Maybe This Time(53)

I took a deep breath, stung. But he was right. I’d been a big jerk. To him. I hated who I was around him—this insecure, small version of myself. I hated that I knew, deep inside, it was because I cared what he thought about my talent, my work, my creativity … me.





For once I had an empty tray and not an immediate need to fill it. On the roof, a chic woman in a business suit was speaking into a microphone about how grateful she was for the continued support of the hospital. Micah was standing with a tray by one of the drink stations. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andrew slip inside the building. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I went inside as well.

I didn’t see Andrew right away, but unless he took the elevator down, there were only two places he could be—in the bathrooms at the end of one hall or the kitchen at the end of the other hall.

I hoped he wasn’t in the kitchen, so I turned left and waited. Only a few minutes had passed when the door to the bathroom swung open and Andrew walked out. He startled slightly when he saw me but then put on a guarded expression.

“So,” I started, feeling a pang of nerves. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know you work. Your pictures are amazing and you put a lot of thought into them.”

“Why?” was all he said.

“You were right.” I clasped my hands together. “I was being a jerk and it’s not me.”

“It’s not?”

“Well, it wasn’t before you came around.”

“Are you blaming me?”

I sighed. “No. I’m trying to be a bigger person.”

“Did you mean the bigger person?”

I crossed my arms. “No. I didn’t. I meant that I want to be better.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than I’ve been, Andrew. Okay? Are we good?” I held out my hand.

He stared at it. “What are you doing? Are you trying to shake my hand?” He laughed.

I laughed too. “Yes.” I used my left hand to reach out and lift his right arm so that I could shake his hand. “There. Now it’s official.”

“What’s official?”

“We’re friends again.”

“Did we stop being friends? Or start for that matter?”

“You’re not going to bother me anymore,” I declared. “We shook hands. Now I’ll just think your goading is adorable. Like Micah does.” If I kept telling myself that, it would be true. I would be the secure, happy version of myself, even around Andrew.

“Soph, don’t challenge me like this.” He gave me a half smirk.

“Not a challenge. I need to get back to work.” I picked up the tray that I had set on the ground and went back outside where the same woman with a microphone was still talking about the same gratitude.

Micah joined me by the wall closest to the door. “It’s dessert time,” she said.

“I’m ready.”

Lance was in the kitchen talking to Mr. Williams as we came inside. Jett was drizzling chocolate over some slices of layered cake and Micah’s dad was drizzling strawberry glaze over other slices.

“Hey, flower girl,” Lance said to me. “I’m impressed. You didn’t drop a single dish.”

“You just jinxed me. Take it back,” I said.

“Take it back? I don’t think it works that way.”

Micah giggled. “It does in her world, Lance.”

“Okay, I take it back.”

“Thank you.”

We filled our trays with the dessert plates. As we walked back outside, Andrew took a picture of the three of us.

“I’m going to start charging you for those,” Micah said.

“And I’ll gladly pay,” he answered.

Instead of rolling my eyes, I smiled. He was looking right at me and I said, “Adorable.”

He laughed.

“What?” Micah said as we continued walking toward the tables.

“Nothing.”

“You two are giving me whiplash.”

“Yeah, I know.”

We separated to our respective tables and I began placing cake in front of people.

The wine lady said, “I want a chocolate piece, not a vanilla. Or do I need to get the young man over here to do that?”

“No, I can do that.” I placed a piece of chocolate down.

“No, I changed my mind,” she said. “I want vanilla instead.”

I picked up the chocolate and placed a vanilla down.

“Come to think of it, I don’t want cake at all. I want a caffè macchiato. Do you know what that is?”

She could tell I wasn’t from the city. One look and she knew. She thought I was dumb. And I kind of felt dumb because I actually didn’t know what a caffè macchiato was. “I’m not sure if they offer that, but if they do, it’s at—”

“The drink station?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And do you have to be a certain age to fill that as well?”

Remain calm, Sophie. “No, I can check for you as soon as I finish serving the cake.” I moved on to the next person.

“I’m sorry,” the man sitting next to the wine lady mouthed. I wasn’t sure if it was her husband or just someone who knew rude when he saw it.