Page 77 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“It was one bad shot!”

“I bet you the next one will still be bad.”

“What do I get if you’re wrong?”

“Hmmm. Flowers?”

“I’ll buy you flowers anyways. What about…a question?”

“A question?” I asked, trying to act as if the first part of what he said hadn’t made my heartbeat speed up.

“If I win, I get to ask you anything.” His eyes flickered to me quickly before looking back at the basket. The air in the room was thick.

“Fine. The same goes for every one I get in too.”

We began throwing the girls’ toys into the basket from the couch. Levi landed one in seconds.

“Oh my gosh, you punk, you were bad on purpose!” I said in shock.

“Not true! You just doubted my abilities, and now you must answer a question.” He thought for a moment. “Are you still a bad driver?”

“Oh my—” and I chucked a (soft) toy at his head.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’ll be serious now. Do you…” he hesitated. I still struggled to place this Levi in my head. This nervous, blushing, second-guessing man had never existed in the catalog of actions I had created in my mind. “Do you still bake when you’re stressed?”

“How do you remember that?”

“How could I forget?” A beat between us went by where neither of knew what to say. But, “What do you bake now?”

“Blondies,” I said, still surprised. I threw a toy in and landed it. “My turn.”

“Ask away.”

I laughed when I figured out my question. “Has a girl in your class ever hit on you?”

He groaned. “You are determined to embarrass me, I swear.” As he’s speaking, it was difficult not to look at the shape of his jaw and the muscles in his arms. We were both so drunk on drowsiness that this line we had drawn ages ago was becoming blurry. There were so many things I’ve wanted to ask him and apparently, he’s felt the same, so I was taking my chance. Maybe he was tired enough that he wouldn’t remember the details tomorrow morning.

“Yes.”

“I need specifics here, Coldwell. How many?” He tipped his head back on the couch with a laugh. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his lips—stop. I need to separate myself from his body and scoot over; it’ll only be torture to smell him on my clothes later.

“Six girls.”

“SIX? Six girls have hit on you?” That was a third of the class.

He nodded his head, pressing his eyes closed with embarrassment.

“Why are you embarrassed?” I asked in alarm.

“I’m supposed to be an academic in training. They’re not supposed to be interested in me, it’s not appropriate. And the last thing I’d want is to make anyone uncomfortable—”

“Vi,you’re hot.”

He turned his head, his eyebrows raised. “You think I’m hot?”

“Well, everyone does.”

He nodded, closing his mouth and bit down on the inside of his cheek. Sitting back up, he threw another toy. He missed. I missed. And then he got one.