Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance

by Smartypants Romance

  We held each other’s gaze for a second before our laughter broke.

  Chapter Four

  Trevor

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  That was the refrain in my head as I walked the two blocks from campus to the small apartment Jules and I shared. I should not have flirted with Daisy.

  In church, Trevor. In church!

  I definitely hadn’t meant to flirt with her in the house of God.

  I hadn’t even meant to say that I called her Sunshine, it’d slipped out. Daisy was the perfect name for her; she was bright and sunny.

  Perhaps, I should’ve said that to her, instead.

  No, Trevor. Get a grip. You most certainly should not have told her that.

  Maybe I should have said, “Pleasure to meet you.” I groaned biting my lip as I walked. No, don’t use pleasure in a sentence related to Daisy. You won’t be able to control your thoughts.

  Unbidden, a thought of how I could please Daisy hijacked my mind and I shuddered despite the ninety degrees heat.

  I sighed. Nice to meet you. I should’ve said nice to meet you.

  It was clear that my comment about how pretty her dress was had made her ten shades of embarrassed and uncomfortable.

  She’d actually lost a little of her coloring.

  I felt like a right ass.

  You should apologize. No, you should stay away from her. No, you should apologize and then stay away from her.

  I was a jumbled-up mess. I’d known this girl less than twenty-four hours, spoken not more than a handful of sentences to her, and was completely tied up in knots over her.

  So much for not giving her any purchase in your mind.

  I chuckled ruefully at my hubris from only a few days ago.

  My apartment was dark and quiet when I entered. Jules had left late yesterday.

  I began to strip and methodically put away my church clothes.

  I hung my tie and then my shirt. After unbuckling my pants, I paused to pat my pockets making sure no loose change or sundry items would fall when I folded them over the hanger. I felt the folded church program in my pocket, removed it and tossed it on my dresser in one swift motion. I walked to the closet, hangar in hand, but stopped short as something on the program caught my eye: a small line of Fisk blue text in a sea of black ink. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed before.

  Today: We are Fisk! Family Fish Fry and Barbecue 3 P.M. 1000 17th N Ave

  Hallelujah! I know I don’t deserve it, Lord, but thank you for this day and for this opportunity for free food!

  If there was one thing you learned quickly in college, it was that you never ever turn down the opportunity to get free food.

  Still smiling, I checked the clock.

  It was already two. I’d have to skedaddle if I wanted to actually get any of said free food; it was bound to go fast.

  And, if Mr. Jimmy from the Dining Hall was frying the fish, he’d be nice enough to give me an extra piece or two so I could make a sandwich in the morning.

  I put a little pep in my step as I changed into my casual clothes. And who knew, maybe Daisy would be there.

  This could be your only time to talk to her. Once Elodie returns on Sunday you'll have to slip back into the role you play . . .

  I tried to dismiss the thought. I didn't want to ponder why the thought of pretending to be involved with Elodie made me anxious, when that had never been the case before.

  I quickly changed and headed back toward campus, formulating a plan in my head as I walked. First, I would get Daisy away from her friends somehow, although that in and of itself would be a small miracle. Freshman girls in particular traveled in packs. Then I would apologize for being a jackass to her earlier. I would let her know that she didn’t have to worry about me ever saying anything like that to her again. Then I’d ask for her forgiveness.

  And then I’ll spend the rest of my collegiate career avoiding the five-eight beauty and hope she has a fantastic life.

  Admittedly the plan had some flaws. Alas, it was all I had. Besides, no plan was perfect, I reassured myself.

  I did not feel reassured.

  Nevertheless, I resolved to stick to it, because the alternative . . . My reality came into sharp focus and with it the sharp weight of responsibility. I reminded myself for the hundredth time that there was no alternative. Daisy and I could never be anything other than acquaintances.

  Daisy

  The delicious smell of fish hot out the fryer filled my nose as I made my way toward the barbecue. For the first time in my collegiate career, I was alone.

  The fish fry was for both students and their families, a last little hurrah before parents got on the road and left us newly minted young adults behind.

  Odie met up with her parents, who’d insisted we call them Mom and Pop when they stopped by the dorm.

  James said no one from her family was here, so I thought we’d go together until she announced that she had to get going and had mysteriously disappeared without giving an explanation.

  I got the feeling that James had a lot of secrets—or maybe carried a lot of burdens—that we didn’t have a clue about. At any rate, she hadn’t seemed like she was in the mood to talk about it and I wasn’t going to pry. I understood—oh, how I understood. Family stuff could be complicated and private.

  I took in the scene before me as I arrived: blankets had been spread out for us on the grassy lawn behind the administration building. Under a tent set up with long tables and pans covered in aluminum foil, folks were steadily streaming through to collect their food.

  Mrs. Dot, our most friendly and esteemed ambassador, was playing hostess at the top of the line. I heard her saying, “Welcome to Fisk,” over and over again—with surprising cheer—as families made their way through the line. Blue and gold balloons had been tethered to one of the tentpoles. They bobbed and swayed high in the air as if they danced to the music that was playing softly in the background.

  Instead of heading toward the food, I popped a squat on an open blanket, fished my sunshades from my purse, put them on, and lay back. I closed my eyes, enjoying the solitude.

