Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie
Peter and I spend the rest of the morning cleaning my apartment. It’s usually a task I hate, but with Peter helping, mopping my floors and scrubbing my toilet has never been so much fun.
While Peter is rearranging my pantry, I wipe down all the countertops and clean out the inside of my cabinets. I have no idea how I got crumbs inside the cup cabinet, but apparently, I managed it like a pro.
When I step off the stool I’m using to reach the top shelf, my hip bumps into the kitchen table, the motion waking up Peter’s laptop.
It pretty much lives in the spot it currently occupies, and I’ve gotten used to ignoring it, but his email inbox is open on the screen, and the subject line of the message sitting at the top immediately catches my eye.
Charlotte Itinerary.
I glance into the pantry, heart hammering like I’ve already been caught snooping.
“Hey, you’ve got some expired oatmeal in here,” Peter calls.
“Do I?” I ask. “We can toss it.”
“I’ll make a pile,” he says. “I doubt it’s the only thing.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but my eyes are glued to his laptop. I shouldn’t look. But Peter’s the one who doesn’t have his laptop password-protected, which, that’s the most surprising thing here. Seems like a data scientist for a cybersecurity company would have passwords and double encryption and a dozen other safeguards to protect himself and his personal information.
But what do I know?
I lean a little closer. I won’t click on the email. That feels like a step too far. But the opening lines of the message are visible next to the subject line.
Looking forward to you meeting the team. You’ll be a great add…
The rest of the word cuts off, but it’s easy to guess what it says. You’ll be a great addition. But addition to what? The Charlotte team?
A knot of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Was Peter offered a promotion…in a different city? In Charlotte ?
If he was, why hasn’t he talked to me about it?
Bigger question: what would I do if Peter actually moved out of Serendipity Springs?
I just kissed the man like I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Not that long distance relationships can’t work, but they are more complicated. And I really feel like I should have known this was on the table.
Before kissing him.
Before falling for him.
Peter pops his head out of the pantry, a box of cereal in his hand.
Acting on impulse, I reach forward and slam his laptop closed. His eyes follow my movement, and he frowns.
“Sorry,” I quickly say. “I just didn’t want to…break it. With all the cleaning.”
“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to keep these? I haven’t seen you eating plain Cheerios, well, ever.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “You can toss them. They’re probably stale anyway.”
“K. I’m just about done in here. What’s next?”
I have no idea what to say. Do I confront him? Ask him? I have to, don’t I? But I’m having a hard time with the hurt blooming in my chest.
I don’t know why he didn’t tell me. And I really hate that he didn’t.
“Actually, I think I’m going to run up to the roof to cover the annuals,” I say, suddenly desperate for a reason to escape. “I got an alert that says there might be hail with the thunderstorm coming through. I don’t want to risk losing all the blooms off the petunias.” The forecast really does call for hail, but I also need a minute to gather my thoughts and figure out how to talk to Peter about his move. Possible move? I wish I knew.
Peter frowns, and I immediately recognize his struggle. In any other circumstance, he would offer to help, but my petunias are in my garden, and so is the love flower.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to reassure him. “It won’t take me long. I don’t need your help.”
His jaw tightens like he doesn’t quite believe me, but he nods. “Okay. I’ll be here then.”
It’s windy when I reach the garden, the gathering clouds a deep, dark gray. I find a roll of plastic sheeting in the storage closet by the stairs and dig out a handful of small stakes from the bottom shelf.
It shouldn’t take long, but I’m not sure I’ll finish before the rain starts. Honestly, this actually would be easier with a second person, and I regret telling Peter to stay behind. With this kind of storm bearing down on us, we might not have even noticed the love flower.
A sharp gust of chilly spring wind ruffles my hair as I approach the flower beds that need covering. I’m not worried about the perennials and the heartier stuff that can handle a little bit of a beating. But the petunias and begonias and marigolds will get totally shredded in a hailstorm. A drop of rain falls onto my arm, and I glance up at the sky.
I definitely need some help.
“Hi. Are you Sophie?”
I look up to see a man standing a few feet away. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair and deep brown eyes. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
“Yes?” I say. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
He frowns. “I’m David. I think we have plans to have lunch together today?”
David.
Oh my gosh!
David!
My stomach sinks.
I have a date today.
A date with David the orthodontist, whom I met on Swipe Rite last week and then promptly forgot about. How on earth did I forget that we made plans?
Admittedly, I’ve been slightly distracted since I got home last night.
