Max, Now
When I wake up in Daisy’s bedroom, I may as well be emerging from a coma. Every movement pairs with cracking joints and throbbing muscles. A quick glance in the mirror, and I at least don’t have any visible bruising—mostly a tender, swollen cheek.
I round the corner from the living room into the kitchen, and the wall clock reads 9:54 a.m. Daisy’s standing over the stove with a mug in her hand.
“Let me guess,” I say, “that’s your third cup of coffee already.”
She whirls around, abandoning her cooking to investigate me up close. “Looks like those frozen peas did their job.”
“Going into bed-and-breakfast territory?” I tease, nodding toward whatever’s sizzling in the pan.
“Just for you. You took an elbow to the face for me.”
“Just for you.”
Daisy rests a gentle hand on my jaw. I could tell her not to make such a fuss over me, but I don’t mind being showered with attention if it means having her this close. I love having her this close. I loveher.
I didn’t forget last night.
When she moves back toward the stove, I stalk forward and grab her wrists, wrapping my fingers around them gently so she sets the spatula on the counter. The morning light streams through the dining-room window, illuminating the house with an earthy glow.
“I don’t care about breakfast,” I say, interrupting her with a kiss. The pressure causes a brief throb of pain I gladly tolerate. “I love you, Daze. I’ve loved you a really long time, and I want you to know that.”
“Max.”
“You don’t have to say anything. But I have been dying to get you alone.”
“No.” Her head flicks back and forth. “We can’t—I-I have to tell you something.”
My stomach free-falls, because her denial sounds like she’s already slipping away from me.
“We should sit,” she says, gesturing to the dining area.
“Just tell me.” I don’t mean for my response to be so clipped, but if this is the admission that she doesn’t see us as anything more than friends, ever, that our arrangement was a mistake from the start, and that I’ll never be the guy she’s looking for—then I want to get it over with.
“I—” She clicks the stovetop off and takes a deep breath, not once meeting my eyes. “Do you remember a few months into your first semester at school, you had an exhibit on campus?”
The question catches me off guard. I had countless showcases in college, so they blur together. That fall of freshman year, Iwould have only had one, and it was the first in my life Daisy didn’t go to.
“Sure, I remember.”
“Well, I…” She gnaws at the corner of her bottom lip. “I was there.”
A chuckle escapes me. I took a punch yesterday, but did she hit her head, too? She’s getting timelines confused. “That was in Dublin,” I say.
“I know.”
I eye her. “When?”
“Opening night. The dates aligned with my college’s Thanksgiving break, and I’d saved up some money.”
She’s doing a spectacular job of not breaking, so I play along with her joke.
“Right,” I say. “We got ice cream after, went to a comedy show, and robbed a bank. It was a great night.”
“I’m serious, Max.”
I let out a laugh, expecting her to break down into giggles at any moment.
