Daisy.

I touched my lips, a smile on my face as I tried to stop laughing.

He kissed me.

And I liked it.

I laughed again, staring at my ceiling with a soft smile.

In the kitchen, on the couch, on the way back to my place, at my door—he kissed me. The power came back on eventually, but we didn’t even get around to watching the movie. Not that I minded. He wasn’t bad at it—not at all—and I blushed at the thought of how on earth he got so good.

And I didn’t know what it meant, at all, because I was too busy catching my breath and kissing him back. What did it mean? Did he like me? What would I do? What would I say? Could I say anything? Should I have said anything? Were we just pretending nothing happened? What did I even want? What did he want? What was I supposed to do when I saw him again?

The only person who I could think of who would know what to do was Marina, so I called her for advice and we made plans for lunch at my place. She knocked on my door around twelve thirty, holding up a box of pizza and some sodas.

“You rang?” she greeted cheerily, wriggling her eyebrows at me.

“Come in.” We sat down in my living room and she dug into the pizza, looking at me.

“Okay, spill. You don’t just call me out of the blue to hang out. What happened?” I picked a slice and bit into it with a smile, looking at her. “Tell me!”

“Uh, well…”

“Well?” she asked expectantly. “Spill, Daisy!”

“Well…” I bit my lip, pushing my hair behind my ear. I nibbled on the pizza, glancing at her. How could I tell her? I had to, especially if I wanted her to tell me what to do.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! I just—well, um. I went to Dash’s for some movies last night and…” I rubbed my neck sheepishly, trying not to laugh.

“And?”

“Well, um, he—he kissed me.” She almost spit out her food, looking at me, blue eyes wide as she leaned forward.

“He what?”

“He kissed me, and I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you know, you typically kiss back. If you want.” I made a face. “What?”

“Obviously, Marina.”

“I can’t believe he kissed you, Daisy!” She squealed with excitement, all smiles. “How was it?”

“Good,” I admitted bashfully, looking down at my lap. She squealed again, but her face fell when she saw I didn’t share her excitement.

“What’s the big deal?” she asked, frowning at me.

“I don’t know. I just—I don’t know what to do. I mean, it kind of—well.” I played with my hair. “It was just really nice. He’s kind of, uh, he’s pretty good at it, I guess…”

“Well, duh, Daisy. I don’t know what you’re getting so wigged out about, I mean—dude, he’s hot and you’re hot. And you’re both single. You both obviously like each other. I don’t understand this whole denial thing you’re doing.” She shot me a look. “It was bound to happen at some point. It won’t get any better if you keep repressing it and acting like you don’t want to be with him. Did you not want him to or something?” She paused.

“It’s not that. I just… what do I do now?” I frowned. I thought it’d be more complicated and lengthy, but she was making it seem like it was really a lot simpler than I’d thought it to be.

“What do you mean? Why do you have to do anything? Why can’t you guys just, you know, be?” she asked, frowning at me.

“’Cause I don’t know what he wants.”

“Then why are you talking to me? Girl—” She held up her hand. “You need to get at that. For real.” She made a face at me, shaking her hand. “Call him!”

“But I just—I don’t know what to do!” I whined, slumping against the couch. “This sucks.”

“Don’t stress it, girl. What you need to do is call Dash up, be like, hey boo, and he’ll be all like, hey, baby, and then you’ll be like, come over, let’s have some dinner or something, and he’ll be like, yeah! ‘Cause, you know, boys like food and eating and all that fun stuff, okay? You’ll be all calm and cool and collected. And hot. You should probably try to put something swanky on, like that little black dress.”

“It’s not swanky.” I blushed, laughing quietly.

“Well, whatever.” She wriggled her eyebrows at me as she continued. “Then he’ll be all like, damn, baby, and then you’ll be all cute and blushy, ‘cause you always do that when someone says something nice about you. And sit and you’ll eat and have some wine, maybe, and talk like adults, because you’re both consenting adorably awkward adults and that’s what consenting adorably awkward adults do. Sometimes you just have to make the first move, Daisy.” She smiled.

“That’s it?” I scowled. It couldn’t have been that easy. Was there a catch somewhere? What if it didn’t work out as well as Marina thought it would? What if he wasn’t interested in me at all? What if he was seeing someone else? What if he just wasn’t dating?

“Um, yes? It’s not that hard, Daisy. And he obviously, you know, digs you, and you know you want him so, what’s the big deal?” I smiled at her a little, slumping up my shoulders with a cheap laugh. “You know what this means?”

“What?”

“Sleepovers and double dates and road trips and weekends at the cabin and—yes! Just—yes!” She grinned, hugging me. “It’s gonna be awesome.” I laughed, biting my lip.

So, following Marina’s very sage advice, I called him and asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner. And to my surprise, he said he’d love to, but that he’d be by kind of late because he had a shift at the library. I took the extra time to tidy up and make something nice to eat.