But still. To forget an entire date ?
“Right. I’m so sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You forgot about the date, didn’t you?”
I look down at my overalls. I look like I’m dressed for house cleaning or gardening. Definitely not a lunch date. “I did, and I would love to give you a sincere apology, but do you think you could help me with something first?” I glance up at the sky. “I just need to cover the flower beds before the rain starts.”
David’s eyebrows lift. “Oh. Sure. Absolutely.”
It takes less than five minutes to spread the plastic. With David holding it on one side, I stretch it tight and stake it down, then run around the bed to his side and repeat the same thing. Seconds after the final stake is in place, the clouds burst, and rain pours onto the rooftop.
I gather up the extra sheeting and the leftover stakes and make a run for the stairs, but then I stop short right in front of the Japanese maple.
Because my flower—my magical flower that has never opened for me—is in bloom.
Rain pelts my skin, running down my face and soaking through my clothes.
I look over at David, who is standing near the stairs, hand shielding his face as he stares my direction, likely wondering why on earth I’m just standing here.
It can’t be true.
The flower can’t be blooming for me and David.
But we’re the only two people on the roof.
It’s what I’ve wanted. What I’ve been hoping for all along. And now it’s finally happened, and all I can think is that I really wish it hadn’t.
“Sophie?” David calls. He takes a few steps toward me. “Are you all right?”
I look at the flower one more time. The maple tree above it is doing a decent job shielding it from the storm, but water is still collecting on its petals, making it droop just slightly.
But there’s no question that it’s in bloom. Big white petals. Deep pink center.
The rain falls faster, and I finally turn, spinning away from the flower and running toward the stairs. I open the storage closet door to throw my supplies inside, hoping I’ll have time to make it into the stairwell, but when hail starts hammering the rooftop, I give up and step into the closet instead.
David steps in behind me, pulling the door closed enough to protect us from the biting hail. “This is some storm!” he calls over the roaring weather.
I nod, but there isn’t much point in talking. The storage closet is tucked into the side of the stairwell, and the rooftop of the small structure is metal, so the sound of the rain and hail beating against it is practically deafening.
David looks outside through the crack in the unlatched door. He’s soaked through, his shirt clinging to his torso, his hair plastered to his head.
I take advantage of his momentary distractedness and try to take stock of my feelings. Physically, I’m cold and wet, practically shivering, but otherwise, I’m okay. But emotionally, I can’t even begin to make sense of what just happened.
The flower bloomed . Opened up for David and me in the middle of a rainstorm. And so far, the flower hasn’t been wrong.
That means David is my soulmate—my possibility for true love. But how can that be true? How can I belong with this man when my heart already feels so connected to someone else?
But then, my heart has always felt connected to Peter, from the very beginning of our friendship. Even before we kissed.
For a split second, I set aside my thoughts of Peter and try to study David objectively.
He has pleasing features, and he looks like he’s in decent shape. And even though I’ve only just met him and we’re currently standing in a closet together, I’m not getting any uncomfortable or predatory vibes. But I find myself utterly uninterested in making more than the most basic observations. I’m sure the man is nice, but my brain keeps shifting back to Peter, thrumming with a need to get out of here, to find him and assure him that I’m okay.
Even on the first floor, I’m sure he heard the hail, and he’s probably worried about me.
Can David really be my soulmate if I can’t stop thinking about someone else?
The rain finally eases up, and David looks at me over his shoulder. “Should we make a run for it?”
I nod and follow behind him as he leaves the closet and rounds the corner to the stairwell door. He holds it open for me, and I hurry inside, waiting as he comes in behind me.
He wipes the water from his face and looks over at me. “Wow,” he says through a chuckle. “I haven’t seen rain like that in a long time.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs before I can respond, and I look down to see Peter quickly approaching, a worried look on his face.
“Hey,” Peter says as he reaches the top of the steps. His hands fall on my shoulders, then shift down my arms, like he’s cataloging my person, making sure I’m whole and well and safe. “I heard the storm and got worried. Are you okay?”
My eyes dart to David, who is watching our interaction closely, but Peter’s attention stays wholly focused on me. “I’m okay,” I say. “I managed to cover the flowers before the hail started, but I couldn’t avoid the rain.” My teeth chatter the slightest bit—the air-conditioned cool of the stairwell definitely lends a bite to my very damp skin—and Peter frowns. He yanks off his hoodie and wraps it around me, his hands chuffing up and down my arms to warm them before he finally looks over at David.
