then it exposed my belly button. Sighing, “I needed a silhouette example for the dress I’m sketching. I wasn’t sure if I liked the combo of this cut with a bodycon style frame towards the bottom.”

Was she listening? Because she looked more focused on how I couldn’t stop touching my shirt. Then suddenly, she was pulling at the top too, trying to fix the mess that was me in fitted clothing.

“What did you end up deciding?” Jia asked, apparently listening.

“To keep the dress fitted in the waist and hips, but have it flarefrom there. If the neckline was higher, I would’ve decided otherwise, but I feel like it’s too much all together, right?” I asked.

Talking about design-thoughts wasn’t good for my mental health after class hours—it made me stress-sweat—but it had to be done because it was all I could think about. If I didn’t figure it out now, then it’d knock on my glass window like a desperate Romeo visiting Juliet tonight. And I liked my sleep uninterrupted.

Pulling my flower hair clip out of my purse, I began sweeping my short brown hair up.

Jia continued, “Nope, I totally—"

“Oh crap,” I exhaled, my hair clip falling to the ground. Squatting down, I searched for the bright clip. As soon as I reached the floor, I was standing back up with the clip in hand—shit. Was that the bottom of someone’s beer that just hit the top of my head?

“Shit,”I said in unison with the person holding the beer. Standing up, I ran a hand through my hair (no beer, thank God) as I went to apologize to—

How hard did I just hit my head? Because there’s no way this is actually happening right now.

“Daisy?”Levi asked. Levi Coldwell. Levi Coldwell was standing in front of me.

2

I never understood why anyone spoke poorly of the color brown,

it was a dream on you

Short, curling hair—shorter than I remember—in the most perfect shade of brown, along with his hazel eyes and melting smiling.

How did he get more handsome?

The Levi Coldwell that I loved in high school. The boy I spent nearly every day with and watched every girl swoon over him in the process while my heart was shattered into pieces. Roaring started in my ears and the room began to sway as past memories flooded my vision. The last time I had seen him was when he walked across the graduation stage our senior year of high school four years ago. I had been silently wiping tears as I avoided his gaze in the crowd, thinking of everything he said to me the previous night.

“Levi?”I was trying to hide any state of panic, but I couldn’t relax my shoulders or lower blood pressure as I took in the man in front of me. I rushed to fix whatever the beer glass just did to my hair as I absorbed that he was real.

“Levi?!”Gabe and Jia whispered from behind me, reminding

me that we are in public, not in a dream.

“You cut your hair,” Levi said in astonishment as if we had been speaking for the past four years. His hand reached toward my face to touch it, but then, his hand moved down to his side quickly. My breath hitched in my throat like a hormonal teenage girl.

Don’t blush, don’t blush, be cool, be cool. He mentioned yourhair, not the shape of your lips in a romantic way.

I suppressed my numerous questions about why he was here. Like where he’s been the past four years, if he’s thought of me at all, if he was doing okay. Instead, I said, “I did. Kind of gets in the way while sewing.”

That wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. I cut it short the day after senior graduation because that’s what all the heartbroken main characters I watched did when they needed a change. It seemed like a good next move after finding out the person I was in love with didn’t feel the same way.