Page 54 of Petals and Plot Twists
“And you’d still laugh and talk about all the same stuff.”
“Also true,” I concede.
“You’d just get to kiss while you’re doing it.”
My mind flashes back to this morning, when I woke up with my head resting on Peter’s bare chest, and my face flushes hot. I lift my palms to my cheeks. “Oh my gosh,” I say. “I can’t think about kissing Peter.”
Willa smirks. “Yeah, you can. You are right now.” She reaches for my hands and tugs them down. “Also stop. You just got dirt all over your face.”
I let my hands fall and take a deep, steadying breath. “So, I was thinking it would be really helpful if I could get Peter up on the roof with me,” I say.
She furrows her brow, but then her expression shifts, like she’s finally caught up with my reasoning. “Honey, why do you need the flower to bloom? This is Peter. You already know you love Peter.”
“That’s precisely why,” I say. “You have to understand what’s at stake here.”
“Okay, tell me,” she says propping her hands on her hips. There’s a challenge to her tone that makes my defenses rise and fills me with unexpected emotion.
“He’s all I have,” I say, voice thick. “Every time my world falls apart, he’s the one who makes me okay again. When my stepdad left, he was there. When I thought college wasn’t going to happen, he did the research, helped me get my loans lined up. When my stupid prom date dumped me after graduation, it was Peter who made me laugh about it. Don’t you see? If things don’t work out with Peter, he won’t be there to pick up the pieces of my life. He’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my own.”
“He’s your safety net,” Willa says. “I get it. But you won’t be on your own. You have me. And you’re stronger than you think you are.”
“Maybe. But I’m also a little more broken than I thought.” I sniff and wipe at an unexpected tear with the back of my hand. “When I saw my mom last weekend, and then, when my dad came by to get his mom’s journals, I realized something.”
She steps closer and takes my hand in hers. “Okay. What was it?”
“All this time, I thought my relationships weren’t working out because I’m a bad judge of character. Because I always pick the wrong guys. But I think it’s really because I’m not very good at trusting people. I need the reassurance, Willa. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
She cocks her head to the side. “I’ll be honest, Sophie. If you need the flower’s reassurance, that sounds like the person you don’t trust is yourself.”
“Maybe I don’t,” I say. “But does it matter? I don’t want to break his heart, Willa. And I don’t want him to break mine either. The flower can make sure that won’t happen.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Okay,” she finally says, her tone soft. “I get it. I understand why you want the reassurance. But I really think you should just tell Peter how you feel. That man has shown you every single day how amazing it could be if you would let him love you. You already know everything the flower can tell you. You know he’s good and kind and decent and worthy of your love.”
“The flower will tell me he won’t leave,” I say, my tone sharp. “And I don’t know that.”
Willa’s expression softens. “Sophie, yes you do. You know him.”
I shake my head, but I don’t look up, keeping my eyes on the second orchid. I lower it into another bucket of water and point across the table toward a bag of orchid bark sitting just past where Willa is standing.
“Can you hand me that bag, please?”
Willa wordlessly lifts it and slides it across the table.
“I’m going to tell him,” I finally say. “I’m just going to get him on the roof first.”
She sighs. “What about your other dates?”
“I’m not going to schedule any new ones,” I say, “but I’m not sure how long the flower will be around, so I’m keeping the ones I already have planned. I don’t want Peter to get suspicious. If I just stop dating cold turkey, he probably will.”
Willa studies me for a long moment, then she puts her hands on my shoulders, giving them a tiny squeeze. “Sophie, I love you. And I fully believe in the magic of this building. But I think you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
I bite my lip. I understand what she’s saying, but she grew up in a house with parents who love each other, who modeled healthy, happy devotion. I grew up with an absentee father, a criminal stepfather, and a mom who deals with her losses through compulsive serial dating.
I wish I knew how to trust my own heart, but if I have a security blanket, I’m going to use it.
Chapter Eighteen
Peter
