Page 33 of Dear Grumpy Boss

Another bouquet had been waiting for me Friday when I got home from work. Just as sweet and pretty as the previous week. Terrence had had no clue who they were from, and of course, there’d been no card.

“No.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to come up to my apartment?”

“No.” My nose twitched. “Do you want to come to mine?”

“Yes.”

My stomach tilt-a-whirled at his immediate response.

He followed me off the elevator, hovering behind me while I opened the door. It was quiet, so Saoirse was probably still sleeping. Alcohol hit her hard. She was going to spend her Sunday in bed, and knowing her, wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

I held my hand out toward the flowers sitting on the kitchen bar. “These aren’t familiar to you?”

He slowly shook his head. “I haven’t seen them before. Though, they’re the perfect size for a bedside table. I wonder why you didn’t put them there.”

I beckoned him to follow me down the hallway. “We have to be quiet. Saoirse is sleeping off her Saturday night.”

“Still?”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “That sounded judgy.”

“It was.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He had no right to know I found him funny.

Just inside the doorway of my bedroom, I pointed out the flowers on my nightstand.

“Those are last week’s. They’re still really fresh. I’ve been rotating them so Saoirse and I can both enjoy them.”

I looked up at him. He was close. Despite his damp clothing, his body heat radiated out of him. It occurred to me then we were alone in my bedroom. Why had I invited him here? I couldn’t recall the thought process.

It also occurred to me how exposed I was in my leggings. They were fine for hiking, not for wearing in front of Weston Aldrich and all his perfection.

“You’re a good friend to share even though your roommate is lazy.”

Snorting, I shoved at his chest. “She isn’t lazy. Saoirse is the busiest person I know. Sometimes it catches up to her.”

He wandered more deeply into my room, picking up a picture from my dresser. Elliot, my mom, and me at his high school graduation. A couple years later, she was gone, and our family was down to two members.

“She couldn’t even pretend to be happy,” I remarked.

“No.” He traced his thumb over the picture. “Elliot was leaving. It was probably a hard day for her.”

“Every day was a hard day for her.”

He set it down and turned to me, his hands back in his pocket. “You’re nothing like her.”

“Good. I like when people say I’m just like my dad. When they compare me to my mom, it feels like an insult.”

“It probably isn’t, but I can understand why you feel that way.” His mouth set in a firm line. “The circumstances aren’t ideal, but I’m glad you’re back in Denver. Elliot’s relieved to have you home.”

Having him in my room was strange, and he was standing there as though completely comfortable among my things. There had been so much distance—distance I had imposed and he’d added to—being in close proximity now was admittedly jarring.

“Thank you. The circumstances are actual shit, but being here isn’t. The swanky digs definitely ease the pain.”

He chuckled, his perfect pink lips tipping into a beautiful smile, and my insides knotted. Why did he have to look like that and have a laugh I could imagine hearing in the bedroom while losing my mind with him?

“That’s good to know.” He walked forward, to where I stood by the door. “I should go. I’m probably getting your floor wet.”

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