Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sophie
After a very long week of unsuccessful dating, Monday morning and a long to-do list for work feels like a welcome respite. I don’t have a single date scheduled for the next few days, and I don’t plan to until at least Friday, if even then.
I don’t know what I expected when I started Operation Soulmate. But I definitely didn’t expect it to take this much out of me. I haven’t even been on an actual date yet, and it’s still been exhausting. I forgot how much I hate the whole song and dance of it. The getting ready. The chatting and planning and making small talk.
I also wasn’t prepared for how terrible it feels to tell a man, five seconds after I’ve met him, that I’m not interested in having dinner with him after all. I’m trying to be kind, to be fully honest about changing my mind or not feeling up to going out after all, but I still don’t like it, and it’s putting a damper on the whole experience.
The trouble is, I don’t really know how else to do it. It would be nice if I could invite fifty men onto the rooftop all at once, but if the flower bloomed, how would I even begin to figure out who the bloom was for?
For now, my only option is to persist. But I’m taking a few days off first.
I sigh and stretch my arms overhead. I’ve been lounging in bed, reading work emails and building my schedule for the day, but when the smell of coffee reaches my nose, I finally cave and get up. Peter is generally up before me, and he always makes enough coffee for us both.
But he’s usually sitting at the table when I emerge, dressed for work and already tackling his day. Which is not what I find when I step into my kitchen.
Peter is standing in the middle of the room in a pair of tiny running shorts and the tightest t-shirt I have ever seen on his six-foot frame. I used to go to Peter’s swim meets. I’ve seen the man in a Speedo.
Except, that’s not entirely true.
I saw the boy in a Speedo. Then we graduated and went to college, and somewhere along the way he turned into a man, and I maybe forgot to notice.
But I’m certainly noticing now. His shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, revealing unexpected definition. He’s still built like a swimmer. Long and lean. Not bulky at all. But wow.
“Why are you staring at me?”
My eyes jump to Peter’s face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and I’m struck by the pale brown color of his eyes. They aren’t quite hazel, but they’re light enough that it’s easy to see flecks of yellow and gold in his irises. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were staring,” he says. “Is there something on my shirt?” He looks down, lifting the fabric away from his body so he can inspect it, which only draws my gaze to his torso.
I force my eyes away and clear my throat. “No, I was just…have you been working out?”
Peter studies me for a long moment before his eyebrows lift, amusement coloring his expression. “Were you just checking me out?”
From any other man, the question might have sounded flirty. But Peter doesn’t know how to flirt, so his question can’t be anything but genuine.
That doesn’t mean I have to give him a genuine answer.
I roll my eyes and push past him, moving to the fridge so I can hide my face behind the door because yes, yes I was checking him out. The list of thoughts and observations I’m blaming on Willa and her stupid suggestion is getting longer and longer.
I suddenly think of the moment Peter tucked a curl behind my ear right after he wiped Sissy Mayhew’s blush from my cheeks, and the same fluttery feeling he triggered then fills my chest.
Okay, maybe it’s not entirely Willa’s fault. But she definitely didn’t help.
“I was not checking you out,” I say as I inspect a random stick of butter. “My question was more literal. Like, have you been working out right now .”
I look over my shoulder to see Peter staring at me, arms folded across his chest like he doesn’t buy my excuse, and he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.
I close the fridge. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who is suddenly walking around my apartment looking all toned and muscly. I don’t know what to do with this version of you.”
He walks to where I’m standing and reaches over my head, pulling a box of granola bars out of the cabinet just to the right of me. It brings him close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his body and catch the musky scent of his skin.
“This version of me?” he says. “How is this different? I run. I swim. That’s always been my exercise routine.”
I lift my hands in surrender. “Fine. Forget I said anything.”
The man is standing impossibly close to me, but he doesn’t step away. Instead he puts the box down on the counter and leans even closer. A part of me thinks he’s doing this on purpose. Standing this close because he wants to get a rise out of me.
“I haven’t changed, Sophie. Maybe you’ve just never noticed.”
I purse my lips to the side and study him. Objectively, he’s probably right. At least in the last few years. Since he got through puberty and grew into an adult, he pretty much has stayed the same.
So if Peter hasn’t changed…have I?
“Have you ever noticed?” I hear myself ask.
I wish I could pull back the question the second it’s out of my mouth. I’ve never talked to Peter like this. But it’s too late now. I’m already committed. He’s watching me intently, his gaze serious, but his expression holds curiosity too.
“Have you ever noticed me?” I add. “Like…” I shrug and push my hands into my back pockets, needing to put them somewhere just to keep them from fidgeting. “You know. Like that.”
Peter looks at me for a long moment, his expression darkening before he puts one hand on the fridge directly behind me and leans forward, his face mere inches from mine. “I’ve noticed,” he finally says. “You’re beautiful, Sophie. And I’m not blind.”
