Page 79 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

He groaned in embarrassment and hid his face before laughing. “Why don’t I ever just shut up?”

I laughed. “I’ll take the couch, there’s no reason for you to sleep down here.”

“I’m going to make sure there’s sheets on the bed,” he said, ignoring my argument and walking straight up to his room.

After a moment, I walked upstairs to his room, finding him folding over a comforter on the bed. The room was clean and

plain, with two bookcases on either side of the window where moonlight poured in, and a small wooden desk that sat beside closet doors. The headboard of the bed was pressed against the furthest wall with a nightstand beside it. His room was full of greens and greys, and he had random photographs and papers peppering the walls and surfaces.

Next to his bookcase were numerous photos framed on the wall of him and his family when they were younger, along with images of friends and places he must’ve taken. Among them all was one picture of us in high school that stood out. It was a photo strip from a concert we went to for Levi’s 17thbirthday. I could remember it like it was yesterday. I forced him into that photobooth—hehatedtaking pictures. But we had no other photos from that day, and I knew it deserved some physical memento. It was his birthday! I had slipped the photo strip into his wallet, but I never knew he would’ve kept it after high school graduation.

We’re smiling in the first picture, sticking our tongues out in the second, laughing at each other in the third, and I’m hugging him in the fourth. It was before I realized how far my feelings went for him.

Levi cleared his throat from where he now stood leaning against his desk. “I took out some old pajama pants and a T-shirt if you want to change?”

“Thank you.” When I offered to take the couch, it was an immediate reaction. But now that I stood in front of his bed…I should’ve argued more. I couldn’t help but think of all the girls he’s loved before. The ones who’ve sat on this bed with him and had been in this room. Not only would I have to sleep in his bed where the sheets smelt like his cologne, but I’d have to put on his shirt and his pants and they’d— “That’s okay. I can sleep in these.” My linen pants were comfortable enough.

He began fidgeting with his watch. Undoing it and tightening it again. He had said something else to say, I could tell. I carefully sat on his bed and watched him from across the room, waiting.

“Can I ask you something?” he prompted.

“Of course.”

“Why did you say yes? To this, to helping me and agreeing to come to the wedding.” He brushed a hand through his thick hair and crossed his arms. Not in an intimidating, questioning way, but in a handsome, nervous way. He gnawed on his lip.

I thought of how he asked me to stay only ten minutes ago, and how honest he was. I don’t know if it was the effect the exhaustion had on my brain, or the desperation I had to feel confident for once in my life. But I said earnestly, “I missed you.”

Part of me felt satisfied with his surprised look. Surprise grew in his eyes, and then warm relief bloomed in his cheeks. His shoulders went slack as if he had come in from the cold and sat in front of a fire.

“I missed you,” he said.

My chest ached. “Why did you ask me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Because I needed an excuse to see you again.”

The surprise was blatant on my face. “Why?”

He laughed quietly. “I could write a book on why.”

If I learned anything about unrequited love, it was to stop asking questions. The more I dug for answers, the more it hurt, and I only discovered the same results: we’re friends.

He missed our friendship, I did too. But I couldn’t deny that

when I looked at his dark hair, I thought of how it was to run my hands through it when we kissed. And I couldn’t deny that when I watched him move, I watched the way his hands flexed and thought of how they felt on my back and behind my neck. And when I watched him speak, all I could focus on was the movement of his lips and how they whisperedDaisy.

“I’ll um, I’ll let you go to bed.” He left the room and shut the door behind him.

I exhaled and tried to not think too much about what he said. Looking down at my top, I sighed. It was fitted around my chest and tight under my arms. I couldn’t sleep in this. I gave Levi’s folded T-shirt another glance before tugging mine off and pulling his on. It reached the middle of my thighs and smelled like a mix of fresh laundry and sandalwood.

I refused to change my pants.

Picking my jewelry off like flower petals, I left my rings and earrings on his nightstand. Reaching behind my neck, I toyed with the clasp of my necklace with my short nails.Ugh, not working.

I stood up from the bed with an awoken frustration and padded down the stairs in my socks.

Levi was sitting back on the couch reading. He heard me before he saw me, asking, “Hey, what’s—” he paused when he saw me, his eyes glued to my—his—shirt.

“Would you mind taking off my necklace? It’s stuck.”