Flower Girl | h.s.

6.

Harry

As soon as she opened the door, the lace detailing of the small silk top that sat under her collarbones is where my eyes gravitate. I felt a sudden rush of relief relax the muscles that had been tense up until that moment. I hadn't been one to dream of girls; one to think that there was a perfect person for me out there, or that the perfect person existed. That didn't sound realistic, nor did it seem like it was attainable to anyone.

But there was something about the way that her nose turned up just a bit, the small dark brown circle that encompassed her hazel eyes. There were hints of green and speckles of rust throughout. Her nails were painted a soft orange color that contrasted with the fresh tan of her skin that beamed radiance. It was much more effective than I remember from last night; it may have been because of the evening lights that faltered looking at her properly. I was too distracted by the way she interacted with those around her, the smiles that would burst on her face at any moment's notice.

But, when I had really gotten to look at her, I noticed that she was simply beautiful.

All of my troubles and sorrows and frets floated back into their space in the past. I didn't need to worry because all I could think about was the beauty that Daisy simply encompassed just by standing there.

The day had gone quickly leading up to this point, I hadn't felt anything but excitement because I truly wanted this to be something. Or at least, try to see where it went.

As we stand in the elevator on the way down to the ground level, Daisy's shoulder brushes against mine and I feel the heat of her body. My neck turns so that I can look at her as we subtly make eye contact. The heart-shaped bow of her lip flattens with a smile as she starts making her way out of the opening metal elevator doors.

The lobby of her apartment building is a chilling contrast to the heat of the Santa Monica streets. The beach provides a subtle ocean spray that acts as a deterrent of the sun that is starting to make its way behind the horizon lines of the city buildings.

"So, what part of the city are you in? Or are you not in the city?" Her words bring me out of the haze I started to let myself dive into, my hands maneuvering their way into my front pockets as I kick a rock down the cemented sidewalk.

I clear my throat, "East Malibu. I went to high school up in Oak Park, but moved closer to the beach when I bought a house over the summer."

Daisy walks in front of me, attempting to kick the same small stone that I had previously hit. She was treating it like a game, and the amount of enthusiasm from kick the rock was adorable. Her sandals don't give her as much distance, but the small stone bounces and her tiny giggle clenches at my heart.

"You seem comfortable in California, so I'm going to assume that you're from here?" My words are a bit more of a question than a statement, she looks at me with a bit of a tilted head. Our walking has slowed, we're taking our time with getting from one place to another, and I figure that's how she's learned to live her life.

She purses her lips out gently, a tiny dimple forms above her chin, right underneath her pink pout.

"Bold of you to make assumptions about me, Harry." Her tone is teasing, the smile that follows her words insinuates that. Her attitude has started to shine over the shyness that seemed to encompass her when I first arrived, which made me a bit relieved. It's a bit freeing to notice that she's letting go.

"Not saying that's a bad thing at all, it'd be a bit of a shame if you didn't live in a place where those freckles could shine." When I say the words, I still feel bits of tension sitting between my shoulders at the stress I usually put on them. I'm waiting for her to be pushed away and confused by my words that I know I'm not able to articulate correctly; I'm waiting for our connection to break so that I don't have to be anxious about things like this anymore.