Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Peter
Archer tilts his water bottle up and takes a long drink, sweat dripping down his forehead. We’re sitting side by side against the wall in the back of the racquetball court at a nearby gym, and Archer just cleaned the floor with me three games in a row.
I’m at least getting better. We’ve played three mornings this week, and it’s become my favorite way to work out, so I can’t be mad at the guy for beating me so soundly.
“So let me get this straight,” Archer says when he lowers his water bottle. “You’ve technically been offered two promotions.”
“The second one was unofficial, but yeah.”
“But you don’t really want that one,” he says, a statement more than a question. “The unofficial one.”
“I do. It’s the promotion I thought I was getting. I just want the one in Charlotte more.”
“Because it pays more?”
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s an incredible opportunity. It would give me access to the other side of data science. Right now, I do the research, but I’m not a part of interpreting it. In Charlotte, I would be. I would be presenting findings, making suggestions to the people who do the actual problem-solving. It would be much more challenging.”
“So why are you hesitating? If it’s a better job, and the pay is good and you want to do it, there are worse places to live than Charlotte. It’s a great city.”
“I like the city,” I say. “I just—I don’t know. Hard to leave a place that’s always been home, you know?”
Archer nods. “But isn’t your family moving to the South anyway? What will you still have in Serendipity Springs?”
“Sophie,” I say without hesitation.
Archer lifts an eyebrow. “I thought she might be at the root of your hesitation.”
“She matters,” I say. “A lot.”
“All right, let’s say you turn down the job in Charlotte so you can stay in Serendipity Springs with Sophie. Then her dating scheme works, and she falls in love with someone else.”
I shoot him a look. “This is some pep talk you’re giving.”
He lifts his hands. “What do you want me to say? You showed up on my doorstep a week ago and admitted you’re in love with her. And she’s taken how many guys up to the roof since then? Seems like you’d be anxious to let her know how you feel.”
Archer isn’t wrong.
I’ve had multiple opportunities to come clean, and I keep finding reasons to delay. To put off the conversation just a little bit longer. I might as well be right back in high school, planning and plotting a prom proposal until it’s too late.
“I guess a part of me thinks if she felt the same way I did,” I say, “she wouldn’t need to go to all this trouble to meet other men. She wouldn’t want to date anyone else.”
“But how can she really make that call if she doesn’t know you’re an option?”
“I think it’s the promotion that’s making me hesitate,” I say. “I don’t want it to factor into her decision about me— us .”
“How would it?” Archer asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe it would make her feel pressured to date me because she knows I’ll move if she doesn’t? At the same time, I don’t want her to think that if I do give the job up, that I’m doing it for her.”
“But you would be,” Archer says.
“But I don’t want her to know that. That feels like a lot of pressure, too.”
“Come on,” Archer says. He stands up and offers me a hand. “Sophie deserves more credit than that. If she’s factoring into your decision at all, she deserves to be a part of the conversation.”
I take his hand and let him haul me to my feet.
He reaches for his racket. “One more game?”
“Are you serious right now? I can barely stand up.”
He grins. “I’ll go easy on you.”
I sigh and reach for my own racket. “Don’t do that. When I beat you, because I eventually will, I want to know it’s because I earned it.”
“Suit yourself,” he says. “But when you can’t walk tomorrow, it isn’t my fault.”
We play a bruising fourth game in which Archer decidedly trounces me, then he drives us back to The Serendipity. I’m hobbling my way across the lobby when Sophie comes rushing down the grand staircase.
“Peter!” Her eyes shift over my shoulder. “And Archer! Perfect. I need your help. Both of you.”
“Right now?” Archer says.
“Can it wait? I really need a shower,” I say.
Sophie’s nose wrinkles. “You both do. But this will only take a second. Please?”
Archer looks at me and shrugs, so we follow Sophie back outside to where a box delivery truck is sitting in the street. The back is open, and a delivery guy is standing with a clipboard in hand.
“Sophie Stewart?” he says as Sophie approaches.
“That’s me,” she says brightly.
“You got some muscle? This thing is really heavy.” The delivery guy climbs into the back of the truck and shifts a wooden crate toward the edge of the bed.
She points over her shoulder at Archer and me. “That’s what these guys are for.”
“What is it?” Archer asks.
“A new ceramic planter for the garden,” Sophie answers. “I just bought a gorgeous fiddle-leaf fig that needs a new home, and this planter is hand painted and so gorgeous and it’s going to look amazing next to the rose trellis.”
Archer is already stepping into place to lift the crate, but I’m scrambling.
Sophie wants us to carry this thing to the roof.
I can’t go on the roof.
I definitely can’t go on the roof with Sophie.
I won’t say I haven’t been curious. That I haven’t thought about what it would mean if the flower bloomed for us. Sophie’s been all-in, believing in the magic of the flower. If I want something to knock us out of the friendzone, that would do it faster than anything else.
But if it doesn’t bloom, it would do the exact opposite.
It would kill my chances completely. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. In Sophie’s mind, no bloom for the two of us would close the door on a relationship between us with finality and certainty. And I desperately want that door to stay open. At least long enough for her to give me a fighting chance.
But it’s getting harder and harder. This is the third time this week Sophie has needed me to do something on the roof. The first two times, I managed to get out of helping. First, when she asked me to carry a new bag of fertilizer up the back stairwell, my mom called just as we were getting off the elevator on the fourth floor, and I was able to defer my pack mule responsibility to Matteo, who was, conveniently, getting on the elevator as we were getting off.
