11. Daisy
DAISY
“He’s coming here?” Violet drops her phone to her lap and sits up on the couch. She glances around at the mess of her and Dahlia’s sewing stuff around the room.
“Maybe we can move this upstairs,” Dahlia offers weakly. Even if I wanted that, he’d be here before they got it all moved. Two fashion design majors can accumulate a lot of stuff.
“It’s fine. Jordan and I will study upstairs.”
“In your room?” Jane asks, peeking out of the kitchen. Her smile starts slow and builds until I’m certain I’m blushing.
“Is Liam coming too?” Violet asks.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Her brown eyes narrow. “It’s weird that he didn’t just ask Liam to help him. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Frazzled, I can’t think through the strangeness of the situation. Jordan Thatcher is going to be at my house. All weirdness pales compared to that.
A heavy knock on the front door pushes my pulse into overdrive. I smooth a hand down my dress and take a deep breath before I hurry to answer it.
Jordan stands on the other side in his standard backward hat, jeans, and T-shirt. A smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “Hey.”
“Hi.” My voice sounds entirely too breathy.
Instead of making a move to come inside, he points to the house next door. “You live next to The White House.”
“Yep. That’s right.”
I open the door wider, and he steps through. “I didn’t even know this place was here.”
“We get that a lot.” Violet waves from the couch.
“You remember Violet. And that’s Dahlia and Jane,” I say, introducing him to my roommates.
Dahlia’s eyes are wide as she takes him in, but she doesn’t speak. I forget how shy she is sometimes since it mostly surfaces around the opposite sex.
“Nice to meet you,” Jane calls from the next room. She moves closer, unabashedly watching as Jordan walks in.
I have to say, Jordan in the middle of our living room is a strange sight among the fabrics and sewing machine occupying most of the space.
He nods to my friends and then looks back at me.
“Ready?” I ask.
My roommates are so intently staring at him and now me.
“Yeah.” He adjusts his backpack and follows me to the second floor. The four bedrooms and the only full bathroom are up here. My room faces the house on the opposite side of us from The White House. This street, as well as the one behind us, are primarily rentals for the university.
As he walks into my room, I feel like I’m seeing it with new eyes—the simple metal frame, the light-yellow comforter, the raggedy stuffed bear that I’ve had since I was seven. The only other furniture besides my bed is a desk, chair, and my easel.
“You can have the chair,” I say.
The wood floor creaks with his footsteps. He takes a seat and drops his backpack to the floor in front of him, then continues to look around the room.
“Drawing?” He points to the easel. “Or painting?”
“Mostly drawing.”
“That’s awesome. I can’t draw for anything.”
“It’s just a lot of practice.”
He nods slowly. “Bad at taking a compliment.”
“What?” I ask with a light laugh.
“Just adding to the list of things I’m learning about you.”
“Thank you,” I relent with a smile. “Did you have something in mind that you wanted to work on? I pulled up some study notes from physics that might help.”
“That sounds fine.” He brings out a notebook and pencil.
My laptop is on my bed, but I suddenly feel weird about sitting on it in front of him. I perch on the very edge and open my computer.
He slides his pencil behind one ear, and I move so that I’m closer to him but still sitting on the edge of the bed. He smells like soap again, sans beer. Turning my laptop, I say, “Do you want to go through the lab questions or…?”
“Sure.”
I start to read through the first one, explaining as best I can. His brown eyes are pinned on me so attentively my pulse jumps, and my voice quivers. I stop and sit back. “How about you read it and just tell me what questions you have?”
He sits forward and stares for a minute. The silence in my room is suffocating. Even my breathing sounds too loud. I try to do less of it, but then I feel like I’m going to pass out.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“All of it?”
“Well…” He glances from me to the screen and back. If he expects me to read his mind and magically fill the gaps in his knowledge, he’s going to be seriously disappointed.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit.
“Me either.” He sits back in the chair. “Are you hungry?”
“No, not really.”
“Thirsty?”
“I’m okay.”
“A walk then?”
“If it will help.”
“It couldn’t hurt. There’s a gas station up the street.” He starts toward the door, leaving his backpack. He glances back when I don’t follow. “Are you coming?”
Violet and Dahlia are nowhere to be found downstairs, but the evidence of their work is still strewn around.
“Whoa,” Jordan says as he takes it all in. “It looks like this room exploded. How long were we up there?”
“This is how they are when they have a big project due. They take over the entire first floor. Fabrics and threads, measuring tapes, and scissors.” I look at him. “Violet owns like ten different ones and still can never find a pair.”
“Why do they call it a pair?” he asks. “A pair of scissors sounds like they come in two.”
“It’s a plural tantum.”
His mouth quirks up on both sides.
Even in the cool night air, I feel my cheeks warm under a blush. “Like jeans or pants.”
He’s quiet a second and then says with a smirk, “Or panties.”
We lock eyes in the darkness, and my heart flutters.
The gas station is on the next block. We walk up the street and stop at the intersection.
Jordan hits the crosswalk button. “Do they take over the first floor a lot?”
“Violet and Dahlia?”
He nods.
“Once a week or so. Sometimes they go to the design lab, but Violet says she’s more inspired at home where she can play her music loudly and keep late hours.”
“And Jane?”
“She is a music major, but she spends a lot of time in her room.”
He hangs on my every word. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you do when they’re taking over your first floor and blasting tunes all night?”
“Oh, I don’t mind.”
The light changes, and we cross the street at a clip. The gas station/quickie mart smells like burnt coffee. I hang back and let Jordan grab what he wants, which includes a bag of chips, Twizzlers, two energy drinks, and a pack of gum.
