Somehow, the smell of freshly brewed coffee made me more suspicious than comforted these days.
Especially when it came wrapped in Jeff’s handwriting.
“Thought you could use a pick-me-up. —J.”
It wasn’t the first time. In fact, it was the fourth morning in a row that a perfectly warm cappuccino—made exactly how I liked it, just shy of scalding and with extra cinnamon—had been waiting on my desk by the time I got in. And today, there was a twist.
A bouquet.
White tulips. My favorite. Wrapped neatly in soft brown parchment with a tiny blue ribbon—the kind I used to tie in my hair during law school.
He remembered.
And now so did everyone in the building.
I didn’t even have to turn around to know that heads were peeking over cubicles. The murmurs outside my glass office door were louder than the clicks of keyboards. It wouldn’t take long before the whispers turned into questions. And judging by the way Chelsea barreled into my office ten minutes later, holding a mug of her own coffee like
