Page 13 of Petals and Plot Twists
Willa laughs. “Okay, yeah. Except for the bookish part, that is nothing like you.”
I feel weirdly offended by her laugh, which makes zero sense, because I’m the one who made the comparison first.
“The thing is,” Willa continues, “Peter didn’t wind up with Penelope, right? So maybe you shouldn’t assume she’s his type.” She reaches into the tin and takes a piece of cookie. “I could be wrong. You definitely know him better than I do. But just think about it. Let it simmer in the back of your mind whenever you guys are together and see if you notice anything else. You have to at least admit, Soph, Peterispretty cute.”
On that point, at least, she doesn’t have to convince me. Peter has a great smile and great hair. Light brown eyes that I really love. And a great jawline. I reach for another cookie and swirl it through the icing. “Of course he is. I never said he wasn’t.”
She grins like I’ve made some monumental concession.
“But I still don’t think that’s what’s going on,” I say. “He’s just sad because his family is moving, and since I’m the next best thing, he’s holding me a little tighter than normal.”
“Okay,” she concedes. “You would know better than me.”
“He could also just feel sorry for me because my other best friend is spending all her time with her new boyfriend.”
It’s a deflection, and I’m sure Willa recognizes it as one. But I can’t wrap my head around the possibility of Peter having real, actual feelings for me. I can’t, because I can’t lose Peter. And if my track record is any indication, dating him would definitely mean losing him.
Willa scoffs. “I’m here, aren’t I? Having breakfast with you?”
“Sure. But you’re probably still thinking about him,” I say. “Counting down the minutes until you get to see him again.”
A goofy smile stretches across Willa’s face before she nudges the cookies toward me. “Shut up and eat another cookie,” she says playfully. “Sugar makes you happier than protein.”
I do as she asks, then finish the last of my latte before remembering why I wanted to come see Willa in the first place.
I spend the next few minutes filling her in on everything I’ve learned about the love flower in my garden—which is, admittedly, not very much.
Since she and Archer were on the roof the first time the flower bloomed, she’s been invested in my progress, so she’s excited to hear about the Hathaways’ name for it. But there’s little to tell beyond that. Adding “love flower” to my searches didn’t pull up any new hits, and my reverse image search of the bloom pulled up a lot of similar flowers but none that were an exact match.
“I just think I need to narrow my search to Serendipity Springs history,” I say. “Has a flower like this ever shown up before? Could it be connected to the spring? I’ve even wondered if there’s something else going on. Like, I know it sounds crazy, but what if the flower actually bloomedforthe Hathaways? Like, it bloomed because they were on the roof?”
“Maybe because they’re in love?” Willa says. “You did say they called it a love flower.”
“That tracks,” I say, “because the first time it bloomed, you and Archer were present. But that still feels like a pretty big stretch.”
“Really?” she says. “And a portal in my closetisn’ta stretch? Mr. Hathaway said strange things might be afoot. I’m just trying to think outside the box a little.”
I sigh, suddenly weary. “I have no idea. Maybe I’m overthinking and it’s a weed I should have pulled the minute it popped up.”
“It’s way too pretty to be a weed,” Willa says. “Just keep researching. Have you searched the library downstairs?”
I nod. “Yeah, but I didn’t find anything.”
“Then you should go to the one downtown. They have a ton of local history books. Maybe you’ll find something there?” Willa gathers up our trash and turns, dumping it all in the bin beside her fridge.
“That’s actually a good idea,” I say.
“Don’t act so surprised,” she says. “I’m full of good ideas. Which is why you should also consider what I said about Peter. You never know, Soph.”
“I will do no such thing, because it’s a ridiculous suggestion, and Peter does not like me like that.”
He doesn’t.
He can’t.
But as I say goodbye to Willa and head back downstairs to get to work, I can’t help but wonder.
What would it be like if he did?
