Chapter 4
AN INSANE EVENING, ONCE AGAIN
ROWAN
What’s your idea of a perfect date?
ChaosInPurple: Frankly, I don’t want to chase perfection or something scripted. I just want every one of our interactions to be real.
My perfect date could be on a rooftop, in a quiet garden, or even better, tucked indoors while rain taps against the windows. I imagine us curled up by the fireplace, tangled in a shared blanket, neither of us wanting the night to end.
I don’t care what we talk about. Truth is, I’ll probably do most of the talking anyway. My friends joke that I speak for half of our town’s population, and they’re not wrong.
But what I do want is him listening to my rambling stories about love, fate, and whether dogs know when we’re sad.
Perfect, for me, means not having to measure my words. It means I don’t have to impress the other person. I just get to be—the loud, messy me—and they stay anyway.
“I thought it was going to just be us.” My fingers are slower than usual, my steps even slower as I make my way toward Archer, who’s casually leaning against his ridiculously polished Aston Martin.
Archer follows my gaze to the faded sky-blue Fiat parked two spaces down in our cousin Charles’s driveway. “Maybe Daisy invited her friends,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Is that okay with you?”
I shrug, hating that I feel a prickle of discomfort and annoyance.
Lately, the easy evenings I used to look forward to with my cousins are starting to feel like restless gatherings I can’t wait to escape.
Mom made sure that each member of our family knew sign language—my language.
Everyone around me learned how to listen to me, even when I had no words.
No one paused or flinched when I used my hands instead of my voice or when Dad took a full minute to get a sentence out through his stutter.
The conversation always flowed. The rhythm never broke. I never felt like I was less.
But these past few months have started to feel different. We gather at Charles’s house like always, but now there are new people in the mix. Charles’s wife, our cousin Raymond’s fiancée, and their girlfriends.
I’m happy for my cousins. I really am. Yet I can’t ignore that my role has shifted.
I’ve become more of a background fixture than an actual participant. I sit and observe and offer an occasional nod or smile, especially when my cousins glance my way mid-conversation, anticipating I’d have something to add.
But whenever their gazes lingered on me in the past, I’d sign something and it would be followed by one of my cousins jumping in and translating my words to the girls.
The moment would be followed by a jagged, awkward silence, and no one would be able to pick up the conversation back from where it paused.
These evenings that used to feel like home now feel like meetings I forgot to prepare for.
“We don’t have to stay long, you know.” Archer’s voice pulls me back. “It’s been a while since you hit the bar with your elder brother. I miss those nights, watching you roll your eyes as cell phone numbers on paper napkins kept piling up on our table.”
A noiseless wry chuckle huffs through my chest despite knowing his offer to hit the bar is solely for my benefit. The thing about twins understanding each other’s emotions can be really shitty sometimes. There is no hiding my emotions from Archer.
“Elder by only two minutes. And thanks for the offer, but it’s been too long since we’ve seen Penny.
I miss her face.” My small smile isn’t entirely fake.
My niece is cute as a button with her sweet baby scent and tiny fingers that curl around my large ones already, reminding me how much strength can be trapped in something so fragile.
I know she won’t stay like this forever.
“That’s true. Fuck, I can’t believe Charles and Raymond are dads now. Can you?”
It still catches me off guard that my cousins, the two most eligible bachelors of Cherrywood until a year ago, have given up their single status and become girl dads to the cutest children I’ve ever seen.
“I always thought Charles would be the last one to start a family.” The thought barely leaves my fingers before the front door opens.
Charles stands there with Penny tucked against his chest, her tiny cheek pressed into his suit jacket.
A white burp cloth patterned with orange dinosaurs is slung over his shoulder.
He’s still dressed in his navy pinstripe suit from the day, which means he immediately took on dad duty after returning home from work.
“Now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see.” Archer grins, but his attempt to rattle Charles doesn’t work, as our cousin’s smile only grows wider.
“Your niece just fell asleep,” he says quietly, carefully shifting Penny so we can see her peaceful face. “You can join the others in the living room. I’ll put her down in the nursery and be right there.”
In the living room, Charles’s wife, Daisy, and Raymond’s fiancée, Willow, are perched on the barstools, deep in conversation with their two best friends, Violet and Elodie. A pitcher of margarita sits at the center of the counter, surrounded by four salt-rimmed glasses.
When Archer and I approach, everyone turns toward us with a chorus of hellos. Archer responds easily while I offer a small, practiced nod and head straight toward Raymond and Alex, who are lounging on the far end of the room.
When Charles returns, he goes straight to Daisy. “What are you girls discussing so deeply?”
Daisy glances at her friends, and it appears like a silent agreement passing between them before she replies, “Online dating.”
I falter mid-step, barely catching myself as my body tenses, but the conversation around me carries on.
Charles’s eyebrows rise. “Should I be worried, Mrs. Hawthorne?”
“Not a chance.” Daisy matches Charles’s grin. “I’m exactly where I want to be. But do you guys think people can really find true love online? Or do you think it’s just an easier form of casual dating that’s low pressure and has fewer expectations?”
“I definitely like the sound of fewer expectations,” Archer says immediately.
“Of course you do,” Alex grumbles.
“So, you don’t believe people can find their soulmate that way?” Violet’s voice finds its way through the noise of the room and straight to me.
I already regret being here tonight. I should’ve made an excuse to get away when I had my chance.
“Soulmate?” Archer scoffs, but Violet continues staring at him. “Wait, are you serious?” He raises a brow, glancing at the woman before flicking his gaze toward me, the silent question obvious. Is she for real?
