Page 10 of Petals and Plot Twists
She shoots me a dry look. “Only about a million times,” she says. “I can’t find anything like it. I’ve seen it bloom twice now, and it really doesn’t seem like a Massachusetts flower. It looks rare and exotic and tropical. The Hathaways called it a love flower, but I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“A love flower? And that doesn’t show up in any searches either?”
“That only happened tonight, so I haven’t really tried yet. But I don’t remember learning about it in school, and I basically memorized the common and scientific names of every plant species that grows in the state. There is no love flower on that list.”
“So whatdoyou know?” I say. “Tell me about it.”
She shifts and turns her body to more fully face me, tucking her knees up to her chest and slipping her toes under the side of my thigh.
It’s not lost on me that she does this easily, initiating contact like it’s no big deal, while I deliberated for a ridiculous number of seconds about where to even sit on the couch.
“The first time it bloomed,” she says, “it was at night, and I haven’t seen it bloom again until today. Also at night, but the Hathaways say it’s always in bloom when they’re on the roof at lunchtime. Which means itcanbloom during the day. But I’ve yet to see any discarded petals or blooms. There are several smaller buds that aren’t close to blooming, but it looks like the same flower just keeps opening up, then closing again, which doesn’t make any sense. It’s not behaving like a regular flower—at least, not one that grows here.”
“I doubt Venus flytraps made sense when they were first discovered,” I say. “Maybe you’ve discovered something new. That could be a big deal, right? Would you get to name it?”
“Probably. But the process is long and really hard to prove. And I’m not convinced—” Her words cut off and she gives her head a little shake. “No, never mind.”
Emboldened by her proximity—and by how easily she seems to be touching me—I reach down and grab Sophie’s foot, wrapping my palm around her foot and giving it a little squeeze. “Just say what you’re thinking.” When she doesn’t pull away, I shift over my other hand and start massaging the sole of her foot.
She leans back and closes her eyes and lets out a moan that makes my blood heat. “Oh man, that feels good.” She’s quiet for several long moments before she says, “Maybe it’s because of everything that happened with Willa, but I just keep wondering if the flower is different because The Serendipity is different.”
It goes against everything in me to accept thedifferencesSophie is referencing. But she isn’t a liar, and neither is Willa. And last month, Willa really did experience something extraordinary. I can’t explain it, but I also can’t deny that it happened. Or thatsomethinghappened, at least.
Whether it occurred exactly how Willa described is another question.
Sophie is fully convinced, but it’s hard to wrap my head around something that doesn’t fit within the bounds of science and logic.
When I explained as much to Sophie, she only laughed. “So much of the world doesn’t fit within those bounds,” she argued. “If you look for miracles, for magic, you can always find it.”
I give Sophie’s foot what I hope is an encouraging squeeze. “Maybe it is different. Either way, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to lecture me on science and practicality and realism?”
It’s tempting. But if I’m going to convince Sophie to give me a chance, I’m not about to scoff at the idea of magic. Because honestly, I could use a little magic of my own. Even if I don’t fully believe it’s real.
“Is there any point when we’re talking about The Serendipity?” I ask.
“Honestly, even that feels like a concession for a data scientist,” she says as she reaches for the popcorn.
“Trust me,” I say. “It’s not an easy one to make.”
Sophie spins back around and drops her feet onto the ottoman next to mine. “Come on. Let’s watch one more episode before I fall asleep.”
She settles against my side, her shoulder pressed against mine, her leg touching my leg. All the contact makes it impossible for me to relax, which is ridiculous. It’s not like we’ve never touched before. But I’m so practiced at suppressing my feelings, at keeping Sophie solidly in the friendzone, that I don’t frequently let myself think about it. Now, I’m hyperaware of every move her body makes, every place the heat of her registers against my skin.
Finally, halfway through the next episode, I lift my arm and extend it in Sophie’s direction across the back of the couch. With my shoulder gone, she shifts, leaning into me even more.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to move away, but she doesn’t even look up. She does the opposite, snuggling in closer, leaning her head against my chest.
“Mmm. You smell good,” she says.
“Do I?” I ask.
“Yeah. Is it a new deodorant?” She turns her face and buries it in my shirt, taking a deep breath. “I really like it.”
With any other woman, I might feel a twinge of victory. But Sophie is acting like this physical contact, like intentionally smelling me, is no big deal.
Which can only mean for her, itisn’ta big deal.