“Who are you?” he asks, his tone polite but cool.
“Um, this is David,” I say. “He helped me cover the flowers.” It’s a stupid introduction, but what else can I possibly say? “David, this is my…friend, Peter.” I hesitate on the word friend because Peter is definitely more than that now, but we’re only a few hours into our new relationship dynamic. Feels a little soon to be throwing around words like boyfriend, especially when we’re supposed to be taking things slow.
David extends his hand to Peter. “Nice to meet you,” he says as Peter shakes his hand. “Sophie and I were supposed to have a lunch date today, but apparently, the storm had other plans.” David looks at me. “Listen, I’m sure you’d like to change into something warm and dry. I’m feeling the chill myself, so I’d like to do the same. Should we reschedule for another day? Maybe one with a sunnier forecast?”
I have to at least give the guy props for not reacting to Peter’s presence with any hint of jealousy. Even though I’m technically supposed to be his date, and I’m standing here wearing Peter’s hoodie, David still seems perfectly cool and confident.
I nod. “Sorry about forgetting. And thank you for your help with the flowers.”
David steps toward the stairs. “No problem,” he says with a wink. “It’ll make a great story if we’re ever asked how we met.” He looks at Peter. “Nice to meet you, Peter. Sophie, I’ll call you.”
Peter and I are silent as David makes his way down the stairs. One flight, then two, three four before we hear the echoing click of a door opening, then falling shut.
Peter takes a deep breath, then holds out his hand. “Let’s get you downstairs and into some warm clothes.”
I slip my hand into his and let him tug me down the steps, but I can’t do this. I can’t walk with him, talk to him, let him take care of me without telling him the truth.
“Peter?” I say, giving his hand a quick squeeze.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says without pausing his steps. “You had a lot of dates scheduled. And this just happened between us. I get it. You don’t need to explain anything.”
“That isn’t it,” I say.
Peter is walking faster now, and I’m struggling to keep up, my wet sneakers squelching on every step. He grips my hand a little tighter.
“Peter, wait. Can we stop a second? I don’t want to fall.”
This, finally, snaps him out of whatever blind emotion was driving him down the stairs, and he turns, stopping two steps below me so we’re almost eye to eye.
His eyes are full of something I can’t quite read. He almost looks frustrated, but it isn’t that. It’s more like he’s tormented.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m being an idiot.”
“You aren’t,” I say. “That was a really weird situation up there.”
He licks his lips, his hand tightening around mine. “You forgot you had a date scheduled?”
I nod. “I made the plans a few days ago. I’m not sure how he got into the building. I told him we’d meet in the garden, and I planned to have you let him inside. But then, after we—after last night, I completely forgot until he showed up right before the rain started.”
Peter takes a deep breath, his eyes turning glassy for a second, like he’s remembering something.
I need to tell him.
I have to tell him. I can’t keep standing here, holding his hand, with this giant thing hovering in the air between us. If I don’t tell him, I won’t stop thinking about it. And if I can’t stop thinking about it, I’ll never be able to let it go.
I open my mouth to speak, but Peter beats me to it.
“Did you know I was going to ask you to senior prom?”
I close my mouth. “Really?”
He nods. “I bought a cake,” he says. “The icing on the top said Will you go to prom with me? ” He lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “I bought a cake, and I had this whole plan where I was going to invite you over to watch a movie and then get up to make popcorn and come back with a cake instead.”
My heart hammers painfully in my chest. I don’t have to guess what happened next.
“But then you texted and asked if you could come by,” Peter says. “Said you had some exciting news.” He meets my gaze.
“Jack Larson had asked me to prom,” I say, and he nods.
“I waited too long,” Peter says. “I planned and I practiced, and I put it off day after day because I was so scared to tell you the truth. To admit that I—” He gives his head a little shake. “Anyway. When I saw you standing at the top of the stairs with David, I thought of Jack Larson. That’s why I was acting so weird. I was thinking about him swooping in because I was too chicken to tell you how I felt.” He drops my hand and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s stupid that I’m telling you this now, when you’re standing here shivering, but I just didn’t want you to think I was jealous or angry or anything else. I was just caught up in my head because a part of me still thinks this is too good to be true. And now I’m rambling and you’re still freezing, so we should?—”
“Peter, the flower bloomed,” I blurt out, cutting off his words.
He stares, his frown making his forehead wrinkle and his eyes turn down. “What?”
“It bloomed,” I repeat, voice trembling. “When I was on the roof with David. The flower bloomed.”