Hazel
L eo Corbin has never taken me out on errands before. He’s not the type to want company, you know? Too surly. He’s more of a big, cranky storm cloud that drifts down the street, with people leaping to get out of his way. At least, that’s how I think of him.
So it’s weird seeing other people react to my boss, especially out here in the real world. After four years at Grapevine, bringing him coffees and soothing his prickly temper, I’m so used to seeing him through his employees’ eyes.
The stern, brooding boss. Handsome but icy. Unapproachable .
Turns out there’s another way to see him.
Because out here on the bright, sunshine-drenched sidewalk, Leo can’t walk ten meters without someone batting their eyelashes at him, smiling a come-hither smile, or shamelessly raking him with their gaze. Even dogs strain on their leashes, trying to get closer to the giant, dark-haired man with a permanent scowl.
At his side, I am invisible. Hurrying to keep up with his long strides, and trying desperately to ignore the prickles of jealousy every time someone checks my boss out. Even the dogs.
And I get it, okay? Leo is gorgeous. A stone-cold ten. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and severe in that way that gives me full-body shivers, so I can’t judge. I’m a card-carrying member of the Leo Corbin Simp Society—and yet if one more random pedestrian bites their lower lip at my boss, I am going to vomit on his pristine white shirt.
“Ugh.” Call me petty, but after the most shameless eye-fucking yet, I can’t help scoffing. “That redhead practically drooled on her shoes.”
“Mm?” Leo glances down at me, distracted. “What are you talking about?”
“Her.” My thumb jabs over my shoulder. Leo frowns behind us, nonplussed, then takes my elbow to guide me around a crack in the sidewalk. His hand print tingles against my bare arm. “That woman wanted to climb you like a tree, boss.”
He harrumphs, turning his back on her. “I’m not open for climbing.”
That should not make me so warm and gooey.
It’s a beautiful day for heartbreak. The sidewalks bustle with people, and the golden sun warms the tops of our heads. The air is fresh, green leaves whisper on the trees that line this street, and after a while the rumble of distant traffic vibrates into my stiff muscles and soothes their knots. My chest loosens, and I breathe deeply.
I can do this.
I can let this man go.
I can walk away from the only all-consuming crush I’ve ever had; the only case of deep, unrequited love in my adult life. I’ve got this!
It’s good that I’m leaving. There’s no need to feel so hollow, like someone’s scraped out my insides with a rusty spoon. There’s no need to steal glances at my silent, solemn boss, fretting over whether he’s taking the news well. Of course he’s okay! Why wouldn’t he be?
This is the right thing to do.
This is healthy. Smart.
So why do tears burn in the back of my eyes whenever I think about leaving Leo? Why does picturing another assistant behind my desk make me feel sick? Why does the thought of serving another boss, day in and day out, make me want to veer off this sidewalk into traffic?
“Hay fever?” my boss clips out, frowning straight ahead.
“Yeah,” I lie, sniffling and dabbing my eyes with my wrist. “It’s, um. It’s all this pollen.”
Leo sighs and takes my elbow again, tugging me into a small, cool store. “If I’d known, I’d have picked somewhere else,” he says. “Tell me if you need to leave.” It takes three long seconds of blinking around us before I realize what he’s talking about.
Because: flowers.
Tubs and tubs of flowers, all freshly cut and fragrant. This whole store is an explosion of color, with delicate petals, green leaves, and the scent of damp soil. My heart climbs into my throat as I peer around us, struck dumb by this magical cave.
It’s so beautiful in here, and I love flowers. What kind of monster doesn’t?
But what on earth is Leo Corbin, hater of all gifts, doing in a florist’s shop? And why am I here, called out on this urgent errand?
Ooooh no.
My stomach twists. There is one obvious reason.
A woman in a sky-blue apron bustles out of a backroom before I can ask, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She’s in her forties, with a kind mouth and generous curves, and black hair scraped back into a low bun.
Her gaze sweeps over Leo first, then me, and her eyes crinkle with pleasure.
