“I will.”
I make my way to Jewel’s, and along the way I spot a burst of yellow and white at a bodega across the street. I stop in my tracks, then glance at the crosswalk. The closest car is fifty feet away, and even though I don’t have the light, I race across anyway, slowing my pace as I come closer to what caught my attention in the first place. A bouquet of daisies tucked amid a stuffed assortment of flowers, of roses and tulips and lilies and daffodils. The eye of one of the daisies almost looks like it’s in the shape of a heart.
She would love it, so I buy it.
As I turn onto her block, my heart starts beating faster and my palms are sweating, and this chemical response pisses me off. I should be able to manage my reactions better. Hell, I saw her the other night at the party. I’ve seen her plenty of times since she ended our relationship four months ago. I should be able to get a better grip. But seeing as how I just bought her flowers, I doubt I will. Or can. Or want to.
Somehow, as the brownstone looms into view, all four stories of its Central Park West splendor, the home befitting a woman of Jewel’s stature, I manage to get my emotions in check.
I hold the flowers in one hand as I ring the bell.
Kennedy answers. Her brown hair is wavy and lush, and I know how it feels sliding it between my fingers. They itch to touch those soft strands. Her green eyes light up when she sees me. Her lips quirk up in a smile as she holds the big door, keeping it open only so far. Creating a shield. A temporary five-second cocoon.
She eyes me up and down, and I can tell she’s lingering on my shirt. It’s purple, tailored perfectly, and tucked neatly into my charcoal-gray slacks. She’s obsessed with my shirts. I don’t have a problem with this. I like this obsession.
More than I should.
I am a lost cause to her, and now as my heart thumps harder, it doesn’t piss me off. It reminds me of everything I once had that was pure and perfect and true.
“Purple,” she says in a breathy voice, like it’s a dream, like it’s a word that has wings and breath and can fly away, far from here. It transports me back in time, reminding me of a night from many months ago. The night she tried on this shirt. She looked stunning in it, and my breath catches from the intensity of the memory. I am surrounded by memories of her, and I can’t let them go. I don’t want them to fade. Ever.
“Purple,” I repeat, low and soft, like it’s our insider secret. I say it so low it’s almost unspoken. But she can hear me.
“How was your day?”
“It was good,” I say. “How was yours?”
“It’s not bad.”
“I heard you can’t stay tonight.”
“No. My dad has an art thing.”
“Art thing. Sounds like fun. If you like art,” I say, with a wink. I know she likes art. I know so many things about her, and I want to know so much more.
“I like art.”
“I picked up some flowers. You can pretend they’re for the house.” Then I whisper, as I point to the eye of the flower. “But they’re not.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw falls open. “I love it.”
“Me too.”
She grabs her phone to snap a picture of the eye of the daisy. “For my collection,” she adds.
“I know, K,” I say, and she presses her teeth into her lip as I call her by that name. As if she’s holding inside all the things I store tightly in me too.
Kennedy
I don’t want to move away. I don’t want this moment to end. My heart is still doing a wild tap dance in my chest because he’s early. My wish to the universe came true, and even though I’ve seen him countless times, I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
His brown hair is thick and messy, and right now he’s five-o’-clock-shadow-stubbly. I have to hold my hands behind my back so I don’t reach out and run a thumb along his jawline, then thread my hand in his hair, letting it slide through my fingers as I line my body against him.
I resist, staying rooted to this spot so I don’t give in to all that I want.
His dark-blue eyes twinkle. He looks only at me, and my skin heats up in an instant. No one has ever looked at me like he does. I doubt anyone ever will.
Noah Hayes is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Inside and out. In every way. Every now and then, I wonder why my mom never went after him. Considering his looks and her appetite, he’d be obvious prey. But all I can figure is she needed one man who wasn’t disposable. And maybe that’s why he’s the only man who’s been a constant, because he’s the only man my mom’s never had a fling with. He is her best friend, her confidante, and for all intents and purposes her business partner. More than that though, she thinks of him like a son. His own mom is gone, so my mom watches out for him. She loves him in some sort of protective way.
Which makes the situation all the more messed up.
Our Stolen Kisses
Our lips didn’t even touch for our first kiss. You weren’t even present for it.
I kissed a picture you gave me. You’d seen me time and time again bent over my phone, thumbing through photos. Finally, you asked what I was looking at one night when we were sitting across from each other in my living room. No one else was around. They’d gone out for gelato, and you were reading a script. You looked up from the pages.
“Texts from a boyfriend?”
You raised an eyebrow. Your voice was laced with curiosity. So much it gave me hope that you were praying I’d say no.