Page 64 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“I haven’t,” I said with confusion. “I asked a couple times, but the response was an immediate no.” I rolled my eyes at Levi, knowing that he had said no because he was embarrassed, even though there was no reason for him to be.

“Well, I’d keep pushing. You’d learn quite a few things,” Oliver said, nudging Levi with his elbow. I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but Levi looked uncomfortable.

“See you later, Levi.” They exchanged a casual half-hug, half-handshake. “It was nice finally meeting you, Dani,” he said with a wave and then walked out.

“What was—”

“You’re here early,” Levi said with confusion, phrasing it like a question.

“I got out of class early. I thought I could walk over and watch you teach a bit. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry,” I winced, wanting to press my fingers into the corners of my eyes and erase the moment. Luckily all of the students had left, so hopefully I wouldn’t have to relive that moment ever again.

He turned toward the front desk, shuffling some papers together and moving them into his bag. His hair fell forward over the tops of his ears and forehead, shielding the look in his eyes.

“I should be apologizing to you. Out of all the classes you overheard, it was me being tantalized,” he said, shaking his head

with embarrassment.

I wasn’t used to this blushing, flustered Levi. He had never

been like this in high school. Confidence, decisiveness, and cool,yes. But this? I wasn’t used to this.

“Tantalized?! Levi they were flirting with you.”

Levi scoffed in disbelief as if he has no idea what I was talking about. He shook his head, locking the drawers to the desk hastily.Oh, he had no idea what I was talking about. “They think my French accent is funny, that’s all.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re an idiot,” I said in a deadpanned tone, stunned by his ignorance. For once in my life, I knew something Levi Coldwell didn’t.

That caused Levi’s head to whip up, a crooked smile on his face that was as sweet as limoncello. “You punk,” he said with a smirk. It would’ve made me giggle if I wasn’t so determined.

I continued with urgency, determined to wipe that gorgeous, idiotic smile off his face. “They’re into you! Speaking French is one of the most romantic things on the planet that a man can do.” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Does he not notice how attractive he is? “Huge turn on,” I emphasized.

“You think it’s a turn on?” Levi asked, cocking an eyebrow, and leaning back onto the desk, crossing his arms.

“Well, yes—and every other breathing woman,” I responded with exasperation.

“I didn’t ask about every other woman; I was asking about you.” There was a look on his face that I couldn’t determine. Not shy but not flirty. Almost a euphoric curiosity that existed on scientists and attractive, mysterious male leads from 90s romances.

I stood there frozen. Unsure of this territory we were moving

into by having this conversation. Clearing my throat, and

adjusting my shirt, I said, “Yes.”

He pulled at the tie around his neck with one hand. “Yes, what?”

My eyes skipped from the hand that was gripping his tie to the way he licked his lips. What if I just loosened the tie for him? Wrapped my hand around his, moved it out of the way, and grabbed onto the neck of the tie and pulled him forward. I’d bring his lips to mine, taste the espresso on his tongue that he drank this morning, and tug every curl of hair on his head. I’d kiss him until every ounce of my heart was full and had to burst. I’d—

“Yes. I find men that speak French attractive.”

His eyes widened with a sort of surprise I haven’t seen before. “I—”

An unfamiliar voice sounded behind us. “And if you come this way…”

“Shit.”He swore with horror, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a—closet?

“The admin can’t know the professor left a TA alone to teach,” he rushed, shuffling us into the closet and shutting the door behind us, leaving us in darkness with just a sliver of light under the door.

He pushed himself against the wall, giving me space—as in one footstep between our bodies. I could only see an outline of the right side of his face from the light outside the door. But it was enough to suffocate my focus. I imagine I looked alarmed; he must have thought I looked like a character in a horror film who was running from the masked killer because my mind was processing the precise distance between us and how similar it was to Saturday night on those steps before we kissed. My hands shook, moving away from my sides in the darkness, hoping—wantingto feel his. Wondering how close they were.