Page 9 of Petals and Plot Twists
Maybe I’m realizing I can’t lose Sophie, too. And if she falls in love with someone else, which she’s bound to do eventually, I will.
Not unless she falls in love with me first.
“So…do you want to play another episode?” Sophie asks. “Or are we just going to sit here in the quiet?”
My eyes dart up to meet hers, heat flushing my face. I’ve been staring. Did she realize I was staring? Can she see, just by looking at me, what thoughts were coursing through my mind?
“Let’s do another,” I say, reaching for the remote. “Definitely another. You want popcorn? I want popcorn.” I quickly stand and move into the kitchen.
While I wait for the popcorn, I try to regroup and come up with some sort of plan.
Do I just…tell her? Make a move somehow?
Or do I need to be more methodical about it? Drop hints, make suggestions.
None of this comes naturally to me. The only reason Sophie and I are friends is because she made it happen, not giving me much choice in the matter.
I don’t have moves.
I don’t even know what it means to have moves.
Allison reads a lot of romance novels, and so does Sophie. Maybe I could borrow a few and read them as a means of collecting data—see if I can come up with some clear methodology. If I’m going to risk our friendship by asking for more, I have to do it right.
Sophie jokes about her unlucky dating life, but she doesn’t have a whole lot of reason to trust men. Her parents split when she was six, and her dad has been pretty much absent her entire life. They talk on the phone a few times a year, but he lives a few counties over with a new wife and four kids Sophie has only met a handful of times.
Sophie’s stepdad wasn’t much better. He was only around for a couple of years while we were in high school, and while he was nice on the surface, he was a master manipulator, practically a con artist. I’ll never forget the afternoon Sophie told me all the money her mom had set aside for college was gone.
That’s twice she’s been betrayed, and there’s no way it hasn’t had an impact.
I sometimes wonder if Sophie’s lack of serious relationships has to do with her pushing men away before they get close enough to hurt her. If it does, she doesn’t realize it. But I could see the same fear keeping her from wanting a relationship with me. I’m safe when we’re just friends. I don’t think relationships feel safe to her. Which means I have to tread carefully.
When the popcorn is finally ready, I carry it back to the living room, pausing before sitting down on the couch. Should I try to sit closer to her—create an opportunity for a little more physical contact? Not side by side. That might seem too suspicious. But I could sit just close enough that if I stretch my arm across the back of the couch, I could possibly touch her shoulder.
Not that I would. I don’t want to be creepy. Just more intentional than I have been in the past.
I’m waffling, deciding how or even if I should make a move, when Sophie takes the popcorn bowl out of my hands.
“Here. Sit closer,” she says, tapping the cushion beside her. “It’ll be easier to share.”
I almost laugh as I sit down directly beside her. As per the usual, she makes everything easier for me.
I sit, and Sophie closes the cover on her iPad and puts it on the side table next to the couch. She leans into me, her shoulder pressing into my arm as she tucks her legs up under her and spreads a blanket across her lap. “Want to share?” she asks as she holds up the blanket.
“Yeah. Great.” I take the blanket and pull it across my lap. I look over at her iPad. “What were you working on? Was that the same design as before?”
“Nah,” Sophie says. “I was just messing around.”
“It looked really good.”
Sophie doesn’t like to call herself an artist, claiming her drawings are more utilitarian than true art, but I don’t think she gives herself enough credit. Her sketches are beautiful.
“You think?” she asks.
“I always do.”
She seems to consider her words for a moment before finally saying, “I was drawing this new flower I found in the garden. I can’t figure out what it is, and it’s bugging me.”
“Have you googled it?”
