Chapter Thirteen
SOPHIE
Saturdays are always my favorite.
The flower shop is busier since the nine-to-fivers can come in, and it’s the day my rec team practices. This week it’s especially exciting since I’m supposed to help with a delivery for a large birthday party, and I love helping arrange where all the flowers go. Nothing sounds better right now than losing myself in the comfortably predictable hustle and bustle of the shop and getting Carter out of my head for the day.
My keys are in my hand and I have one foot out the door, ready to bury myself in work.
Until my phone rings.
Mom never calls me before work, especially not on a Saturday. Not since she started listening to her body and sleeping until nine every morning. It’s currently eight, a full hour before she would normally be up.
“Mom?” My voice is slightly panicked as I answer. Has something happened?
“Sophie! Hi, honey, have you left the house yet?”
“No?” My tone rings in confusion when she sounds perfectly happy and not worried about anything. This is so bizarre. “Is everything okay? I?—”
“I’m glad I caught you before you left. Listen, sweetie,” Mom cuts me off, the “no-nonsense” tone of her words confusing me further. It’s not a tone I’ve heard often in my life, even as a teenager. “I’m putting my foot down. When was the last time you had a day off?”
“Um…” I don’t think I like where she’s going with this.
“And I mean no flower shop, no Twin Rinks, and no working from home on financials.”
I’ve had a full day off recently… right? Though as much as I wrack my brain, I can’t think of the last time I had no work.
But I like work.
“I’m sure there’s been… I mean, that one time?—
At my nonanswer, Mom clicks her tongue. “That’s what I thought. So I’ve taken care of things for you this weekend.”
My thoughts come to a screeching halt. She did what?
“Mom,” I say slowly, keeping my voice calm as I step back into my house and shut the front door, “what do you mean you’ve ‘taken care of things’?”
“You have the weekend off!” She sounds so excited, like she’s just given me the best gift ever.
“I—what? No, Mom, I have to get to the shop. I’m supposed to be at the rink this afternoon?—”
“I’ve handled it,” Mom says with finality. “Kerry is manning the shop, I’m going to direct delivery and set-up of the arrangements for that birthday party, Tom is taking Jordan camping, and I already spoke to Benson and he’s going to have Brandon cover this weekend.”
She did… everything? Does she not understand that I want to work?
“Mom, is this really all necessary?”
“Yes,” she says, her no-nonsense tone back in place. “You didn’t even take off last month on your birthday weekend because you were taking care of Jordan while Tom was out of town at an education conference.”
“Taking care of Jordan isn’t work to me,” I defend myself weakly.
“I know, sweetie.” Mom tells me softly, “but you need time for yourself. And as much as you love Jordan, you can’t get that time if you’re taking care of someone else. Which you’re always doing.”
I… I guess she’s right. Which I hate.
“Alright.” Sighing, I drop my keys on the table next to the door. “I get it. You win.”
“I know I do.” Mom preens. “Now, I mean it. You are to have a completely work-free weekend. You’re not even going to open your laptop to work on finances of any kind.”
I try to protest, but my mom is relentless. She has to bully it out of me, but eventually I agree, and she hangs up the phone, leaving me to my work-free weekend.
Just great.
What the hell am I even supposed to do?
I need to work. If I’m not working, what’s going to stop me from remembering the way Carter’s hand gripped my neck when he pulled me in for that kiss? Or the way his eyes twinkled when I tossed some of his own attitude back at him at breakfast this week?
Or imagining what those hands might feel like as he strips me naked?
Shit. See?
Frustrated, I scroll to Abbie’s name in my phone.
She answers on the third ring. “Hey babe, what’s up?”
“I got grounded,” I pout, causing Abbie to burst into laughter.
“You’re twenty-seven years old, Soph. How did you get grounded?”
“My mom… she called both my jobs and sent Tom and Jordan away for the weekend so I can have a ‘weekend off’.” I find myself doing air quotes even though Abbie can’t see me.
“Did she say no friends?” Abbie teases, getting her laughter under control.
“She didn’t.” I play along. “You wanna come over?”
I hear her smile through the phone. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
An hour later, I open the door after the doorbell rings to find Abbie balancing a box of donuts in one hand and carrying a little cardboard drink caddy in the other.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” I ask, taking the drinks from her and almost drooling at the iced coffees inside.
“Not today.” She winks as she walks past me into the house.
“Then… I love you.” I glance down and see the caramel drizzle on my coffee. “A lot.”
She only cackles as she walks inside, setting the box of donuts on the table.
We sit on the couch, and I take a long sip of the salted caramel goodness in my iced coffee.
“So…” Abbie starts, flipping open the box and taking out a chocolate long john. “Have you given any more thought about talking to Carter?”
Damn, straight to the point.
“Yeah, I mean, I talked to Tom on Monday night about everything and you’ve both made some very… valid points. I know I need to clear the air, but I’ve been so busy…”
Abbie levels me with a look that says do you really think I’m that stupid? “Uh huh. Yeah, sure. I call bullshit. You’re stalling, and you know it.”
“I guess I’m nervous about what he might say,” I admit, holding on to my coffee tightly. What if we talk and I still can’t forgive him? Or… what if I can ? What would that mean for us?
“I mean, even if you’re not going to talk to him,” she grins and takes a sip of her drink, “you should totally get laid because you can’t just be celibate forever. I’m always in a better mood after a good fuck.”
I can’t help the quick flush of my cheeks and the thought that, at the very least, my body still likes him. “That’s why they’ve made technological advancements that allow me to have an orgasm without having sex with my cheating, ghosting ex.”
“Oh sure,” Abbie nods sarcastically, “that’s why you agreed to go on a date with Oscar.”
