Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
I miss her badly enough that week that I book a haircut. Her face when I walk in and sit in her chair is priceless.
Daisy’s cheeks flush pink, and she fidgets with the tools at her station, trying to act professional and detached. But when she washes my hair, I swear to God, I don’t know which one of us is the most tormented. Her small hands scrub my scalp under warm water, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the wall beyond me. I see her bite her lip, see her throat work and her restless energy barely held back.
As for me, the touch of her fingers in my hair, the swell of her breasts as she reaches across me for shears leaves me struggling not to come undone. Judging by the flush on her chest and the quickness of her breaths, she’s right there with me.
“Looks great,” I manage when she turns me toward the mirror.
“I can,” she clears her throat, “shave you. It’s included. There are hot towels in the towel warmer.”
“Thanks, but I’m about to sprint home and take the coldest shower I can stand.”
Daisy gives a shaky laugh. “Oh, thank God!” she breathes. “I thought I was the only one about to die from the tension,” she giggles. I cover her hand with mine for a second and our eyes meet in the mirror. We’re both grinning so hard that we’re completely obvious. I follow her to the counter and pay for my haircut.
“If you’re free tonight, I could come over, maybe make you dinner?” she offers.
“Hell yes.”
“How about six?”
“I’ll be there. Want me to pick up groceries, anything special?”
“Maybe a bottle of wine.”
I nod, feeling like I just tucked an ace into my pocket, and I’m destined to win the whole game. The rest of the day I’m hit with sense memories of her hands in my wet hair, her face close to mine as she trimmed. I finish work, check in with my dad. He’s all set to go with Willa to some golf benefit for which I’m grateful.
At home, I put a vase of bright yellow Gerbera daisies on the table, set the wine out, and change clothes. I’m nervous, excited to have her here, to have dinner together in my home.
She calls to say she’s here, and I disarm the security system and then unlock the door. She hands me two grocery bags and kisses my cheek. I drop the bags and press her back against the door for a real kiss. She smells of the salon, some flowery conditioner they use, but she tastes like home. Daisy’s arms go around me, her tongue licking into my mouth. I tear myself away and let her go to the kitchen while I follow her with the groceries.
I roll up my sleeves and chop an onion while she dices the carrots and celery for Bolognese. She slips past me to get to the sink but stops, wraps her arms around me and leans her cheek against my back. I feel everything at once. The affection and sweetness of the gesture, our years apart and this need.
“I love you,” I say, because I can’t stop myself. “I can’t keep not saying it to you.”
Her arms tighten around me, she presses a kiss between my shoulders. I feel her rise on tiptoe to press her lips to my ear.
“I love you too, Benny,” she says.
Her words, the warmth of her breath on my skin, her curves pressed against my back—any self-control I had snaps. I spin around, my arms around her, picking her up and kissing her deeply.
“Benny—no—” she gasps, turning her face away. I step back, let go of her, stunned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Burner’s on,” she rushes to the stove and switches it off. “I don’t want to burn the place down. Okay, now we’re good,” she grins.
I make love to Daisy like it’s the first night of our life together. Like we have every night after this and I know damn well I’m done giving her space and letting her go.
Eventually we finish making dinner, and I love the sight of her in my kitchen, the way we work together and the conversation. Inside jokes I’d forgotten about a long time ago, plans we make—tentative at first.
I’m going to pick her up at her mom’s house, right at the door. We’ll visit Gino’s family, go back to Coney Island, and I’m going to take her dancing. Every suggestion is like I’m taking stars down from the sky, capturing them to put in my pocket. I almost can’t believe it.
We finish the wine and I make espresso, surprise her with sfogliatelle. We clean up the kitchen together after our coffee and I brace myself to tell her good night, to manage it coolly without telling her I love her about fifty more times. Daisy takes my hand and pulls me toward the couch, tucks her legs under her and curls up beside me.