“You don’t want anything?” he asks as he places his items on the checkout counter.
“No thanks.” I peruse the items up front and smile at the Fun Dip packets. “I didn’t know they still made these.”
“They’re classic. No childhood is complete without Fun Dip and candy necklaces.”
I run my hand along the pack and then pull it back. “I wasn’t allowed to have either of those as a kid.”
“You’ve never had Fun Dip?” Jordan asks, disbelief in his tone as one dark brow lifts.
I shake my head and move to the other side of him, closer to the door. He pays, and we head back outside.
Jordan opens the chips before we’ve crossed the parking lot. He tosses one in his mouth, chews, and asks, “What kind of deprived childhood did you lead, sweet Daisy?”
I swear he says things just to see me blush, which I, of course, do. “I wasn’t deprived. I had candy and junk food sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“At birthday parties and Halloween, Easter, that kind of thing.”
He nods thoughtfully, and we walk across the street back toward the house.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” Jordan says. “Where do you hang out when they take over for these wild and crazy design sessions?”
The wind blows my hair around my face. I tuck it behind my ears and hug my arms to my stomach. “In my room or?—”
“Hold up.” He stops, sets the bag on the ground, and removes his hoodie. When he thrusts it in my direction, I stare at it, unsure what to do.
“Take it. You’re obviously cold.”
I wrap my fingers around the soft fabric, hand still outstretched. He nods, encouraging me.
“Thanks.” My pulse kicks up a notch as I pull his sweatshirt on over my head. It’s warm and smells faintly like fabric softener and something else I can’t quite place.
“Welcome.”
We continue in silence. Most of the houses along the street are quiet. The lights are on inside, but the yards and driveways are still. I walk this street almost every day, but I’m usually in a hurry one way or the other.
Jordan’s long strides are slow, and his gaze roams around, taking it all in as he eats his chips. I get the feeling very little studying is happening tonight.
I take a step, looking over my shoulder at him as I do. “There’s a tree house in the back yard.”
His stare focuses on me, and my pulse races higher.
“Sometimes I go out?—”
“Watch out!”
Brakes squeal against the pavement, and a flurry of red light flashes in front of me before I’m yanked backward, swallowing my words, and slamming into his chest.
A shocked gasp escapes as I glance from the car backing out of the driveway and into Jordan’s dark eyes.
“Oh my gosh.”
He curses under his breath.
My hands tremble. “Thank you. I didn’t see it.”
“No shit.” His voice is quiet but forceful. He steadies me and steps away.
The guy in the car rolls down the passenger side window. He’s a Valley student. I know because I see him walking toward campus sometimes. “I’m so sorry. They should really put streetlights up. Are you both okay?”
“We’re fine,” Jordan answers, his voice like ice. “Streetlights don’t make you a better driver. Try watching where you’re going.”
The guy pales.
“It was my fault,” I say, but the driver is inching backward while rolling up his window.
Jordan’s steps toward my house get quicker. “He should have been looking where he was going.”
“I should have too.”
He stops in front of my house. Anger radiates off him, but I watch as he reins it in. “You could have been seriously hurt because that asshole wasn’t paying attention.”
I’m at a loss for how to respond. I don’t know if he’s pissed at me or the driver, or both.
“You’re okay?” His voice softens.
“I’m good,” I say.
When we get inside, Violet and Dahlia are in the living room, sitting on the floor with their sketchbooks and iPads laid out in front of them.
“Where’d you two go?” Violet asks.
“Gas station,” I answer.
Jordan lifts the bag. “Anyone need snacks?”
They both shake their heads.
I follow Jordan back up to my room. He sits on the chair in front of my desk, digging through the bag. He frees the Twizzlers, opens it, and pulls out two. He separates the strands of candy and offers one my way.
“No thanks.”
“Live a little.”
“I’ve had licorice, and I don’t like it.”
“Has bad taste in candy. Noted.” He winks and bites off the end of both candies. He’s back to the carefree guy of earlier, and I guess that means he’s forgiven me for nearly getting squashed in front of him.
I point to my laptop. “Maybe it would help if we went over the last quiz?”
He nods.
Over the next half hour, I talk through each question on our last physics quiz. He asks me to explain a few points further, but I don’t really feel like I’m being that helpful.
A text notification on his phone interrupts us on the final question.
He taps out a response before giving me his attention. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I think we’re done with physics unless you have more questions?”
“Oh.” He pockets his phone again. “Uhh. No. I’m good.”
“Do you want to work on statistics?”
“I should probably get out of your hair for tonight.”
I never really cared about being a good tutor, but the thought of him walking out of here no better off than when he came in doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not good at a lot of things, but physics and math I can do.
“What about tomorrow night?” I offer.
He’s quiet a beat as he studies my face. “Glutton for punishment?”
“I don’t feel like I helped at all,” I admit.
“You did,” he says too quickly. “Thank you.”
Downstairs, Dahlia and Violet are busy hunched over their work. I walk Jordan to the door.
“Oh, here.” I pull his sweatshirt over my head and hand it back to him, missing the heat of it instantly.
“Same time and place tomorrow then?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him over the noise.
At my nod, he waves and starts off.
“How was it?” Violet pauses her sewing after I shut the front door.
“Fine.” I hurry upstairs.
“We want details tomorrow,” Dahlia yells after me.
On any other night, I might sit downstairs and tell them everything while they work, but I’ve been itching to draw for the last hour.
Something on my bed catches my eye as I pull my chair over to the easel. I walk closer, and a smile tugs at my lips. Fun Dip.