His words feel like an actual caress, and for a split second, I can’t pull any air into my lungs. My heart pounds harder and harder until I finally inhale, heat spreading through my belly like warm honey.
This is Peter, a part of me thinks. My best friend. Except he is not looking at me like I am just his friend.
“Hey, listen,” he says, his body still close, his eyes fixed on my face. “Remember when I asked if you’d come home with me to pick up the rest of my stuff?”
I swallow and force myself to nod. “Yeah,” I say, my voice much too breathy.
Peter’s lips lift on one side, his eyes flashing with something I can’t quite read before he says, “Are you free on Saturday? I could really use the help.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’d love to help. But I might have a date.”
I don’t know why I say it. I do not have a date planned, and even if I did, I’d cancel it to go home with Peter. His family is moving. This is exactly the kind of thing his best friend is supposed to do.
But he’s making me feel so much right now. With his intense looks and his soft words and the unexplained fluttering that keeps skittering behind my ribs.
Mentioning the possibility of a date is my only defense. The only way to land us back in the friendzone.
Peter’s lips twitch the slightest bit, but that’s his only reaction before he says, “I guess you can check and let me know?”
“I will. Definitely. I could text you, maybe.”
I could text him? What am I even saying right now? Why am I making things so weird?
“That would be great,” he says, like we’re making some formal arrangement. Like he isn’t currently sharing my apartment, and we haven’t been best friends for the past decade.
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you then,” Peter says. He finally pushes away from the fridge and turns to walk away, but then he pauses and spins around to face me again. “Can I ask you one more question?”
I nod. “Of course. Anything.”
“What are you going to do if you keep dating, keep taking man after man up to the roof, and the flower never blooms?”
A knot of dread forms in my gut. So far, I’ve only thought of this plan in positive terms. The flower feels like my own personal gift, a way to bypass my initially crappy instincts and find a guy who’s truly meant just for me.
But what if it doesn’t work? How many men am I willing to parade across The Serendipity’s roof before I give up?
“That isn’t going to happen,” I say. “The flower appeared in my garden. I have to believe it’s here to help me.”
He nods. “And you’re sure you’ll find the right guy just…randomly dating like this?”
“It’s not random,” I argue. “I match with their profile first.”
“Right. Match with guys like Bear,” he says, the words stinging despite his gentle tone. “He really seemed like your type.”
“Okay, to be fair, Bear’s profile picture was completely different from how he looked in person.”
Peter runs his hand through his hair, and for the first time, I sense a little wariness from him, like there are things he isn’t saying. Whether about me or Operation Soulmate, I’m not sure.
He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but then he stops, swallowing his words as he shakes his head.
“Just say it, Peter,” I say. “I can tell you’re clearly thinking something.”
He breathes out a sigh, his hands moving to his hips. “I just—Sophie, you know I want you to be happy. And if you want to keep up this dating thing, I’ll keep helping you. I promised I would, and I won’t go back on my word. But…” He hesitates, his jaw flexing before he looks me right in the eye. “I don’t think you’re looking in the right place. I don’t think this is going to work for you.”
“Well, I do,” I say, feeling a need to defend myself. What does Peter know about where I should be looking for dates? “The flower appeared for me, Peter. It appeared now, this season. Not last fall. Not when I first started tending the garden. I have to think the timing matters here.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And I don’t exactly think you’re in a position to give me dating advice.” The words sound sharper than I intend, and they must hit their mark, because Peter flinches, making me immediately regret them.
But a part of me also doesn’t like that Peter is judging, so I hold my ground, lifting my chin the slightest bit as if to say, yeah, that’s what I said. And I meant every word.
“You’re definitely right about that,” he finally says, his words heavy, his tone holding an element of defeat. “I just know you, Soph. I know what you need. And these guys you’re matching with—they aren’t it.” He turns to leave but pauses before he enters the hall and motions toward a coffee mug sitting on the counter. “It’s probably still warm,” he says. “I poured it right before you showed up. I was going to bring it to you.”
As soon as he’s gone, I slide down the fridge until I’m sitting against it and drop my face into my hands.
I have no idea what just happened.
One minute, Peter was taking my breath away, melting my insides with the intensity of a single look, then the next, he was calling me out, questioning my dating tactics, poking holes in Operation Soulmate.
I could be making something out of nothing. Seeing things that aren’t really there. Peter could be annoyed with my dating plan simply because he’s my friend, and he cares about me. Doesn’t want to see me get hurt.
Or he could be annoyed because Willa was right. And he’d rather be dating me himself.
I groan into my palms. What is happening to me? I have a plan. A purpose. All this overthinking is only going to mess with my headspace.
I just need to focus. Schedule more dates. Trust the process.
Still. The way Peter looked at me—I don’t think I made that up.
Even more concerning: I think I might have liked it.