Chapter 23 The Art of Overthinking
The Art of Overthinking
Sunlight cut through the curtains in narrow streaks, pooling across the floor. Arden moved quietly, leopard slippers soft against the wood. Her black tank top clung to sleep-warm skin, lounge pants hanging low on her hips like the night hadn’t quite let go.
She reached for her favorite mug. Coffee filled the air as comforting as breath.
For once, the morning was still. Peaceful.
Across the room, Penny sprawled across the couch in flamingo-print pajamas—top and bottom just obnoxious enough to match. Her lavender-streaked hair was knotted into a chaotic bun, and her laptop teetered on one knee, fingers frozen mid-keystroke.
“Morning,” Arden said, raising her mug in lazy salute. “Love the birds. Subtle.”
Penny didn’t look up. “Don’t start. I’m on the verge of throwing this thing through a window.” She groaned and flopped the laptop down beside her. “Revision number eight, and he says it’s ‘close but not quite.’ What does that even mean?”
Arden took a slow sip, the warmth settling behind her ribs. “It means he has no idea what he actually wants but enjoys watching you guess.”
Penny gave her a dry look. “Wow. So helpful.”
“Thank you for your insight, Dr. Sarcasm.”
Arden crossed the room, easing onto the armrest of the couch. “Alright, genius. Walk me through it. Forget the revisions for a sec. What was the original idea?”
Penny rubbed at her temples. “He said ‘sleek and bold,’ but every time I went modern, he shot it down. Tried minimalist. Still wrong.”
“So maybe what he wants isn’t what he said. What else did he tell you?”
As Penny launched into a rant—half logic, half caffeine-fueled chaos. Arden let her vent. She tossed in sarcastic quips and just enough nudging to keep things moving.
Penny stopped mid-word.
Her eyes went wide. “Wait.” She bolted upright and grabbed her sketchpad.
“That’s it. He doesn’t want bold or edgy.
He wants classic. Familiar, but sharp around the edges.
I’ve been overthinking it. He’s not after a statement.
He wants something that feels like it belonged before you even noticed it. ”
She began sketching with new energy, the tension bleeding from her shoulders.
Arden sipped her coffee, smug and satisfied. “Told you. Sometimes you need someone annoying to poke holes in your thought process.”
“You’re insufferable,” Penny muttered, but her smile gave her away. “Also—thanks. Talking it out actually helped.”
“Anytime.” Arden stretched and stood, rolling her shoulders. “But if he pushes for Revision Nine, I’m emailing him a PowerPoint titled ‘This Is Final.?’”
“Deal.” Penny’s grin turned wicked. “Now, speaking of things that are ‘close but not quite’—let’s talk about Gideon.”
Arden paused mid-sip, narrowing her eyes. “What about him?”
“Oh, come on. The tension. The looks. The way you two circle each other like characters in a slow-burn romance with excellent lighting? Tells me something’s happening.”
Arden didn’t answer at first. Her mug stayed at her lips, but she wasn’t drinking. Her teeth caught her lower lip, barely there. A nervous habit.
She sank into the cushions with a quiet breath.
“I don’t know, Pen.” Her voice was softer now. “There’s something there. I haven’t felt anything in a long time.”
Penny’s teasing vanished in an instant. “And that scares you?”
Arden nodded slowly, thumb running along the rim of her mug. “It’s been years since I trusted anyone. Chad let me down. So did my parents. Letting someone close feels…” She trailed off, words catching behind her teeth. “It feels dangerous.”
Penny leaned in, her fingers pressing gently against Arden’s arm—a silent promise, steady and sure. “But Gideon’s different?”
Arden looked down. “He feels different. That’s the part that terrifies me.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “What if I let my guard down, and he ends up proving me right—just like everyone else?”
“I can’t promise anything. But from where I’m sitting? He sees you. All of you. And he’s still there. That’s rare, Arden. Might be worth the risk.”
Arden didn’t reply right away. She nodded once, slowly.
Maybe she believed it.
Maybe she wanted to.
Penny let the moment breathe, then grinned. “Okay—emotional vulnerability break is officially over. I need to wrap this sketch and then we’re pre-gaming for trivia night. I have a title to defend.”
Arden chuckled, shaking her head. “If you start trash-talking too early, you’re going solo.”
“Please. You need me. I carry the team.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I will throw you into traffic.”
Penny didn’t look back. “Love you too,” she called, pencil already moving again.
The tightness in her chest didn’t vanish, but it loosened. Just a little. Just enough.
?
Later, Arden tugged her favorite leather jacket on. The rasp of the zipper was somehow satisfying. Grounding.
Beneath it, the black lace top traced her skin.
Softness wrapped in armor. Just like her.
Across the apartment, Penny twirled dramatically, her dress flaring like a celebration in motion. “Let’s go win,” she announced like a queen entering battle.
Arden lifted a brow. “Trivia’s not judged on dramatic flair.”
“First of all, it should be. Second, if it were, we’d already have a trophy.”
Arden rolled her eyes, tugging her sleeve straight, trying not to think about how aware she was of the lace beneath the leather.
“So… think Gideon’s going to show up?”
A pause. Long enough to register.
“Maybe.”
Her grin widened. Sharp. Knowing.
Outside, the city stretched before them. Cool air brushed against Arden’s skin as they stepped into the night, carrying the faint bite of oncoming winter.
“You ready?” Penny asked, spinning once for effect.
Arden smiled. Not just at her, but at the moment. At the promise of what the night could be.
“Let’s go.”
Maybe she’d look up and find him already watching. Those gray eyes never missed much, and tonight, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be missed.