Violet answers him with a firm nod, causing her dark hair streaked with purple highlights to shift over her shoulders.
Her winged blue eyeliner makes her look like she belongs in a comic book.
The tiny crystal of her nose ring twinkles in the overhead light, matching the dewy glittering of her lip stain.
Did I just notice her lips and makeup?
But the thing is, Violet Harper, local gossip columnist at the Cherrywood Gazette, is noticeable in a lot of ways.
Underneath her soft, pink cardigan, she’s wearing a white tee that proudly declares, I trust good things to find me.
Truth is, she doesn’t need to parade around wearing that slogan. Everyone already knows she’s probably the most positive and eccentric person in town.
Charles once told us about the night he found the four of them behind a restaurant.
Violet had been performing what she called a “bad-boyfriend purging ritual.” During the ceremony, which was held over a dumpster, she lit semi-nude pics of Daisy’s asshole-ex on fire and prayed to the universe for Daisy’s love life.
Every time I see Violet, I’m caught between two conflicting reactions.
I’m impressed. I’ve never met anyone like her. She says exactly what she thinks, never dilutes herself, and doesn’t fear judgment. With Violet Harper, you always know you’re getting the real thing.
Yet, I’m equally irritated for that very same reason. She never tones it down, not for anyone.
“I don’t really buy into the whole soulmate thing,” Archer finally replies to her with a shrug, but Violet doesn’t blink.
Instead, she turns to Charles with that same fire in her eyes. “What about you? You don’t believe Daisy is your soulmate?”
There’s a beat of silence before Charles replies with a perfect answer to a dangerous question.
“Daisy is my everything. You can place whatever label you want on it.”
Smooth bastard.
Willow taps the counter. “Back to the point. Seriously, what do you all think about online dating? I don’t trust it, by the way.”
But before anyone can answer the question, Violet pipes up. “That’s because you haven’t tried it.”
A dull throb blooms behind my eyes, my skull already pounding.
I wish, more than anything, that someone, anyone, would shut this discussion down. But instead, Raymond gets up and joins Charles and the girls, and I can already see exactly how this evening is going to play out.
Soon, everyone will be gathered around the bar, voices overlapping, opinions flying in every direction.
And I’ll be standing off to the side, slowly blending into the wallpaper, silently praying Violet lets the topic die before one of my cousins says something about online dating that I can’t un-hear, something that might make me second-guess my own profile on FYS.
The truth is, ever since I read her responses, I’ve been looking forward to hearing more from ChaosInPurple.
While I spent the entire night agonizing over my answers, editing and re-editing until each word felt sharp and precise, she bled onto that questionnaire in long, wounded sentences that felt like sunlight pouring through cracked glass.
So, whatever anyone says tonight, I’m holding on to stubborn hope that there’s no single way to find your soulmate. Even if I’d never admit it out loud.
“I think it doesn’t matter how you meet someone,” Violet says, undeterred. “If they’re meant to be yours, they’ll find you. Maybe my soulmate is halfway across the world, and the only way I’ll meet him is through a dating site. Isn’t that possible?”
Even though her words echo exactly what I feel, I know they’re perfect bait for Archer.
“But if fate is real, wouldn’t it be stupid on its part to place your soulmate so far away?
Wouldn’t it be better if, I don’t know, you worked in the same office, like Daisy and Charles?
Or better yet, you started as business rivals like Willow and Raymond?
Doesn’t that sound easier than meeting a stranger on the internet? ”
“Who said love was easy? If that were the case, wouldn’t all stories end the same?”
“I’ll take easy and repetitive over complicated any day.”
Violet frowns. She clearly doesn’t like Archer or his opinions, and it seems she’s done entertaining his logic.
“Do all men think like this?” she asks, her gaze sweeping across the room, touching on Alex, then Raymond, before finally settling on me.
Of fucking course.
Another thing I don’t like about Violet Harper: the way she tries to pull me into conversations, her gaze demanding a response when I’m trying my hardest to stay out of it.
What does she expect me to do?
She knows I don’t—I can’t—speak.
“Where is this coming from?” Raymond finally asks.
“Remember Vincent Belmont’s website, Find Your Soulmate?” Willow’s casual reply causes my stomach to drop to my knees.
Fuck. Fuckity Fuck.
But before anything else can be said, Penny’s cry bursts from the baby monitor, saving my sanity.
Charles and Daisy rush toward the nursery, and the girls trail behind. A second later, soft cooing sounds drift from the baby monitor and the tension finally drains from the room like air wheezing out of a punctured balloon.
I reach up and unfasten the top button of my shirt. I’ve just taken my first real breath since this whole conversation started, when my phone vibrates with a new email.
Dear SilenceInMidnight,
Your match, ChaosInPurple, has viewed your answers and has chosen to proceed. Please find her response regarding her preferred mode of communication at the end of this email.
Based on your preference for chat, we’ve created an exclusive chat room for you both. Please note that it is completely encrypted and no one other than the two of you have access to your messages.
We wish you both the very best, and we hope this is the start of something magical and special.
Love always,
The FYS Team
My gaze drifts to the bottom of the page, and there’s her response, once again, in long, open sentences—nothing like mine.
ChaosInPurple: I don’t care how we communicate.
What matters to me is what we actually talk about.
I want us to be able to talk without inhibition or fear.
That’s the whole purpose of the anonymity FYS promises anyway, isn’t it?
So as long as he can speak from his heart, I’m okay with anything.
A call, chat, or an email. Whatever feels right to him.