Page 87 of The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss

Probably.

I averted my eyes from Peter, squared my shoulders, and walked back into our company retreat.

Chapter 26

-Peter-

The rest of the company retreat had gone by in a hazy blur. I’d gotten home late the night before and had to sit and think for a good five minutes in order to remember that I’d stayed to help with the take down and make sure the food donations were delivered.

The fire department had been kind enough not to make us move our miniature golf holes, and in the end, some of the fire fighters had come back after their shifts to play our course.

Dan’s team had borrowed some crime scene tape and put it around the remains of the fire, making it a part of their hole decor.

Amelia had offered to pay the hotel for the damage, which they had gladly taken her up on. However, considering their sprinklers had jammed because of faulty lines that hadn’t been inspected in far too long, they didn’t give us any further trouble.

Jessica had been there the whole time, but the two of us had hardly interacted. I was ashamed to say that I’d avoided her. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know anything anymore.

Marissa’s accusations were like spears stabbed deep into my heart and mind.

Had I really driven her to do all the things she’d blamed me for?

Logic told me that she was a human being and therefore capable of making decisions as well as working out the consequences, but the fact that she’d chosen to abuse her body so much because she was trying to please me still hurt in a way I couldn’t describe. My emotions hadn’t been this tumultuous since my mother had died, and a part of me was sitting on the floor of a closet at the funeral home with my knees pulled up to my chest and my head buried in my arms.

That’s why I was on my way to Mrs. Santos’ flower shop, where she’d agreed I could spend as much time as I wanted to this week.

In an outer reflection of my inner turmoil, an approaching thunderstorm churned over the city. The scent of incoming rain floated in the air alongside all of the blossoms on the trees. The first drops of moisture hit the pavement just as I jogged up the stairs from the subway a few blocks from Mrs. Santos’ shop.

Even though I was dressed casually, I still carried my messenger bag, and I pulled out an umbrella so I wouldn’t be soaked before I reached my destination.

Someone let out a cry of dismay as the drizzle turned into a downpour, and I was reminded of the sprinklers from the hotel.

Everything brought me back to yesterday. It was almost as if nothing had existed before it, and nothing would blossom afterward until something changed. Something inside me.

As usual, I approached from the other side of the block, going through a laundry mat and waving at the owner, who knew Mrs. Santos.

I had no idea when the tunnels had been built or if the city planners knew about them, but there was a series of them under many of the buildings in this area, and I quickly traversed the damp-smelling walkways until I climbed the stairs into Mrs. Santos’ shop.

The sharp and sweet scent of flowers filled my nostrils, and Itook a deep, grounding breath.

The owner of the dry cleaners must call ahead to warn Mrs. Santos of my imminent arrival, because she was never surprised when I walked out of the door that sat mostly hidden by boxes of vases and other supplies.

Mrs. Santos wore her typical long-sleeved striped shirt with polyester pants. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, and I felt her studying me.

I knew the sensation well because Aunt Mei did the same thing.

The Filipino woman didn’t say a word. Instead, she pointed to my corner. “Go. You can use anything over there.”

To my surprise, she or her husband had surrounded my little spot with buckets of beautiful flowers. “Do you need anything in particular?” I asked.

“Pretty bouquets. Medium-sized.” Mrs. Santos waved me away.

I gladly obeyed, and after gathering a handful of vases, I settled in to work.

Many people enjoyed repetition in their tasks and found comfort in doing the exact same thing over and over without having to think about it.

Arranging flowers wasn’t like that for me. There were no rules. There were no gatekeepers. There were only colors and shapes that needed to be put together.

I reached for a pink flower, but my fingers stopped inches from it.

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