  Inevitably my mind drifted toward Trevor as it had these last few days whenever I had time to dream, be it day or night.

  I wished he was here. Maybe he would’ve sat beside me. Maybe we would’ve talked and he'd tell me all about himself, and maybe this time I would be witty; nothing like the unintelligible mess I was around him in reality.

  “Is this seat taken?” his voice says.

  “Of course not,” dream me replied.

  “In that case, may I take it?”

  “Of course, but only if you lay beside me,” I said, a little breathy.

  There was a slight pause and his laugh sounded so rich and real as it filled my ears. And then I felt something warm and soft brush against my leg.

  I felt that.

  My eyes popped open, I snatched my glasses off, and sat up all in one motion. He was there in the flesh.

  He sat next to me, leaning back, amber eyes glittering with amusement, long lean body stretched out, feet splayed and propped on his elbows.

  He raised one eyebrow at me, and the motion was . . . well, there’s really no other word for it. He looked sexy.

  “Hi,” he said.

  My heart raced. “Um . . . hi,” I squeaked.

  “Now don’t go clamming up on me now that I’ve sat down. You did invite me to sit—or rather, to lay.”

  “NO—I’m not. I’m—”

  I’m a moron.

  I’m going to die of embarrassment.

  I am going to leave.

  As if he could sense my rising panic, he touched my arm reassuringly and I instantly relaxed.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I was just messing with you. You want me to leave?” he asked concerned.

  “No, stay! I mean, if you want to stay you should stay.”

  He nodded his assent and squinted up at the sun. I took the moment to suck in a deep breath to calm my hamm
ering heart.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb your rest, honestly. If you want to lay back down on the blanket you can—of course. Pretend I’m not even here.”

  Ha! As if it were possible to ignore him. As if half my waking minutes hadn’t been spent daydreaming about him.

  I didn’t want to rest but I was going to lay back down. I would close my eyes and pretend like he was dream Trevor, and I was dream Daisy. The Daisy that was able to talk to him like he was any other person.

  I lay back and let my hair fan out over the blanket.

  I sensed him shift on the blanket.

  He swallowed loudly before saying, “So why aren’t you eating?” His voice sounded a little hoarse suddenly.

  “Oh, I’ll grab something a bit later.”

  That laugh I loved rolled over me and set my heart to dancing again, so much so that I almost didn’t hear him say, “No, you won’t. That’s a rookie mistake. Free food does not last around college students. At all.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  His laughter continued. “You’ll see, dear Daisy.”

  I shuddered a little at the word dear. He didn’t mean anything by it, I reminded myself. He was just being polite.

  “You’ll see. It’s about, oh three fifteen—I reckon you got another half hour before the upperclassmen that are back on campus start showing up to the dining hall only to see a sign posted on the door telling them to come here to pick up their meal. And then . . .”

  I turned my head toward him and opened my eyes. His gorgeous light brown eyes were full of mirth. “It’ll be like locusts descending on Egypt, you mark my words.”

  I burst out laughing and his smile grew.

  “I’ll keep your spot warm if you want to grab a plate, even if you don’t eat it till later. The real tall guy down at the end wearing the hairnet over his bald head is Mr. Jimmy. If you bat those pretty eyes at him and tell him you need some foil, he’ll wrap your whole plate for you.”

  He thinks my eyes are pretty? HE THINKS MY EYES ARE PRETTY.

  “Is that how you got your foil? By batting your pretty eyes?” I blurted unthinkingly.

  He barked a laugh. “No, indeed. He don’t give a damn about my eyes. I had to beg for it.”

  “But you . . . you should never have to beg for anything . . .”

  He looked a little uncomfortable and then sucked in a deep breath and added on a rush, “So listen, earlier at church when I called you Sunshine.” I winced at the word and he winced in return.

  “And complimented your dress . . . I think you maybe thought I was flirting with you when I said it was pretty. But it’s empirical—as much as fashion can be empirical—empirically speaking, it was a lovely dress. Anyway, I’m really sorry if I offended you or made you uncomfortable.”

  He thought my dress was pretty?

  He . . . wait, what? He thought he was flirting with me?

  WHAT?

  No that’s not right.

  He thought I thought he was flirting with me?

  “No,” I said quickly. “That’s not it. I knew you weren’t flirting with me.” I gave a little laugh and added, “As if that would ever happen. It’s just . . . I hadn’t . . .”

  Dammit. Why was this still so hard.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I haven’t been called that name in a long, long time.” I looked him in his eyes so he could see that I was sincere. “I took no offense and there’s no need for an apology. It just caught me off guard, is all. And thank you. I love the dress too—it’s my favorite color.”

  He smiled and then frowned. “I take it you kicked this someone, who gave you the name I shall never again repeat, to the curb?”

  Trevor was fishing. But instead of being offended I smiled, not minding the nosiness of the question at all. Maybe it was because I’d been meeting new people for days and had been giving up tidbits about myself. Or maybe I wanted to get to know more about him, for him to know more about me. I answered his question unthinkingly, honestly.

  “No . . . it wasn’t—it wasn’t like that.”

