Page 25 of Petals and Plot Twists
This sends Sophie into another fit of laughter. It feels so good to make her laugh like this. To laughwithher.
I hold out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs. I cooked.”
She lets out a little gasp. “I love it when you cook. You made enough for me?”
“Of course,” I say as we start down the stairs.
“I guess my track record indicates youshouldexpect me for dinner,” she says with a sigh. “I’m five for five, Peter. I might have to take myself out to dinner just to keep my spirits up.”
“Don’t give up,” I say, squeezing her hand. “And you can always go out to dinner with me.” The words come from a genuine place of friendship, but as soon as they’re out of my mouth, I wonder if they sounded that way to Sophie.
We’re talking about dating, after all. Did it seem like I was throwing myself into the mix? We’ve gone out to dinner together hundreds of times over the years, just as friends. But when Sophie looks over at me, something behind her expression seems different.
Does she feel this too?
Does she feel things shifting?
“I can always count on you, can’t I?” she says, her smile warm.
I smile back.
She has no idea how much.
Chapter Nine
Sophie
After a very longweek of unsuccessful dating, Monday morning and a long to-do list for work feels like a welcome respite. I don’t have a single date scheduled for the next few days, and I don’t plan to until at least Friday, if even then.
I don’t know what I expected when I started Operation Soulmate. But I definitely didn’t expect it to take this much out of me. I haven’t even been on an actual date yet, and it’s still been exhausting. I forgot how much I hate the whole song and dance of it. The getting ready. The chatting and planning and making small talk.
I also wasn’t prepared for how terrible it feels to tell a man, five seconds after I’ve met him, that I’m not interested in having dinner with him after all. I’m trying to be kind, to be fully honest about changing my mind or not feeling up to going out after all, but I still don’t like it, and it’s putting a damper on the whole experience.
The trouble is, I don’t really know how else to do it. It would be nice if I could invite fifty men onto the rooftop all at once, but if the flower bloomed, how would I even begin to figure out who the bloom was for?
For now, my only option is to persist. But I’m taking a few days off first.
I sigh and stretch my arms overhead. I’ve been lounging in bed, reading work emails and building my schedule for the day, but when the smell of coffee reaches my nose, I finally cave and get up. Peter is generally up before me, and he always makes enough coffee for us both.
But he’s usually sitting at the table when I emerge, dressed for work and already tackling his day. Which is not what I find when I step into my kitchen.
Peter is standing in the middle of the room in a pair of tiny running shorts and the tightest t-shirt I have ever seen on his six-foot frame. I used to go to Peter’s swim meets. I’ve seen the man in a Speedo.
Except, that’s not entirely true.
I saw theboyin a Speedo. Then we graduated and went to college, and somewhere along the way he turned into a man, and I maybe forgot to notice.
But I’m certainly noticing now. His shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, revealing unexpected definition. He’s still built like a swimmer. Long and lean. Not bulky at all. Butwow.
“Why are you staring at me?”
My eyes jump to Peter’s face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and I’m struck by the pale brown color of his eyes. They aren’t quite hazel, but they’re light enough that it’s easy to see flecks of yellow and gold in his irises. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Youwerestaring,” he says. “Is there something on my shirt?” He looks down, lifting the fabric away from his body so he can inspect it, which only draws my gaze to his torso.
I force my eyes away and clear my throat. “No, I was just…have you been working out?”
Peter studies me for a long moment before his eyebrows lift, amusement coloring his expression. “Were you just checking me out?”
