7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Blossom
Stepping into the hotel lobby, the familiar hum of activity surrounds me.
The staff is busy, the guests are chattering, and everything feels like it’s moving at lightning speed.
But all I can focus on is him .
Noah Hudson.
Over the last two weeks, we’ve been sneaking around: quiet kisses, shared glances, stolen moments when no one’s looking.
It feels like we’re walking a tightrope, balancing between something real and the secret we’re trying to keep hidden.
I try to push the thought aside, but it sticks to me like a weight.
I’m nervous.
I can feel the nerves creeping up with every passing shift, but at the same time, there’s this strange sense of confidence that builds inside of me. We’ve been getting away with it so far. No one suspects anything, and it feels like we can keep doing this, like I can have my cake and eat it too.
But I know the inevitable is coming.
We can’t keep this secret forever.
Eventually, someone will notice.
And when they do, I don’t know how we’ll handle it.
I focus on my work, putting on my best bartender smile, and push the doubts to the back of my mind.
I can do this.
We can do this.
For now, at least.
As I walk toward the bar, I see Courtney standing near the counter, fiddling with the glassware. She’s in her early thirties, with red hair that falls to her shoulders and hazel eyes that can turn sharp when she wants them to.
I’ve worked with her a few times now, and though she doesn’t say much, I always try to be friendly.
“Hey, Courtney,” I greet her, forcing a smile, trying to shake off the nerves still buzzing in my chest.
She doesn’t answer immediately, and when she does, it’s with a terse nod.
There’s something in her expression—something cold. She just brushes past me, walking off without a word, like I’m not even standing there.
I feel my stomach tighten, the unease settling into my chest.
What did I do? I don’t get it. I’ve always been nice to her. Was it something I said? Or did she just decide she doesn’t like me?
The silence between us feels uncomfortable, and I try to shake it off, focusing on the bar, on the drinks I have to prepare, but her snub lingers.
It’s hard not to let it get to me.
A little while later, Noah walks into the bar, his tall frame commanding attention. He greets everyone with his usual easy charm, but when his eyes find mine, it’s like everything else fades away. There’s a brief pause, just a moment where our gazes lock, and I feel that familiar flutter in my stomach.
I try to look away, but it’s hard. He’s here, and I’m here, and even though we’ve been careful, it’s like we can’t stop this connection. The attraction is so palpable that it feels impossible to ignore.
My gaze flicks to Courtney, and I see her face contort into something between frustration and anger as she huffs and walks off, clearly irritated.
I mutter under my breath, trying to ignore the odd tension in the air. “What’s up with her today?” I ask, though I don’t really expect anyone to hear me.
Just then, the chef, Miguel, calls out from the kitchen. “Blossom, come here for a second.”
Relieved to be distracted, I turn away from Noah and make my way to the kitchen. But the lingering feeling of Noah’s gaze follows me, and I can’t shake it off.
Miguel is busy at the prep station, chopping vegetables. He waves me over, his usual easy smile on his face. But before I can even ask what he wants, he speaks.
“Courtney,” he says, his voice low, like he’s letting me in on something I might not know. “She’s been off today. And honestly, for a while now.”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “Off how?”
Miguel glances at the kitchen door before continuing, almost as if he’s making sure no one is eavesdropping. “She’s been...fixated on Noah. Ever since he started working here, really. But it goes deeper than that.”
I blink, my curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he says, lowering his voice even more, “she’s had a thing for him ever since they first started working together. She’s been trying to get close to him for a while, and when she saw how much he struggled after Whittney’s passing, she thought that she was the one who could step in, you know?”
I feel a lump form in my throat. “So, she’s just...trying to pick up where his wife left off?”
Miguel nods. “Yeah, pretty much. She was there the whole time during Whittney’s illness. She’s one of those women who thinks she’s the ‘natural’ person to be there for Noah, but he’s never given her the time of day. And now...well, she’s not happy about it. The idea that anyone else could get close to him drives her crazy.”
I can’t help but feel a mix of sympathy for Courtney and irritation at how she’s handling things. “Does Noah know?”
Miguel shrugs. “Noah’s not stupid. He’s just...been keeping his distance. But I think Courtney’s starting to overrate her friendship with him, and I don’t think he sees it clearly.”
I nod, the pieces falling into place. No wonder there’s been so much tension. I just didn’t realize the extent of the problem.