“Oh, I love appointments like these,” the florist says, striding forward. Her name badge says ‘ Hi! I’m Renata.’ “Half the time, these men don’t care a fig what their girlfriend’s favorite flower is. They just want me to pick so they get the brownie points, as though I can guess from nothing! But bringing you here—that’s much better.” She winks at me, and heat floods my cheeks. “You’ve got a good one here. Make sure you hang onto him.”
“Oh… no…”
This is so embarrassing.
“The full experience, please,” Leo says, flashing a dark card before placing it on the sales counter. His cheeks are as pale as ever, with no hint of a blush, so I guess this isn’t awkward as hell for him. Must be nice.
“Is this for the party tonight?” I whisper as Renata marches to a display of roses, humming over the thorny stems. They rustle in the bucket as she picks out the prime flowers. “Because I planned decorations. It’s all taken care of, I swear.”
But hopefully that’s it. Hopefully this man is not about to trample on my heart like a big, clumsy carthorse.
Leo fiddles with his shirt cuff. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then why—?”
Pale blue eyes turn on me, rooting me to the spot. “Can’t a man buy flowers?”
“But—”
“I can,” he interrupts, dark eyebrows spearing down. “I can buy whatever the hell I like. And for the next two weeks, you still work for me, . Correct? You’ll still do what I say. And the task I want you to complete is to pick out your favorite flowers.”
My hands ball into fists. This jerk! I swear to god.
“I’m waiting,” Leo says.
Waiting. Scowling. Planting his feet and folding his arms, like he’s ready to wait me out for hours if necessary. Like months could pass and the seasons could change outside this store, and he’d still be here, glaring down at me. Ugh.
Fine. Fine! I whirl around and stare blindly at a bucket of tulips.
“It would help if I knew what your woman is like so I can pick.” Renata makes a small noise of dismay, but I can’t look in her direction. Can’t stand to see the disappointment—or worse, pity—in her eyes. “Or Renata could tell you. She has more experience with this than I do.”
There’s a long pause. Leo coughs once, then steps closer to my back. “… the flowers are for you.”
Sunshine spreads through my veins, even as my brain throbs with confusion.
“So they’re a goodbye gift?”
When I turn back, Leo is scowling at a tub of yellow dahlias, his stern mouth twisted in distaste. He straightens when I look at him, and then we’re staring at each other. Lost.
The air changes. Gets thicker.
My hairline tingles.
But I won’t overthink this. So many times over the last few years, I’ve kidded myself that the boss and I have shared these moments. Invisible sparks crackling between our fingertips when our hands accidentally brushed; a swooping feeling whenever we’re alone in the elevator, like we’re dropping down, down, down to the earth’s core. All those times our eyes locked and it felt like time stood still.
I’ve told myself so many pretty stories; replayed those moments over and over in my head, until I lost track of what was a daydream and what was real.
“It’s not goodbye.” Leo speaks first, throwing down the words like a challenge. His chest puffs up, like we’re fighters squaring up in the ring. “Because you’re not leaving.”
Ha. “You can tell yourself that if you like. And while you’re at it, you can order the world to stop turning. I’ll still be gone in two weeks.”
Leo scowls at me, and for once in my life, I scowl back. The expression feels weird on my face, because I’m always the perky one. The happy-go-lucky girl next door. The ball of sunshine who cheers everybody else up, and makes sure people are happy and comfortable.
Not right now. Right now, my forehead is creased, and my eyes burn with frustration, and my cheeks are red-hot. I’m a first-time glarer, but I’m giving it my all.
“Pick your favorites,” Leo mutters at last, turning away. “We’re not leaving until you do.” Then my boss stomps back outside, the door slamming shut behind him, and stands guard at the window, his back to the glass.
Silence stretches for the space of three heartbeats, before Renata sniffs and shakes herself.
“Well,” the florist says. “Men, eh? Can’t live with them, but can’t get rid of them either. It’s the basis of my whole business.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.