Marco threw a wadded-up napkin at Gabe. “Stuff it, coffee boy.”
The conversation quickly devolved into jibes and insults. Greg sat up and rolled his shoulders. “I’m going to head home.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know these guys can get out of hand.”
He shook his head. “Oh, it’s not that. I worked at City Lights last night. I woke up earlier than I’d planned and couldn’t get back to sleep. It’s catching up to me. Plus, I have to wrap up the work on that website. I told the customer I’d have it ready by tomorrow for them to look at.”
He rose, and I stood with him. “How about I walk you to the subway station?”
He glanced over at the rest of the men. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take you away from everyone.”
I shrugged. “Eh. They’ll hardly miss me.”
Liam caught on to our conversation and came over to join us. “Are you leaving, Greg?”
“Yeah, I have some things to do before tomorrow morning.”
“Well, you can’t leave without saying goodbye to everyone,” Liam replied. The rest of the men got up to say goodbye to Greg with handshakes or slaps on the back. Liam would settle for nothing less than a hug, which Greg seemed happy to give. That too was a change I was glad to see.
We talked the entire way to the subway station. Greg didn’t mention his mother or ex-boyfriend again, and I didn’t push. I had a feeling he didn’t talk about it much, especially given how isolated he’d been up until recently.
It occurred to me that I’d missed talking to him. Whenever we got together, we always had plenty to talk about. It made me realize that maybe I was lonely too. I mean, I had my brothers and the guys who worked for me, but they all had their own lives. All I did was work. Although that was changing too. Marco and Michael sat down with me and demanded that I start delegating responsibilities for the business. In the end, the three of us decided to hire a full-time office manager to take on a lotof the tasks I’d been doing myself. Liz, my executive assistant, practically threw a party when she found out.
When we got to the station, I gave Greg a hug. “I missed talking to you this week. How about we do lunch or dinner tomorrow so we can catch up?”
He smiled brightly. “I’d like that. I’ll check my schedule when I get home and let you know what works for me.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. “See you tomorrow.”
As I headed back toward the park, I thought about how our friendship had grown. The last time I had a good friend like this was when I was a cop. That had gradually ended when I left the force and moved up to New York. I had to admit, my brother had been right. Making friends with Greg had been the right way to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GREG
By the time I made it back to my apartment building, I was feeling every minute of my lost sleep. I was going to have to take a nap before I could work on the website, or I’d fall asleep at my computer and end up with keyboard divots on my forehead.
When I got inside the main lobby, I sighed in frustration. Someone had wedged the inner door open again. I yanked out the chunk of wood that was holding the door open and tossed it into the trash can by the mailboxes. I could imagine what Tony would have said if he’d seen it.
When I got off the elevator on my floor, I stopped in my tracks. Magenta flower petals were strewn all over the hallway floor. When I picked one up, I realized they were flowers from an azalea bush. What the hell had happened? It was like a demented flower girl had visited the eighth floor.
As I walked toward my apartment, I saw that the greatest concentration of flowers was in front of my door. What. The. Fuck? The door across the hall from my apartment opened, and my neighbor, an older Black woman, came out carrying a broom and a dustpan. She smiled when she saw me. “Hello, Greg.”
“Hi, Mrs. Harrison.” I waved my hand to indicate the hallway. “What happened here?”
She shook her head. “No idea. It was like this when I got home from church a half-hour ago. It’s the strangest thing. It’s like somebody got mad at an azalea bush.”
“It’s bizarre,” I agreed. “I’ll go get my broom and help.”
“Why, thank you,” she replied with a smile. “That would be nice.”
I unlocked my door and got my broom, dustpan, and a plastic garbage bag from the kitchen. Between the two of us, it didn’t take long to clean up the mess of flower petals. As I was dumping the last load of petals into the trash bag, Mrs. Harrison asked, “Is somebody mad at you?”
Speechless, I stared at her for a moment. “Why do you think someone’s mad at me?”
“Well,” she began, “most of the flowers were outside your door. It’s like someone wants to get your attention and you’re not giving it to them.”
“I hardly know anyone in the City,” I protested. “I’ve really just started making friends. On top of that, hardly anyone knows where I live. If someone’s angry with me, they haven’t told me about it.”
