FOLLOW ME

"Daisy?" Justin clicked his fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to reality. I blinked up at him, startled. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"Oh, it's... it's just the lighting, I guess," I stammered, tugging at my collar and fanning myself despite the room being a cool 20 degrees. "Is it just me, or is it suddenly hot in here? I think I'll go get some water." And probably disappear right after that.

I tried to leave, wanting to run home and pretend today had never happened, but he held me back.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"To the kitchen. I... I need some drinks." I pulled my hand free and bolted through the doors the moment he turned. Sneaking to the back, I leaned against the railing separating the café from a small barber shop. Fingering the small talisman necklace my mom had left me before she died, I exhaled deeply, desperately trying to forget that I'd just lifted a 400-pound woman into the air, smashed a million-dollar phone, and ruined an entire ad shoot.

I banged my head softly against the wall, closing my eyes. Oh, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy Thompson. You total, complete klutz!

"I knew I'd find you here," a familiar deep voice said, making me shiver. I opened my eyes to find him again—Justin. He was no longer in his trench coat, and in a pair of white sneakers, lounge pants, and a casual hoodie, he looked... still handsome, but more normal. Normal enough to talk to without blurting out that I'd once eaten croissants and candy in one go.

"Hey," I greeted him again with a small smile.

"Are you testing the gravity out here?" he asked playfully, stepping closer.

I grinned. "Yeah. Look! I'm still standing upright. Seems like it's less concentrated here."

He chuckled, his gaze soft on me. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

I laughed weakly, waving my hand. "What? No. I'm as confident as a gorilla. Though, gorillas are actually the shyest of the monkey family... (Daisy, shut up!) but apes are probably—(Daisy, seriously, shut up!) Anyway, I'll just... stop talking."

"So you are nervous," he said, smiling.

I looked down. "Yeah. A little." A lot, actually. Otherwise, I wouldn't be imagining my chances of surviving a ship ride to Antarctica with no phones and no clothes.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling. "You don't have to be. It's just... clothes."

"I'm not good with clothes," I muttered, and he laughed.

"Who said you have to be? Nobody's really good with clothes. We just try."

"That's impossible," I said, glancing at him and trying not to ogle his perfect body. "You don't try. You could wear a sackcloth and still look cool."

He snorted, beaming. "Nobody knows this, but did you know I used to wear my clothes inside out all through elementary school until I started seventh grade?" he whispered.

I gaped at him, laughing. "No way!"

"Way," he said, standing tall and letting the wind ruffle his hair. "I used to think it gave me the big bad boy vibe."

"You weren't laughed at or mocked in school?"

"It was grade school. Kids were still wetting the bed and crying over cartoons—nobody cared about some wannabe fashionista," he said with a soft chuckle, showing off the adorable dimple in his cheek. I stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, our eyes locked in place. The silence lingered, and I looked away.

Awkward.

"Hey, come," he said, holding out his hand. "I want to show you something."

I took his hand, smiling. "What?"

He flashed me the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile I'd ever seen. "That's for me to know and for you to find out."