Picking Daisies on Sundays (Picking Daisies on Sundays, #1)

by Liana Cincotti

For the hopeless, and hopeful, romantics who don’t know they’re noticed in a crowded room.

Could he tell from the way I shuddered when he touched me, that every fiber of my being was made to be touched by him?

It was as if the moon followed him everywhere he went simply because he was more beautiful than the sun.

“I know you didn’t ask, but you look okay too. Beautiful, actually.”

​“Don’t say sorry, you don’t ever need to ask,” he whispered in a husky voice.

I care about your safety and well-being and need to know that you’re okay at all times.

“Friends?” I asked. “Best friends.”

“I am infatuated by you.”

It was him. I always wanted him.