Page 175 of We Can't Be Friends

“Never been like that for you either?”

“Never.”

“You’re one in a million, Pretty Boy.”

“I only want to be your one.” He kisses the top of my head, twirling my hair.

A few minutes later, he gets up and cradles me into his arms. Walking me into the bathroom, he turns on the shower testing the water. Once it’s warm, my hand in his, he pulls me under the rainfall to clean us up. Cal lathers a loofa, running it up my legs and over my torso, sneaking a few kisses between suds.

Inhaling, I catch a whiff of peaches. “Is that my body wash?” Cal has been in his bedroom or bathroom this entire time, so there’s no way he could have snuck to my bathroom to get it. “Did you steal it?”

“No. I bought duplicates of all your products to keep in here.”

“Manifesting this?”

“You’re pretty nosy, coming into my room whenever you want. Figured you’d sneak into my bathroom at some point, too.”

I swat at his shoulder.

“Hope. Manifesting. Call it whatever you want, Dais.”

Cal stands, squeezing my shampoo into his hands, and lathers my hair. Digging his hands into my scalp, tension in my body evaporates.

How have I gone twenty-eight years without being noticed like this? How have I gone nine years without letting someone in?

“Cal,” I exhale.

“Yeah, Daisy?”

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never felt seen before. Not in a way that is intentional and kind and—I don’t know.” I close my eyes, his hands rinsing my hair. Delicately, he combs the strands with his fingers. My body instinctively leans into him. “When you look at me, there isn’t the accident. There isn’t the girl who ran from home. There isn’t a need to put on my mask, I don’t have to pretend with you. You don’t see the broken girl.”

Cal tugs on my chin, turning my head to him over my shoulder. “You’ve never been broken. Never to me.”

I spin in his arms, head turned up. “Which one’s yours?” I point to the shelf of soaps. Cal hands me his shampoo, my turn to take care of him—at first, I thought our relationship was him taking care of me. But I think we’ve been taking care of each other. A gentle, slow, and soft (maybe some teasing) love burning between us. Slowly becoming what the other needed without ever needing to ask. “I see you too, Callum.”

***

Cal kissed my forehead, whispering that he would take Tucker out as I lay in his bed. Encouraging me to sleep in, I did the opposite. Downstairs, I attempted to make food.

Thankfully, Cal returned with Tucker—his new waist leash for running hooked onto him.

In one hand, Cal held a brown bag with breakfast and a tray with drinks. The other hand was a bouquet similar to the ones he bought me months ago.

There’s been fresh flowers in the kitchen every week. I tried to catch him cutting and putting the daisies or wildflowers into a vase, but he’s quick. Sneaky. This is the first time I’ve seen them in his hands.

“Close your eyes real quick.”

“Okay,” I say wearily. Slowly bringing my hands to my face.

There is a rattling of a drawer and the smell of Sharpie.

“Open them.”

Removing one hand, then the other, Cal’s face is glowing. Both dimples bookend his smile. In front of his chest, the plastic cup says, ‘will you be my real girlfriend?’

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