The shift drags on after my conversation with Miguel.
Every time I try to break the ice with Courtney, I feel like I’m just hitting a brick wall. I offer a smile, ask her how her day’s been, but it’s always met with a tight-lipped response or, worse, complete silence. She’s colder than a winter morning, and I don’t know what else to do.
I can’t figure her out. She’s been here longer than I have, and I should probably just let it go. But the more I try to make conversation, the more it feels like I’m intruding on something, like I’m some kind of enemy to her. Maybe she’s jealous. Maybe she just doesn’t like me.
Or maybe I’m just projecting. I’ve noticed the way she looks at me sometimes, like I’m an inconvenience in her world. Surely she doesn’t know about Noah and I. Right?
I try to shake it off, focusing on the drink orders and the hum of the bar around me. But every time she walks by, her cold shoulder feels like a sharp jab. I can feel myself getting frustrated, but I remind myself to breathe.
I don’t need to be friends with her. I just need to do my job.
Just as I’m starting to get into a rhythm, the door to the bar swings open, and in walks Noah. I can feel the shift in energy as soon as he enters: everyone’s attention gravitates toward him, and even Courtney straightens up, her eyes lighting up as she watches him make his way toward the bar.
He greets everyone with his usual smooth charm, but I see Courtney practically hovering as she follows him around, asking questions about this or that, trying to get special assignments or offering unsolicited advice on the menu. It’s obvious she’s trying to get his attention, trying to insert herself into his orbit.
I can see the slight twitch of annoyance in Noah’s expression, and I can’t help but smirk as he politely brushes off her comments. It’s like a game at this point. He’s too polite to outright shut her down, but I can tell it’s getting to him.
I have to look away before I start laughing out loud. Watching Courtney try so hard is almost comical. It’s clear she’s not even close to getting the attention she thinks she deserves.
I turn my focus to the drinks I’m making, trying to hide the grin that’s threatening to form on my face.
Noah finally finishes his drink and makes his way toward the door, ready to head out. As he leaves, I hear Courtney’s heels click behind him, and I know she’s about to make her move.
Sure enough, she comes around the bar to me, her eyes narrowed.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her voice dripping with suspicion. I freeze for a second, unsure of how to respond.
I quickly cover up my smile, looking at her innocently. “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Miguel told a joke.”
Courtney eyes me like she doesn’t believe me. She’s got that look in her eyes; the one that says she’s looking for something to latch onto. Then, she scoffs, shaking her head as if she’s just about had enough of me.
“That’s a stupid name you have, by the way,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “Blossom? What kind of name is that? Sounds like something a seven-year-old girl would come up with. Or maybe a trashy teen mom.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I can feel my face flush with anger. But I swallow it down, not letting her see how much her words sting. I’m not going to rise to her bait.
I force a smile, tight-lipped. “Thanks for that,” I say, my voice flat. “See you later.”
Without waiting for a response, I grab my things and leave, the weight of her words still hanging in the air.
I sit in the subway, the rattling of the train doing nothing to distract me from the insult Courtney just threw at me.
Trashy teen mom.
The words echo in my mind, and I can feel my anger building with every passing second.
I’ve always hated when people make assumptions about my mom, about the sacrifices she made for me. Sure, she was young when she had me. Sure, she named me after the main character of her favorite show when she was a teenager.
She told me that she rewatched the whole series over and over during her pregnancy because all of her friends quit talking to her, and her parents threw her out. The characters of Blossom were her family when she had no one.
She wasn’t perfect, but she did everything she could to make sure I had a good life. She worked hard, sacrificed everything, and never once made me feel unloved.
But Courtney doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a mom who fought tooth and nail to give her kid a shot at a better life. I want to scream, but I bury it.
I pull my coat tighter around me and try to breathe.
I know why Courtney’s acting like this.
She knows.
She has to know.
How could she not?
The way she’s been watching me and the way she’s been acting ever since I started working with Noah. She’s figured it out.
And I’m not sure how to feel about that. What if she knows what’s going on between Noah and me? What if she’s going to use it against us, make this worse than it already is?
I lean back against the subway wall, my thoughts swirling in a storm of frustration and worry. I need to keep my head down, focus on my job, and hope that Courtney doesn’t do anything to blow this wide open.
But deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time before something gives.