I decided on making something simple and sweet, some pasta with chicken and chocolate cake (from scratch, just because I could). By the time I had everything set away, it was about five in the afternoon. Dash wouldn’t be around until seven or eight, so I still had some time on my hands.

The problem with having time on your hands is that you have time to think. And when you have time to think, you have time to over analyze. And when you over analyze, you tend to blow things out of proportion. Sometimes.

And that’s kind of what I did. I mean, it’s not like I could be blamed—I spent my whole life doing that and it wasn’t like that was going to change. Did I even have much reason not to question it? What did it all even mean? Why? Why did he say the things he said? And to me, of all people? It didn’t make any sense.

Was it all some big joke? I scowled at my reflection, holding up a dress to my frame in the mirror. Why would he do that? In what universe could that be considered funny? At all? And what was his obsession with fixing me all about? Was he really that naïve? Who did he think he was?

I stalked off to the shower, becoming more and more upset as my thoughts raced. Of course, every time I liked someone or thought something could maybe—hopefully—work out nicely, something had to happen.

It was too good to be true, of course.

I pulled on the little black dress, drying my hair with a towel. It wasn’t fair.

Why did this always happen to me?

I fixed my makeup in the mirror, sighing softly. I had to stop. If I kept thinking, I’d drive myself crazy and end up ruining the whole thing, which I really didn’t want to do. So I smiled at myself and fixed my hair, forcing myself to relax and just breathe. I had to stop trying to pick everything apart before it even came together.

I walked out and set the table, trying not to stumble and fall. The heels on my feet were all Marina’s idea, and as cute as they were, I didn’t want to trip and crack my neck open. I was putting the finishing touches on the table when I heard him knocking on the door. I took a deep breath and walked towards it, pushing my hair over my shoulder, standing up straight.

“Hey! Come in,” I greeted, trying to sound cheerful. I shut the door behind him. He hugged me, handing me some flowers.

“Some daisies for my little Daisy,” Dash joked. I sniffed the yellow and white flowers wrapped in pink tissue paper. My face flushed as another smile crept on my face. It was hard to stay mad and focused when he did things like that.

“You should go sit while I get some water for these,” I murmured timidly, turning my back on him as my cheeks flamed, searching for a glass or something. I settled on an old narrow glass jar. With shaky fingers, I filled it, trying not to drop it as I plopped the fresh flowers in water.

“Did you make all of this?” I nodded and he laughed. “You didn’t have to, you know,” he said, picking up a fork. I made a face, almost disappointed.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” I waited until he ate some, watching. I hoped he liked it and I hated how much I actually cared, because I shouldn’t have, not really. “Jesus,” he laughed, eyes lighting up.

“Is it good?”

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I taught myself. Let’s just say I have lots of time on my hands.”

I usually spent months at home between each trip, so I tried teaching myself how to do things I didn’t know how to do, like cook and sew and knit and other little things. It kept my mind off of things, and they were things that I hadn’t learned to do as a kid, and at some point I’d need to do them, so why not? Sometimes it came in handy, like with cooking.

Dash grinned at me, twirling some of the noodles with his fork. I circled the rim on the glass of wine with a lazy finger, a small smile on my face. I picked up a fork and started to eat, hungry.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked bashfully. Dash looked up from his practically empty plate, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. He nodded, setting it down as he reached for some wine.

“Ask away.”

“Why’d you kiss me?” He looked up at me, green eyes curious and almost surprised. I burned under his gaze, looking back down at my plate. Why did I ask? Why couldn’t I just have wallowed in insatiable curiosity for the rest of my days? Lots of people did that and managed to carry on. Why couldn’t I?

“I like you.” He said it so candidly that it took me off guard. It wasn’t hesitant or shy or tentative—nope, it was just there. He liked me. Whatever that meant. No hesitation, no trepidation, just there, point blank, cut right to the chase. What else was I expecting, though? Especially from him, someone as blunt and candid as he was wouldn’t have danced around it.

“What?”

“I like you, Daisy.” He laughed a little, like it was obvious and like I should have known. I should have but I didn’t, or maybe I did and was just trying to pretend I didn’t. It didn’t matter if I didn’t know or knew before, because I knew then, and once I knew, that was it. How was it so easy for everyone but me to see? He just liked me? That was it? There had to be more to it. I couldn’t stop the questions once they left my mouth, wishing I could take them back as soon as I had said them.

“Why? I don’t understand, Dash. Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” I made a face at him, almost impatient. Did he really not understand? At all? What if he really did think he could help me or fix me or save me or whatever it was? I had to set him straight. He liked the idea of me, which I guess was kind of noble and even a little sweet, but still not right.

“This,” I huffed, moving a hand between us with a scowl. “Why? I don’t understand, Dash. I don’t get it—I don’t get you or any of this or why you keep trying to help me. Why? I don’t—” I stopped short, holding up my hands. “If you’re doing this because you think you can help me or make me better or whatever, you can’t and you should just give up now.”

