Chapter 8 The Meeting We’ve Yearned For
THE MEETING WE’VE YEARNED FOR
ROWAN
Do you fall in love like rain, sudden and soft, or like fire, slow and consuming?
ChaosInPurple: I fall in love like fire—slow at first, almost unnoticeable. The feelings start as a small warmth, flickering quietly in the background while I’m busy pretending I’m not already a little invested.
But once it catches, it doesn’t burn out easily. It grows into the kind of fire that stays through the night, that warms instead of destroys, and that turns ordinary moments into unforgettable ones.
I fall in love with intention, with my whole heart, glowing and ready to burn.
I press the power button on my phone, and the screen flickers to life. Like it has every time this past week, my gaze goes straight to the background image before I even register the notifications waiting for me.
Her hand. Soft, pale, familiar already. Wrapped in a purple ring.
Her nails are painted black, so completely at odds with the sunshine-bright personality I’ve come to associate with her. Black isn’t a color I ever would’ve guessed for her. I’d have chosen something bright and glowing.
She told me earlier that she’d picked the nail art because it reminded her of me, of us.
I haven’t quite recovered from that admission.
No one has ever done anything for me like that.
No one has ever chosen something as personal as their nail polish simply because it made them think of me, because they wanted to think of me.
The amount of time I’ve spent staring at that image, memorizing her hand resting against a white skirt dotted with pink hearts, is probably unhealthy.
Fuck it.
If this is obsession, then lock me up. She sent me her picture. I’ve earned the right to look at it for as long as I want.
My phone vibrates.
Archer: You there?
I force my eyes away from the photo, reminding myself why I picked up the phone in the first place.
Rowan: Yeah. I just parked. I’ve got a few minutes before the time we decided to meet.
Archer: Fuck. I still can’t believe you’re meeting a girl you met online. And hell, you already like her without even seeing her or knowing half the shit that usually matters.
I drag a hand down my face. Honestly, I can’t believe I’m on a date either.
No one except Archer knows this is my first. Ever. I know that’s exactly why he’s texting, hovering. He understands what this moment means to me.
I want to lie and tell him I’m calm. That I’ve got this. That this is just another meeting, another moment.
But under the tailored suit, the damp fabric of my shirt clings to my back. A bead of sweat slides down my neck despite the AC, my body betraying everything I pretend not to feel.
Archer: Ro? You still there?
Rowan: Yeah. Just thinking.
There’s a pause, longer this time, and I’m able to guess what’s coming before the words appear.
Archer: You reminded her to keep her phone with her, right?
My hand stills over the screen and my jaw tightens.
It’s not a simple question. It’s Archer asking if I’ve made sure I can communicate with her. The odds of a stranger knowing sign language are slim, and nothing about Purple’s life suggests she’s ever needed to learn.
Rowan: I did.
Archer: Then… I guess I should say good luck. I hope she’s everything you imagine her to be.
Another beat.
Archer: Fuck. I don’t even know what else to say.
A quiet chuckle slips out of me, warm and tight all at once.
I hear the worry he isn’t voicing. I always do.
He’s been my shadow ever since the accident. The one who learned how to pull attention toward himself so people didn’t linger on my silence. The one who didn’t mind being labeled dramatic or attention-hungry so I was never called a loner.
Rowan: What you said is enough. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.
Archer: I’m just looking out for my younger brother.
Rowan: Younger by just two minutes.
Archer: And don’t you forget that. Plus, I am not worried about you. Why would I be? You’re an absolute catch. If I were a girl and not related to you, I’d fall for your brooding masculinity every damn time.
This time my laugh is sharp, bouncing off the quiet interior of the car.
Rowan: Arch, that was too much, even for you. I can’t tell if you’re trying to boost my ego or scar me for life. For the record, even if you were a girl and not related to me, I’d avoid your dramatic ass to the ends of the earth.
Archer: You’d be lucky to be anywhere near my ass, Ro. I’d have been a really pretty girl.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
Rowan: It feels criminal that we’re having this conversation without Charles, Raymond, and Alex. Our cousins don’t even know what kind of universe they’re missing.
Archer: They can all fuck themselves. I’d have eyes only for you, Ro.
My phone slips from my hand, landing face down on the seat.
Jesus Christ. I grab it again, shaking my head.
Rowan: You’re insane. Sometimes I genuinely wonder how we’re twins.
