Page 52 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

I couldn’t believe I was letting him see me like this.

He continued. “Every time I see you, I think about…”

I searched his face in wonder. I so badly wanted to peak into his mind.

When his eyes caught mine in what appeared to be clarity, my breath stopped in my throat, and then he…he pressed his lips against mine.

The city was a dark blanket around us, but right then, it felt like the whole world lit up.

I let myself melt against him, the way wine slid against a bottle, or how a burning candle’s wax ran along its side.That’swhat it was, that’s what it felt like—a candle softening from the heat of its flame.

His lips were softer, fuller than I had ever imagined. The way

they took in my bottom lip as his hands moved from the sides of my face to the back of my head, touching every wave of my hair. It was slow and steady.Was I dreaming?

His thumb traced a path under my jaw in a commanding way, nudging my head up higher to kiss me deeper. I gasped, unsure how to process all of these feelings at once.His lips, his hands, his chest against mine.My lips and hands were slow to catch up to reality, but then our heads slightly shifted, and I was kissing him back, tasting him, allowing myself to divulge.

Pushing my hands into his soft hair, I pulled and wrapped my fingers around the curls I had dreamed of. I silently thanked my heels for being so high because Ineededto be eye level with him for this. Needed to have full access to what his body had to offer at this height.

“Daisy,” he moaned in between our lips.

And then it hit me like a train, right then I realized, I was madly, deeply,undeniablyin love with him. I loved him so much that my heart was pounding against my chest, trying to reach his to tell him.

Instead, I traced the outline of his body feeling desperate,hungryto touch every muscle under his suit. I tried to memorize every place his tongue brushed on my lip and the precise softness of them, but it felt like my feet were falling through the ground and my hands were holding onto him for dear life as if this moment was going to disappear.

Romantic playlists burned into CDs. Hearts embroidered into scarves. Soft kisses on foreheads. Dark theaters on rainy Friday nights. Dainty gold jewelry against soft skin. French poems written while drunk. Protective hands against your hips guiding you

through crowds.

I felt all of it at once.

Every ounce of it was Levi consuming my attention and consciousness with his presence.

His skin was warmer than I had realized, while his lips were poetic as they left mine to make their way around my jaw. I think he may have actually been speaking in sonnets from the feeling of his lips against my collarbones. It gave me a second to breathe and think.

What did this kiss mean to him? I asked myself.

He cradled the back of my head while his other hand gripped my waist, his lips capturing all perimeters of my jaw.Oh, God. My train of thought was becoming alphabet soup; words and sentences falling apart to letters that were jumbled up in my head. I was breathing so fast that I clung to his biceps to keep from falling under my weak knees.

“You intoxicate me, Daisy. The scent of flowers lingers on you everywhere you go, and I always want to follow,” he murmured against my neck.That. I wanted to hear that every morning, day, night, daydream, and nightmare. I wanted him to say it to me inFrench.

That had to mean something. This had to mean something. I should tell him then, right? Tell him how I feel because he must feel the same way?

My thoughts became blurry as his lips came back to mine. I must have groaned because he laughed lightly. His young, childish laugh that made me physically giddy.

Mustering up every ounce of self-control, I pulled away. The man that looked back at me had red wine cheeks, full lips, tousled hair, and eyes brighter than the moon at midnight. He looked at me with concern, as ifIwas about to turn him down.

I placed my hands on his chest in reassurance. Pressing my eyes shut, I tried not to think about the last time I did this and how epically it failed. “I, I need to tell you something—”

“Dani!” I was cut off by Sandra running down the front stairs of the venue with a smile. She wrapped me in a hug the moment

we were close enough. “Congratulations on ESMOD!”

Oh.

“Gabe just texted me; I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Flippin’ Paris, babe!” She pulled back from our hug, clutching my biceps in joy. “When will you leave?”

“Oh, I, I haven’t made a decision yet on ESMOD.”