Page 56 of Petals and Plot Twists
He grins. “I’ll go easy on you.”
I sigh and reach for my own racket. “Don’t do that. When I beat you, because I eventually will, I want to know it’s because I earned it.”
“Suit yourself,” he says. “But when you can’t walk tomorrow, it isn’t my fault.”
We play a bruising fourth game in which Archer decidedly trounces me, then he drives us back to The Serendipity. I’m hobbling my way across the lobby when Sophie comes rushing down the grand staircase.
“Peter!” Her eyes shift over my shoulder. “And Archer! Perfect. I need your help. Both of you.”
“Right now?” Archer says.
“Can it wait? I really need a shower,” I say.
Sophie’s nose wrinkles. “You both do. But this will only take a second. Please?”
Archer looks at me and shrugs, so we follow Sophie back outside to where a box delivery truck is sitting in the street. The back is open, and a delivery guy is standing with a clipboard in hand.
“Sophie Stewart?” he says as Sophie approaches.
“That’s me,” she says brightly.
“You got some muscle? This thing is really heavy.” The delivery guy climbs into the back of the truck and shifts a wooden crate toward the edge of the bed.
She points over her shoulder at Archer and me. “That’s what these guys are for.”
“What is it?” Archer asks.
“A new ceramic planter for the garden,” Sophie answers. “I just bought a gorgeous fiddle-leaf fig that needs a new home, and this planter is hand painted and so gorgeous and it’s going to look amazing next to the rose trellis.”
Archer is already stepping into place to lift the crate, but I’m scrambling.
Sophie wants us to carry this thing to theroof.
I can’t go on the roof.
I definitely can’t go on the roof with Sophie.
I won’t say I haven’t been curious. That I haven’t thought about what it would mean if the flower bloomed for us. Sophie’s been all-in, believing in the magic of the flower. If I want something to knock us out of the friendzone, that would do it faster than anything else.
But if it doesn’t bloom, it would do the exact opposite.
It would kill my chances completely. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. In Sophie’s mind, no bloom for the two of us would close the door on a relationship between us with finality and certainty. And I desperately want that door to stay open. At least long enough for her to give me a fighting chance.
But it’s getting harder and harder. This is the third time this week Sophie has needed me to do something on the roof. The first two times, I managed to get out of helping. First, when she asked me to carry a new bag of fertilizer up the back stairwell, my mom called just as we were getting off the elevator on the fourth floor, and I was able to defer my pack mule responsibility to Matteo, who was, conveniently, getting on the elevator as we were getting off.
The second time, she wanted an opinion on how to string the new fairy lights she bought. Should they climb the trunk of the Japanese maple or line the rose trellis? She insisted showing pictures wouldn’t be good enough, and could I please just come up and give her an opinion?
I claimed my work deadlines were far too pressing and annoyed her enough that she didn’t talk to me for over an hour. But what else am I supposed to do?
I step up opposite Archer and lift the side of the crate, mind spinning the whole time. It’s not actually all that heavy, though it probably would be if one person had to carry it all the way to the rooftop.
“You good walking backwards?” Archer says, and I nod before we make our way toward the front door.
Sophie stays behind, signing something on the delivery guy’s clipboard, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if we could get this upstairs and onto the roof before she catches up. But we’re barely to the elevator before she comes trotting over, smile wide as she darts around us and pushes the button for us.
Once we reach the fourth floor, we’ll have to walk down the hall to the back stairwell, the only one with rooftop access. I scour my brain for anyone between here and there who might intervene. But I come up with nothing.
I’m stuck.
