“Just…point things out to me as we go,” I suggest, nestling closer into the warm embrace of his arm, which he wraps around my shoulders, pulling me in tight against his thick woolen peacoat.
His mouth twitches into a lopsided smile as he points to a building on our left up ahead. “All right. So, over there is the main lab building. That’s where the magic happens.”
“Ah, yes. The birthplace of overpriced prescription pills,” I muse. “Truly inspiring.”
Damian chuckles under his breath before shifting my attention to a single-story complex on our right. “That one over there is my favorite building on campus. The cafeteria. Swear on my life, they have the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”
I let out a playful tut. “Typical man. Always led by his stomach.”
His eyes veer to mine as his lips pull into a mischievous grin. “Well, that and my?—”
“Solar panels?” I interrupt, pointing to a large facility ahead, the roof tiled with flat, reflective tiles that shine in the brief glimpses of moonlight that peek between the clouds.
Damian nods, a wistful look crossing his face. “Hallazgo is actually pretty big on renewable energy,” he explains. “It was one of my abuelo’s last initiatives before he passed.” His expression turns sardonic then, his tone biting. “Our medication might not be affordable for the masses, but we’re at least doing our part to save the planet while gouging their wallets.”
Clearing his throat, he points to another building on our right. “That’s the R&D building. It’s where all the smartest people employed by Hallazgo argue over who forgot to refill the coffee machine. Oh, and you know, do some science. And in that general direction”—his hand swings to the left—“there’s a parking garage. Very exciting, I know, but honestly, it’s where the real drama happens. Someone took my dad’s spot once and didn’t live to tell the tale.”
I snort out a laugh. “Let me guess, they were ‘reassigned’ to the basement lab with the mutant rats?”
“Mutant,man-eatingrats, no less,” Damian corrects me.
He matches my smile, and for a moment, we’re both silent as I take it all in.
“When I think of pharmaceuticals and healthcare, I think…sterile. Cold.” Like the endless, empty hallways of hospitals, the hum of machines. The waiting rooms where the air always feels too thin. “But this is all so…nice.”
Damian gives me a considering look, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking…because he’s felt the same cold chill of dread. Endured the same suffocating quiet.
Retracting his arm from my shoulders, he holds out his hand. “Well, if you think the buildings are nice, you’ll love this. Come on.”
Our fingers interlace as Damian leads me along the winding footpath around a small hill crested with a large oak tree, bringing us face to face with a breathtaking sight on the other side of the knoll. Unlike the pruned shrubs, flower beds, and potted plants that decorate the rest of the grounds, this area feels almost wild by comparison—not neglected but as if it’s been allowed to grow freely. To thrive in a way the meticulously maintained landscapes surrounding it haven’t.
A wooden pergola covered in climbing vines and bright flowers dominates the center of the garden, adding vibrant bursts of warmth to contrast the cold colorlessness of the snow. But what catches my eye the most are the marigolds, which shouldn’t still be in bloom given the low temperatures in New England at this time of year, their golden petals glowing against the backdrop of night like small orbs of sunlight in an uncharacteristic refusal to bow to the cold.
The garden seems to defy the season. Even the plants that are dormant hold onto their strength, standing tall and proud, unfazed by the frost on their leaves. And the air feels different here, too—frigid still but more alive, as if this one space has found a way to survive in spite of the winter chill.
The contrast between the harshness of the climate and the quiet persistence of life in this small corner of the campus is almost magical.
“This…” I turn in a slow circle, staring in awe at the rainbow of plant life around me. “Is it weird this reminds me of your abuela’s house?”
Her home had felt magical, too, with the same luscious colors and beauty. The marigolds especially remind me of that brief trip to Mexico—of the warmth, the brightness, the feeling ofsomething vibrant and alive, even in the face of change. They’re a flower tied to remembrance, to honoring the past, but here, they feel like something more. A sign that, even in the cold, even when everything else is still, life finds a way to push forward.
And maybe I can, too.
“She and my abuelo planted this garden together,” Damian says, a fond, faraway look in his eye as the memory pulls him in. “Just the two of them with their own bare hands. It was one of the first things they did when they purchased this land because my abuelo wanted someplace special just for my abuela—a sanctuary of sorts, dedicated to her for all the sacrifices she made as well, and to thank her for taking the journey here with him. Someplace that would feel like home—like Guadalajara—to remind them of their roots and all they’d gone through together to get here. The rest of Hallazgo was built around it when they expanded.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, my voice filled with wonder, but I’m not only talking about the garden. What Damian describes—the devotion and love his grandparents shared—is awe-inspiring. It’s the sort of love you see in movies and read about in novels, the kind of love I never would have envisioned myself ever coming close to finding. Until now.
Untilhim.
“It’s my favorite place at Hallazgo,” he whispers, his breath heavy with longing and fear. Longing for the grandfather he lost. Fear that this dream he’s finally embraced could be snatched away before it has a chance to become something real.
I squeeze his hand. “They must have really been in love. You can almost feel it.” And I mean that. It’s as if Damian’s abuela left a piece of herself here, always persisting in those stubborn marigolds.
He sniffs. “They were. Let’s sit down for a bit.”
Damian leads me under the pergola, and gently tugs me down beside him onto the lone bench beneath it. The wood is cool against the exposed backs of my thighs, sending a shiver crawling over my skin, but the beauty of this place—of this moment—eclipses any discomfort, pushing it to the back of my mind.
I glance at Damian, drawn to the way the golden glow of a nearby lamppost flickers over his face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw and the warm honey in his eyes. He meets my gaze, his lips curving into a smile—charming, devious, utterly devastating. The kind of smile that promises trouble. The kind that makes my pulse stutter and my breath catch before I even know what he’s thinking.