“I’m not a quitter, Daisy.” He made a face and I returned it, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Do you feel bad? Is—Is that it? Don’t feel bad for me, okay? The last thing I need is your pity, Dash. I don’t want it and I don’t need it and I would much rather you stop than keep this thing up.” I looked at him pointedly. “Please.”

“I worry about you. There’s a difference,” he replied coolly.

“Don’t worry about me! I’m fine, okay? I’m perfectly fine and I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

I was self-sufficient. I could do things on my own, for myself, and I didn’t need to depend on anyone, nor was I going to. And I’d be damned if he wasted his time trying to help me. He had bigger and better things to focus on, and I knew I wasn’t one of them, nor was I willing to become one so quickly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re perfectly fine?”

“Yes.” I made a face at him. “What?”

“I think you’re scared,” he said simply, putting his napkin on his plate. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, sighing softly. “You’re scared, Daisy.”’

“I’m not scared.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I nodded, shaking my head at him. He didn’t look upset or worried at all, sipping his wine slowly. “What am I so scared of?” I asked sarcastically, making a face at him.

He leaned in closer.

“I think you’re scared of someone getting close to you and getting to know you, which is understandable, I guess. But what I think you’re really scared of is someone having feelings for you and caring about you.” I looked at him with the tiniest of angry pouts, staring at him with chagrin. “So cute when you’re mad.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said stonily, trying to ignore what he said. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Why’d I kiss you? ’Cause I felt like it ’cause I like you. Do you like me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see what the big deal is.” He finished the wine, licking his lips. “Why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out. I’m just—I’m only going to hurt you,” I tried to explain. “I’m trying to help you. I—I just—I hurt everyone and I ruin everything, Dash. And I don’t want to hurt you or ruin you or break you and I’m afraid I will. I don’t think you understand.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he replied. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that and I don’t want to find out the hard way, so please just—don’t. Please don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re not going to mess this up.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I believe in you. And because I really, really like you and I see things in you that I don’t think you see, like how brave you are and how strong and wonderful and beautiful and perfect you are.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I mumbled, voice thick. “Don’t say things like that. Please.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I replied, swallowing past the lump in my throat slowly. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you and I’m not going to.”

“Because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared. You don’t scare me.” I looked at him, lips in a line.

“Right.”

“You’re not scary.”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Compared to everything else I’d been through, he was a piece of cake, nothing to fear. He didn’t scare me and he was wrong, so wrong, about everything, especially me.

“So why can’t you just accept the fact that someone actually, you know, likes you?”

“Because you like the idea of me, not who I really am, and that’s not fair to you. I’m pretty sure once you figure out how messed up I really am, you’ll just end up running away like everyone else does.” I gnawed on my bottom lip, watching him.

“Did you kill anyone?”

“No.”

“Ever rob a bank?”

“No.”

“Sell some drugs on the side?”

“No.”

“Then why would I run away?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I countered, shoulders falling. It wasn’t as easy as I hoped it’d be.

“’Cause I like you. I can be just as stubborn as you are when I want to be, so if you’re saying all these things to get rid of me, I don’t think it’s going to help very much.”

I drink some more wine to distract myself, trying to think.

“So what’s your plan? You’re just gonna say all these things, and bam, I’m fixed?” I laughed cheaply, standing up to take the cake out of the fridge. I cut two slices, one for me and one for him. He stood up and took his.

“No.” Dash shook his head, shrugging. “I was actually thinking of just being with you, if you’d give me a chance.” I stayed silent. “If you’d give yourself a chance,” he added. I didn’t say anything then either. “I think you’re scared. You’re a scared little girl whose feeling something for somebody. Tell me I’m lying.”

“I can’t.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“I’m going to hurt you. I’ll break you. I’ll mess you up really, really badly. I’ll start feeling things for you and you’ll feel the way you do, or maybe it’ll get stronger, who knows—and then—then—then you’ll figure it out. One day, it’ll hit you—how awful and terrible and just not good enough I am and you’ll leave and undo all my hard work,” I mumbled, feeling my eyes burn as I closed them. I heard his spoon scrap against the plate, and when I opened my mouth, he was licking it clean with a small smile on his face. “I’m not good for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

“So let me in so I can get to know you.”

“I don’t want to break you.” I set my plate down on the sink next to his. “But if you keep this up, and if you keep looking at me like that and touching me and tell me how wonderful you think I am, I won’t be able to help myself and I’ll just—I’m gonna mess you up real bad,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of hurting you.” Hot wet trails of shame dripped down my cheeks as I looked down, embarrassed at how poorly I held myself together.

“Daisy?”

“Hm?”

And then there he was, pressing timid, frantic kisses to my face and cheeks and lips and eyes, cupping my face. He didn’t pull away until we were both breathless and flushed. He tucked some of my hair behind my ear with a soft smile and kissed me again.

“I crumble completely when you cry.”