The second time, she wanted an opinion on how to string the new fairy lights she bought. Should they climb the trunk of the Japanese maple or line the rose trellis? She insisted showing pictures wouldn’t be good enough, and could I please just come up and give her an opinion?
I claimed my work deadlines were far too pressing and annoyed her enough that she didn’t talk to me for over an hour. But what else am I supposed to do?
I step up opposite Archer and lift the side of the crate, mind spinning the whole time. It’s not actually all that heavy, though it probably would be if one person had to carry it all the way to the rooftop.
“You good walking backwards?” Archer says, and I nod before we make our way toward the front door.
Sophie stays behind, signing something on the delivery guy’s clipboard, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if we could get this upstairs and onto the roof before she catches up. But we’re barely to the elevator before she comes trotting over, smile wide as she darts around us and pushes the button for us.
Once we reach the fourth floor, we’ll have to walk down the hall to the back stairwell, the only one with rooftop access. I scour my brain for anyone between here and there who might intervene. But I come up with nothing.
I’m stuck.
And in less than five minutes, I’m going to be in the garden with Sophie.
“Hey, where’s Willa?” I ask Archer as we step onto the elevator.
“I’m not sure,” he says. “At this hour, probably about to start working.”
“You should call her,” I say. “Have her meet us up there. She’d probably love to see this, too.”
“She’s already seen it,” Sophie says. “She was with me when I bought it. We met the artist and everything. Actually, that’s not true. Willa saw a smaller planter, the one the artist had on display in her shop. I wanted one that was slightly larger, so the artist agreed to make it for me.”
“See?” I say. “Then I’m sure Willa would want to see the bigger one. You should definitely call her.”
Archer narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to puzzle out why I’m so concerned about getting his girlfriend onto the rooftop. But she’s my only hope at this point. That way, whatever the flower does or doesn’t do, it’ll be doing it for Archer and Willa no matter what’s happening between me and Sophie.
“I’m sure she’ll see it eventually,” Sophie says. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt her morning.”
The elevator reaches the top floor, and we make our way down the hall, Sophie walking ahead. When she reaches the stairwell door for us, she holds it open, stepping to the side so we can pass by. I go up the stairs first, and I make eye contact with Archer.
“I can’t go out there, man,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He frowns. “Why?”
I glance around him at Sophie, who is coming up the stairs behind him.
“Because her flower is out there,” I whisper.
It takes Archer a few seconds, but he finally seems to grasp what I’m saying. As soon as we reach the top of the stairs, he shifts his hands forward, pulling the crate into his chest. “I’ve got it,” he says. “Go.”
“Are you sure?”
When he nods, I let go of the crate, hovering long enough to make sure Archer really is in control of the cumbersome crate. When he nods one more time, I spin on my heel and head back down the stairs.
“What happened?” Sophie asks as I pass by her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just…sorry. I’ve got to…” I don’t finish my sentence, I just wave a hand over my shoulder in what I hope indicates an urgent, unidentified need that I must attend to right this moment.
I take the stairs all the way down to the second floor, where I push through the access door, opting to head to my apartment instead of Sophie’s. I haven’t been there in a while, and I need to grab some clean clothes anyway. As soon as I step inside, the lights start flickering just like they were doing before I moved out.
I’m really, really getting tired of this apartment.
I rummage through my drawers, gathering the things I need, then head downstairs to Sophie’s. It’s only been a couple of minutes, so I’m banking on her still being on the roof unpacking her crate. I hope she is, because I don’t want a confrontation right now, and I’m positive she’s going to ask why I ran away.
Luckily, her apartment is empty, so nothing waylays me as I walk quickly to her bathroom. Once inside, I close and lock the door, leaning against it with a sigh.
I need a shower.
And something to eat.
And I really, really need to be honest with Sophie.
Tonight , I think. I’ll tell her everything tonight. She has a stupid Operation Soulmate date, but as soon as she’s back from that, I’m telling her everything. About the job offer. About my feelings. All of it.
I’m out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist when a knock sounds on the bathroom door.
“Hey,” Sophie calls. “Just checking on you. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good,” I say. “Just got out of the shower.”
“Okay,” she says back. “I have Pepto Bismol if you need it. Or maybe some ginger ale?”
I frown. “Why would I need Pepto Bismol?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“Peter,” she says, her tone almost chiding. “We’ve been friends for too long for you to be embarrassed. Archer told me about the gym. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m just saying, if you need drugs, I’m happy to help.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. “I appreciate that.”
“I’ve got to get to work,” she says. “But I’ll be in my office if you need me. Just text.”
I listen as her footsteps recede toward her office, then I reach for my phone where it sits on the bathroom counter and send a text to Archer.
Peter
What, exactly, did you tell Sophie about the gym?
Archer
Not sure I follow your question.
Peter
Why did she just offer me Pepto Bismol?
Archer
Oh, that. I might have said something about explosive diarrhea. And implied that’s why you had to run away.
Peter
Not funny, man.
Archer
Definitely a little funny.
Now tell her the truth, or I’m asking you about your bowels every time we’re together in front of Sophie.
Peter
You will not.
Archer
It will be highly uncomfortable.
But I will.
For your own good.