  I closed my eyes again. “It was my brother. My brother gave me that name, and I . . . haven’t seen him in a very, very long time.”

  He exhaled on a woosh, and I expected him to say I’m sorry or why not or something akin to what folks normally say when they become aware that the Payton girls weren’t always just the Payton girls.

  He didn’t.

  “I know exactly what that’s like.”

  My eyes flew to his.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  In his eyes I saw everything—everything—I felt. Pain that was old and somehow still new. I saw heaviness and I saw strength. I saw a kindred spirit.

  “I really, really do. I also haven’t seen my brother in a very long time.”

  I nodded because what else was there to say. I knew very well how little any of my words would mean to him.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  I shook my head vehemently.

  He smiled ruefully. “Yeah, me neither.”

  He nudged my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get you a plate before you starve.”

  As we walked to the line, he joked that we should make a list of things we didn’t want to talk about.

  “I agree!” I said a bit too enthusiastically, glad of an opportunity to avoid future awkwardness.

  He smiled slightly then rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said, “All right, dear Daisy. While we’re avoiding brothers, can we add families to that list?”

  “By all means, yes.” I laughed. “Let’s just avoid talking about family altogether.”

  “Also, hometowns. Can we add that to the list?” I volunteered.

  “Absolutely! We can file that one under ‘it’s complicated,’ too.”

  “What else?” I asked getting into it.

  “Exes,” he said quietly.

  I had none to speak of but didn’t mind avoiding discussing other women with Trevor. I didn’t mind at all.

  I nodded in agreement. “Sounds reasonable. Should we shake on it?”

  He looked down at me, grinning like I was funny. Then he stuck out his hand. I extended mine and I held my breath, wondering if I would experience the same jolt I felt when he’d shook my hand in church.

  He slid his palm against mine and I was glad I was already holding my breath because if I hadn’t been, he would’ve stolen it.

  This time was better.

  Warm and soft, he slid his palm back and forth against mine. Skin to skin I could feel all the details my gloves had denied, like the grooves of his fingertips.

  The delicious mixture of rough, soft, and warm sent tingles through my palm, and then quite suddenly, he splayed his fingers and slid them between mine. Our fingers flexed at the same time, and just like that he was holding my hand.

  “I shake hands with everyone the other way. Maybe this can be the way only you and I shake hands?” he asked softly, cautiously, almost shyly.

  “Yes!” I said a little too emphatically.

  He responded with a smile that was brighter than Edison—both the genius and the bulb.

  God. Between that smile and those eyes that were like jumper cables to my heart, I was done in.

  “Good. Then it’s settled, friend.”

  Friend struck a discordant note and I reminded myself that Trevor was just being friendly. Hadn’t Dolly told me he was a natural flirt? A special handshake didn’t mean anything!

  Still . . . he shook my hand as we walked through the line and I collected my plate. After some playful ribbing from Mr. Jimmy, Trevor collected another plate too as he advised, “Hey, you never can have too much food when you’re in school.”

  Both our plates were loaded to the gills with potato salad, string beans with ham hocks, baked mac and cheese, two pieces of fish, and a controversial barbecue sandwich.

  “What on earth do you mean Tennessee barbecue has nothing on Ca
rolina barbecue! What blasphemy is this?” I said as we found our way back to our blanket, balancing our plates in one hand while we shook hands with the other. We let go only once when it was time to sit, and as if by some miraculous silent agreement, his hand found my own the moment my bottom hit the blanket. Just like that we were shaking hands again, now while eating.

  “First, dear Daisy, can you even blaspheme against a sandwich? Isn’t that reserved for God Almighty? And second—”

  “You can blaspheme against anything you darn well please, as evidenced by the folly you’re spouting right now.”

  He looked at me serenely. “Well one day we’ll just have to have a taste test, won’t we? But it’ll have to be blind, because I wouldn’t want you to cheat.”

  “Cheat?” I screeched, indignant with faux outrage. For emphasis I set my sandwich down and pointed a finger at him. “Let me tell you something—you Yankees are a trip! You come down here and insult all the barbecue in the great state of Tennessee and then when I defend it you call me a cheat!”

  His eyes crinkled with how hard he was laughing. He took a deep breath and then another bite of the alleged inferior sandwich, leaving a dab of barbecue sauce at the corner of his mouth.

  I had the sudden, powerful urge to lick that corner, followed by an uncharacteristic rush of heat.

  Get a grip, Daisy.

  As if on cue, the tip of his tongue darted out, cleaned the sauce from his mouth, and then he patted the corner with a napkin. Trevor continued on as if he hadn’t just sent a heatwave straight through me.

  “First of all, I’m not a Yankee. I’m originally from Tennessee.”

  “How?”

  The word was out of my mouth before I even registered I was speaking. That was one of the dangers of Trevor; he made me speak before thinking.

  He smiled at how miffed I sounded as he replied, “I’m guessing you're surprised I don’t have an accent?”

  I managed a nod.

  “Without getting too far into our taboo topics, I went to a school that had mandatory elocution classes. Our headmistress felt that we’d do better in the world if we didn’t sound like we were from ‘the backwoods of the boondocks.’”