A shudder practically overtakes me at the thought of my short-lived fling with Oscar Davis. I had known he had a crush on me in high school, and he had always been as sweet as he was dorky, even if the attention was unwanted. Not that he was a bad guy, he just never seemed to get the picture that I wasn’t interested in him. He seemed to have it in his head that if Carter and I ever broke up, he would be “next in line”. And while he never did anything directly disrespectful of our relationship, his expectation gave me a weird feeling.
He went through a major transformation after graduation. Hit the gym and switched his glasses for contacts, and as a result, seemed to gain a bit of confidence. Thinking back, it might have been because Carter wasn’t around, so he didn’t have any “competition”.
Two years ago, he asked me out, and I finally gave him a shot. We went on a few dates, but there wasn’t any chemistry, at least not on my end. He’s a sweet guy, and I enjoyed his company well enough, but eh.
He was upset, but understanding when I told him we shouldn’t see each other again. About six months ago, he started trying again, asking me out every couple of weeks. It’s exhausting.
“Okay, no more sulking about men!” Abbie announces, jolting me out of my daze. I didn’t realize I was staring off into space until she had raised her eyebrow at me. “Let’s have a girl day. We’ll watch movies, do our nails, and tonight, we’ll go out and meet some new guys.”
I roll my eyes, but deep down… way deep down, I wonder if that’s exactly what I need.
So, we spend the day in the living room watching romantic comedies, doing each other's nails, trying different face masks, and lazing on the couch.
When the evening hits, we move upstairs to my room to get ready for a night out. I hop in the shower while Abbie does her hair and makeup. I come out in my towel, my hair dripping wet, to find what looks like a closet explosion. There are clothes everywhere.
“Abbie!” I cry, picking up a pair of ripped jeans that I haven’t worn in six years from the bed. “What did you do?”
“I’m finding something suitable for you to wear!” she shouts from my walk-in closet, and I go over only to find her rifling through the hangers in the back.
“Those are?—”
“Sexy as hell?” Abbie raises a brow while tossing a black wad of fabric at me.
The dress I catch is a classic little black dress, which stops mid-thigh and has a sweetheart neckline with capped sleeves. The material is stretchy enough that it forgives the curves I developed after I stopped playing hockey. I bought it the year after Carter left, when I was determined to move on and start dating again.
It hasn’t seen much action.
“I haven’t worn this in years.” I sigh, holding the dress in front of me.
“You’re wearing it,” Abbie says with finality, and leaves the closet to let me get dressed. Sometimes I don’t know whether to love or hate how bossy she is.
When I come out of the closet five minutes later, dressed and toweling off my hair, Abbie gathers the mess of clothes from my bed and tosses everything back into the closet, leaving me to deal with the mess later. It’s not until she gets back that I get a look at her.
“Where did you get that?” My jaw drops. She’s wearing a black jumpsuit with a corset top and wide legs. Between the outfit, her sheet of glossy straight hair, and the sultry makeup with red lipstick, my friend looks fierce .
“I brought it.” She shrugs, then points to the bathroom where she’s pulled a chair in front of the mirror. “Let’s get your hair and makeup done.”
“I—you brought it? You mean you planned to get me out tonight?” I wonder if she plotted with my mom about taking this weekend off as well. That scheming little?—
“Of course I did,” she rolls her eyes, “now come on, we don’t have all night.”
I can’t even be mad. Abbie always somehow knows exactly what I need.
An hour later, she has my hair dried and curled in soft waves that hit my shoulders, and smokey eye makeup that compliments my dark-nude lip gloss perfectly.
Part of me hopes I do run into Carter because I look damn good.
The other, more sensible part of me wants to forget about guys entirely for the evening, dancing and drinking until all thoughts of a certain tall, sexy, mouth-watering, left wing hockey player disappear.
“You’re a miracle worker, Abbs.”
“I’ll add it to my resume.” She winks at me in the mirror.
I settle on a pair of black pumps and some crescent moon earrings, twirling in front of the mirror with Abbie, excitement thrumming in my veins. Getting ready is always the worst part. Now that we’re actually about to leave, I’m giddy with the thought of letting loose for the night.
We take an Uber to the only popular bar in town, Danny’s, the bouncer nodding at us as we step out of the car. “Sophie. Abbie.”
“Hey, Henry,” I say, grinning, “turn away any high schoolers yet?”
“Not yet, but the night is still young.” He smirks.
Normally, Danny’s doesn’t have anyone checking ID’s at the entrance, but Saturdays can get crazy with high schoolers trying to pass for the legal drinking age. Stopping them at the door keeps the inside less chaotic.
“Let me know if you need backup,” Abbie calls over her shoulder as we pass by, and Henry barks a laugh.
Hanging our coats on the rack by the door, we make our way towards the bar. The music pumps through the speakers inside, so I barely hear Abbie when she mutters under her breath, “I swear I didn’t plan this.”
“What?” I whip my head around only to see Carter across the room at one of those tall standing tables with Jake Ashford, who I didn’t realize was also back in town. They both look good, but the sight of Carter almost makes my mouth water.
He’s wearing a gray button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, and his sleeves are rolled up, showing off his corded forearms. Deliciously snug black jeans hug his muscular thighs, and his black hair is styled like he just rolled out of bed, and holy fuck, I want to run my fingers through it.
Before I can get my hormones under control, my eyes fall to his, and find that he’s already looking right at me. Shit. I totally just got caught eye-fucking my ex.
But damn if he isn’t returning the favor. His attention is on the way the dress clings to my curves. My cheeks heat under his gaze, and when his eyes finally meet mine, there’s a darkness and intensity that tells me my original plan for tonight of not thinking a single thought about Carter Williams just went out the window.