Page 11 of Petals and Plot Twists
“Yeah, I picked a new scent,” I say, trying not to feel discouraged.
She lets out a yawn. “It’s a shame you’re wasting it on me instead of a date.”
Okay, this definitely feels like a setback. But I don’t know what else to do but persist.
The more I think about my future, the more I’m coming to accept the uncomfortable reality that if I am ever going to fall in love with someone else, Sophie’s going to have to break my heart first.
And that won’t ever happen if I don’t try.
Chapter Four
Sophie
“If I bring you a latte,will you feed me cookies for breakfast?”
Willa yawns into the phone. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Come on over. I’m up.”
I pocket my phone as I shuffle forward in the line at Serendipi-Tea. It’s early on a Tuesday morning, and I have final design plans I’m supposed to submit by noon, but I’m nearly finished. Finished enough that I can absolutely spend a few hours with Willa before I add the final touches to the design.
The senior designers are probably going to overhaul the whole thing anyway. Well. Maybe overhaul isn’t the right word. More like they’ll keep all the infrastructure but gut the project of anything that gives it character. I’ve been told my designs are a little too whimsical for my firm and I’d increase my chances of advancement if I could “dial it back” a little.
I’d like to tellthemwhat they can dial. My designsarewhimsical. That’s what makes them so amazing. Everything else that comes out of Trowbridge and Associates is as boring as Leonard Trowbridge himself.
Still. It’s a decent job. A steady paycheck. And the convenience of working from home is amazing. If I can stick to my three-year plan, saving and paying down my loans, once everything is paid off, I’ll have the freedom to find something else, maybe even branch out on my own. Until then, I just have to deal with senior architects sucking the heart and soul right out of my terraced gardens in favor of right angles, retaining walls, and orderly boxwoods.
It’s finally my turn, and I step up to place my order. I add a couple of breakfast sandwiches, hoping at least a little protein will offset the many,manygrams of sugar I plan to consume as soon as I reach Willa’s. Probably too little too late, but I still have plenty of time to make healthy dietary choices.
And I will.
When I’m thirty.
With breakfast in hand, I return to my car and drive the short distance back to The Serendipity where I park, then take the grand staircase up to the second floor.
Willa opens her door after just one knock and motions me inside. The scent of sugar and vanilla fills my nose. She doesn’t even bake up here, but somehow, her apartment still smells like a giant sugar cookie. Or maybeshesmells like a cookie? Either way, I love it almost as much as I love her.
I hold up the bag. “I brought us protein.”
“Look at you being healthy.”
“I’m not sure sausage, eggs, and cheese layered inside a croissant qualifies as healthy, but Peter is always telling me I should have protein before I have my carbs, so…I guess I’m trying?”
“Peter is too logical for his own good,” Willa says as she moves into the kitchen. She holds out a tin of unfrosted sugar cookie pieces—all the discarded broken bits left over from her bakery business. A dish of frosting already sits on the counter—because Willa knows I won’t eat her cookies without it.
“True,” I say using a boot-shaped cookie piece to scoop up a dollop of frosting. “Peteristoo logical for his own good.”
“How is he, by the way?” Willa asks. “I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever.”
At her question, my mind shifts back to Saturday night when Peter and I watched a few episodes ofTed Lasso. When wesnuggledand watchedTed Lasso. Usually, whenever we hang out, Peter is pretty reserved when it comes to touching. He doesn’t get weird about it, but he doesn’t really initiate it either. I’ve always just assumed he’s not as touchy-feely as I am. But that night, he leaned in like he’s never leaned in before.
And I—weirdly—really liked it.
I don’t admit this to Willa, though, because she will absolutely turn it into something it is not.
“He’s good,” I say instead. I settle onto a barstool and pull the sandwiches out of the Serendipi-Tea bag and hand one over to Willa. “He’s been focused on a big project at work that’s sucked up all his time. That, and moving all his stuff out of his parents’ house.”
“That’s right. They’re moving soon, aren’t they?”
I nod. “It’s happening so fast. And Peter won’t really talk to me about it. I know he’s bummed.”