Archer: Wonder about that another time. Tonight, just go get your girl. How are you recognizing each other, by the way?
Rowan: She’ll be wearing a black dress and her grandmother’s ring. I’m wearing a purple tie.
Archer: How disgustingly romantic. I’m melting
I huff out a quiet laugh, the tension easing a fraction.
Rowan: Good night, Arch.
Archer: Good night, Ro. It’s good to see you stepping out of your comfort zone. I hope your purple is for keeps.
I lock my phone, the image of her hand flashing once more before the screen goes dark. I reach for the door handle, already halfway out of the car, when the sky-blue Fiat 500 parked to my right slides into my line of sight and knocks the air straight out of my lungs.
Fuck.
It has to be a coincidence. It has to be.
I’m not on the other side of the world for this date with Purple, but I’m far enough from Cherrywood that familiar faces shouldn’t be waiting for me.
When the email from FYS landed in my inbox announcing Spring Falls as our meeting place, a charming little town two hours away, I’d panicked for a second.
For a fleeting moment, I’d worried if she lived close—close enough to touch without either of us knowing it. But I remembered FYS had headquarters in Spring Falls, with Vincent Belmont’s family practically owning this town. It made sense they’d organize the dates here.
But then Purple didn’t mention flights or long, exhausting travel plans.
And still, I avoided letting myself believe that her “home” wasn’t far after all.
But now this car sits beside mine.
I’d recognize Violet Harper’s beat-up Fiat anywhere. “The universe is still working on your miracle. Don’t look away.” That bumper sticker, which feels like an assault of optimism and sincerity, is burned into my memory.
My hand slams the door shut before my mind can catch up, and I sink back into the leather seat. The earlier calm I clawed back after texting Archer evaporates.
What the hell is she doing here?
My thoughts scatter, colliding into one another with no order or mercy.
Violet’s face flashes behind my eyes—her always wearing that infuriating smile, as though the world has never given her a single reason to doubt it.
The purple streaks in her hair shift like ripples in water whenever she turns her head.
Her voice, animated and relentless, spilling gossip, half-truths and hopeful conclusions that somehow always end with people falling in love, getting engaged, and getting married.
My head throbs just thinking about it, about the way she talks, while I sit there watching journalism die right in front of me.
All these scattered images bleed together into one overwhelming question.
Could Violet be Purple?
No. Fuck no. The universe cannot be that fucking cruel and twisted.
A humorless smile tugs at my mouth despite myself. Purple’s obsessive habit of blaming the universe for everything—every miracle, every disaster—has clearly infected me.
But the smile dies as fast as it comes, my gaze dragged back to the bumper sticker on Violet’s car, the words glowing like an accusation.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, breathing hard. There are too many coincidences piling up, and it would be foolish of me to ignore them any longer.
I grab my phone, thumb hovering over the FYS app, but my attention snags on the background image again.
Her hand. Her ring. I try to line it up in my mind with Violet’s hands, but the truth is, I’ve never really looked at her properly. I’ve always avoided her at gatherings, always felt that low-grade tension at the thought of her focus landing on me.
She’s the kind of person who would zoom in and pin you in place if she sensed even a flicker of interest and, once caught, there’d be no escaping her orbit.
My mouth goes dry. The way Violet makes me nervous and the way Purple makes me ache are not the same thing at all.
Purple’s presence, even through a screen, has a way of making the world feel quieter. Her words slip past my defenses and feed something I didn’t even know I was starving for.
Violet, on the other hand, overwhelms me in a way that makes me want to retreat into silence.
They fucking cannot be the same person. They can’t.
My fingers tremble as I type, fear breaking through my control.
SilenceInMidnight: Purple, I need you to be completely honest with me about something. Can you do that?
The moment I hit send, my gaze lifts toward the frosted glass windows of the restaurant, glowing with soft golden light, as if I might somehow see her through it.
ChaosInPurple: Um… what is it?
ChaosInPurple: Also, where are you? I’m already here.
She’s here.
The words slam into me. Less than a hundred steps away is the woman who has quietly rearranged my entire internal landscape, the woman who feels closer than anyone ever has. And yet, a cruel coincidence has me frozen inside my car instead of running to her.
ChaosInPurple: Night? Are you there? Is everything okay?
SilenceInMidnight: Yes. Everything’s fine. I just need you to answer this honestly. What kind of car did you buy?