Page 72 of Petals and Plot Twists
My stomach sinks.
I have a date today.
A date with David the orthodontist, whom I met on Swipe Rite last week and then promptly forgot about. How on earth did I forget that we made plans?
Admittedly, I’ve beenslightlydistracted since I got home last night.
But still. To forget an entiredate?
“Right. I’m so sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You forgot about the date, didn’t you?”
I look down at my overalls. I look like I’m dressed for house cleaning or gardening. Definitely not a lunch date. “I did, and I would love to give you a sincere apology, but do you think you could help me with something first?” I glance up at the sky. “I just need to cover the flower beds before the rain starts.”
David’s eyebrows lift. “Oh. Sure. Absolutely.”
It takes less than five minutes to spread the plastic. With David holding it on one side, I stretch it tight and stake it down, then run around the bed to his side and repeat the same thing. Seconds after the final stake is in place, the clouds burst, and rain pours onto the rooftop.
I gather up the extra sheeting and the leftover stakes and make a run for the stairs, but then I stop short right in front of the Japanese maple.
Because my flower—my magical flower that has never opened for me—is in bloom.
Rain pelts my skin, running down my face and soaking through my clothes.
I look over at David, who is standing near the stairs, hand shielding his face as he stares my direction, likely wondering why on earth I’m just standing here.
It can’t be true.
The flower can’t be blooming for me and David.
But we’re the only two people on the roof.
It’s what I’ve wanted. What I’ve been hoping for all along. And now it’s finally happened, and all I can think is that I really wish it hadn’t.
“Sophie?” David calls. He takes a few steps toward me. “Are you all right?”
I look at the flower one more time. The maple tree above it is doing a decent job shielding it from the storm, but water is still collecting on its petals, making it droop just slightly.
But there’s no question that it’s in bloom. Big white petals. Deep pink center.
The rain falls faster, and I finally turn, spinning away from the flower and running toward the stairs. I open the storage closet door to throw my supplies inside, hoping I’ll have time to make it into the stairwell, but when hail starts hammering the rooftop, I give up and step into the closet instead.
David steps in behind me, pulling the door closed enough to protect us from the biting hail. “This is some storm!” he calls over the roaring weather.
I nod, but there isn’t much point in talking. The storage closet is tucked into the side of the stairwell, and the rooftop of the small structure is metal, so the sound of the rain and hail beating against it is practically deafening.
David looks outside through the crack in the unlatched door. He’s soaked through, his shirt clinging to his torso, his hair plastered to his head.
I take advantage of his momentary distractedness and try to take stock of my feelings. Physically, I’m cold and wet, practically shivering, but otherwise, I’m okay. But emotionally, I can’t even begin to make sense of what just happened.
The flowerbloomed. Opened up for David and me in the middle of a rainstorm. And so far, the flower hasn’t been wrong.
That means David is my soulmate—my possibility for true love. But how can that be true? How can I belong withthisman when my heart already feels so connected to someone else?
But then, my heart hasalwaysfelt connected to Peter, from the very beginning of our friendship. Even before we kissed.
For a split second, I set aside my thoughts of Peter and try to study David objectively.
