Page 32 of Late Bloomer
Pepper lets out a humorless laugh, rolling her neck. “I used to get them all the time as a teenager. At one point, it was happening almost every week. I was doing a lot better the past five years or so, only getting a few a year, but they’ve picked back up in frequency since… Been getting them a lot more the past few months.”
The quiet, almost imperceptible tremble in Pepper’s voice slices me to ribbons. She keeps so many emotions dammed up in there, threatening to crack her open. I want to pull her intoa hug tight enough that she feels safe to open the floodgates and let it all out.
“Anyway,” she says, voice back to a smooth, detached timbre, “I have to get to work.”
“A day off won’t kill you,” I say in what I hope is a coaxing tone when, really, I want to command her to lie down and rest until she can look at the window without wincing. But I’ve never commanded anyone to do anything, and starting with Pepper doesn’t seem like a wise move.
“Financially it might,” she mumbles, hoisting herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. She sways for a moment, one shaky hand moving to her temple, the other gripping the sheets.
I scurry around to her side, resting my palms on her shoulders. I smooth out their slight hunch before gently pushing her back against the pillows.
“Tell me what to do,” I say, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “I can take care of the flowers today.”
Pepper’s eyes shoot wide like I just asked for nuclear codes. “Absolutely not.”
“Ever the charmer,” I say, pressing my lips together despite the smile tugging at the corners. “But I’m not letting you leave this room, so you might as well tell me what needs to get done.”
Pepper shakes her head, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the clattering of her teeth. She tries to get up again, but my fingertips pressed to the center of her chest keep her down.
“You might have about nine inches of height on me but, in this state, I think I’d win any fight you can muster.”
Pepper lets out an exasperated sigh, looking stunningly put out at my offer of help. I don’t even attempt to hold back my grin this time.
“Trust me, Pepper,” I say, reaching out and giving her hand a quick squeeze. She stares at where I touch her, eyebrows notched low. After a moment, she lets out a deep, shaky breath, pulling her hand away and repositioning herself to sit up.
“It’s important to harvest the blooms before the afternoon heat,” she says, still staring at our hands. “Anything cut after eleven will wilt quicker than normal. Evening—like six or seven—is a bit better, but that doesn’t give you as many hours to work.”
“Avoid high heat. Check.”
“And make sure you have buckets of water with you to put the stems in as soon as they’re cut, otherwise you’re just wasting your time. They’ll shrivel up and die before we can deliver them to our florists.”
“Flowers are thirsty little sluts. Got it.”
“Don’t call the flowers sluts,” Pepper says, brow still furrowed but a soft curl of a smile trying to pull through.
“Respect the flowers’ delicate constitutions and fear of profanity. Understood.”
“Maybe call Tal and Diksha. See if they can come out.” Pepper grabs her phone, opening up her friends’ numbers and showing me the screen. “Tal is a florist and one of my biggest buyers, so they’ll know how to tell what’s ready to be picked. Diksha’s helped around here a bunch too.”
“Bring in the troops. Consider it done.”
Pepper’s gaze snaps up to mine, brown eyes sharp and searching, flicking across my face, cataloging every inch. “Why are you doing this?” she says at last, guarded and slow.
“Doing what?”
“H-helping… me.”
I let out a confused huff of a laugh. “Because it’s a nice thing to do? Because you spent the night crying in pain over a migraine and it’s objectively shitty to wave you out the door the next morning to do manual labor in the sun? Despite what you very vocally believe, I’m not trying to make your life any harder.”
“But that’s…”
“What?”
“Selfless.” Pepper spits out the word like it’s a curse.
I laugh with a bit more conviction this time, a small smile curving my lips. “Oh my God, you distrustful little goose, it’s really not. Helping you ultimately helps me, right? Anything you make goes back to buying me out. If anything, I feel kind of guilty about it.”
Pepper stares at me like she literally cannot process this. Like no one had ever offered a helping hand before.
