Page 14 of Silver Linings

eight

. . .

It’s been a busy day at the store, and it gets even busier when our delivery driver drops off ten large boxes. Where am I going to put all of this?

Why did I order so much new stock when I still need to renovate this place ?

We only just finished going through old stock and donating a lot of what we didn’t want to keep in an effort to clear the space out before updates.

But even with the donations, there is a distinct lack of storage and I’ll have to leave the new books in their boxes before I can find shelf space for them.

Carmen comes bounding out from behind an end cap. “Is this our new stock? Did my monster books come in?” She sounds so excited and hopeful, I almost want to let her go ahead and start opening the boxes, but I throw out my arm and halt her grabby hands.

“The monster erotica is off limits for now.”

Carmen pouts at me and then stares longingly at the boxes. “That’s not very progressive of you.”

I stifle a giggle. “I promise, I’ll let you have it soon, but I gotta get some of the renovations done around here before I start pulling out new stock.”

“I still can’t believe you bought this place with drug money.”

“The cartel didn’t need it. They’ll bounce back quickly.” I wave her off, sorting through invoices as she goes to help someone who just came in.

Ignoring the stacks of boxes that need my attention, I start working on a list of all the things I need to do to turn this place into my dream.

Closing while I renovate would make things easier, but I can’t do that without losing significant revenue.

A little over a week into this endeavor and money is already tight.

Between the large down payment, orders placed, materials needed for the renovation, and dwindling foot traffic—I suspect I’m going to have to make some cuts to my plans to make things work. It’s just a matter of what.

At the top of the to-do list is painting.

This place needs to be stripped and completely repainted.

I’m talking walls, banisters, and bookshelves, not to mention fixing the things that are broken, namely the staircase leading to the second floor.

I’ve reached out to at least a dozen contractors, but most of them laughed at my budget for the project.

Only one person said he could make it work, promising to get back to me with final numbers soon.

Who knew running a business would be so expensive?

Everyone. Literally everyone.

I’m adding a few more plans to my ever growing list of repairs when a throat clears in front of me. I look up and startle to find a man standing in front of me at the counter.

He’s cute. Really cute. Dirty blond hair that falls perfectly around his brows, giving him a boy next door vibe. He’s tall, has a solid frame, and is dressed impeccably. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d go for normally.

Hazel eyes and strong broad shoulders flash through my mind’s eye.

Stop it. You are not thinking about him right now.

“ Do you have a second to help me?” I banish thoughts of Hendrix to the far reaches of Long Island where they can’t find me without a minimum of four train transfers.

“Yeah, of course. What can I help you with?”

He scratches the back of his neck while looking sheepish. “My sister’s birthday is tonight, and I need a gift. She likes books, but uh…I don’t know what girls like to read.”

“Cutting it down to the wire, aren’t you?”

“Yeah a bit,” he chuckles, making a dimple pop on his right cheek.

“Tell me a bit about her. That way, I can get a feel for who she is and maybe pare down the selection.”

His eyes soften. “She’s a communications major at NYU, but she’s so goofy, just always game for a laugh.

She and her girlfriend like to throw pottery on the weekends, and she loves to hate bad reality tv shows.

” It’s obvious how much he adores her, and I’m hit with a rush of longing.

I used to wish I had a sibling, someone to stand with me in solidarity against the world—a built-in best friend when things got bad.

In hindsight, I guess it’s good I didn’t.

I take him over to our Pride section and show him a release from a few months ago about a sapphic influencer who starts her own web series and falls for the camera woman she hired.

“It’s hilarious and irreverent and painfully romantic. I think she’ll love it.” I walk him back towards the register around all the tables and boxes to ring him up.

“Thank you, I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

He pays for the book, and I place a complimentary bookmark inside the cover.

“Tell her to come by and let me know what she thinks after she finishes. We’re going to be starting some events here shortly, including a book club.

In case she and her girlfriend want to join.

” It’s a bit of an elevator pitch, and I hope it comes out natural, but I’ve got to get word out about these events somehow.

“Can I come too?” I slowly blink as I look up at the shy grin stretched across his face.

I think of Hendrix again. Which is ridiculous, because we’re barely friends—acquaintances at most—so there’s no feasible reason for me to turn this guy away.

“Of course you can.” I smile back.

He’s turning to leave but stops. “Can I be honest with you?”

Apprehension fills my chest. “Sure thing, person I met five minutes ago. Tell me what’s pressing on your mind.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t need to come in.”

“Is it not your sister’s birthday?” I ask, confused. “Does she not exist? Did you eat her in the womb?”

A smile crinkles the corners of his blue eyes.

“No it is, but I wasn’t going to get her a book.

” He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.

“I know this is kind of forward of me, but I saw you through the shop window, and you’re really beautiful.

I’d like to take you out sometime.” He extends his business card out to me.

I take the card from him and see his name is John and he works in finance.

Finance bros are notorious fuck boys, and honestly, that’s been my bread and butter in the past. They never want or expect anything from me beyond a physical connection.

It’s easy and uncomplicated. But it feels different this time.

I don’t feel that flirtatious pull towards him that I expected to despite the fact that he’s inhumanly attractive.

“Finance bro, huh?”

“We’re not all bad, I swear.”

I laugh and wave his card in the air. “I’ll think about it.”

He nods in understanding and thanks me again for helping him find a gift for his sister before heading out.

I look over to where Carmen helps a couple, and she’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted a tail. I definitely don’t turn down dates with cute guys, ever .

Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me either.

It’s late in the day, and I’ve sent Carmen home so she can finish studying for an exam she has later this week.

Now that I’m alone, I can take off the mask I’ve been wearing all day—the one I put on so no one knows how anxious I am, how scared.

I feel unsettled, but I have to act like everything is perfect, I chose this.

It’s just more overwhelming than I thought it would be.

I jumped into this head first without any thought, and I know it was reckless but I don’t regret it.

It feels right. This place has always felt like home to me, and it’s mine now—mine to ruin if I’m not careful.

I’m standing in the middle of the store, surveying like a captain at the helm of their ship when my phone starts ringing. I jog over to grab it, assuming it’s Kena, since he’s the only one who calls me. I don’t even check the caller I.D. before I answer.

“Thank you for calling McDick’s, would you like a foot-long with a side of fries?”

“Silver?”

My blood turns to ice in my veins as pinpricks shoot across my skin like wildfire before my skin goes numb altogether.

Why is she calling me?

I haven’t spoken to Carol James in years .

She made her choice long ago to not be in my life when she said it was too hard to look at me and not see him, to not see my dad .

Years of waiting—of hoping she would come back, passed before I realized it wasn’t going to happen.

I lost my dad, and then I lost my mom too—except she’s still alive and just chose to not want me anymore.

She resurfaces every now and then, usually to fulfill some kind of I checked in on my kid so I’m not a bad person quota. But it’s been longer since the last time, and I stopped expecting her to try years ago. I stopped caring—or at least trying not to care.

I’ve let the line go silent long enough that she calls out for me again.

“Silver, honey, are you there?”

“I’m here.” My voice sounds lifeless, even to me. A byproduct of the effect my mom leaves me with. She blows back into my life when it’s convenient for her, and I’m left feeling cold and numb. The worst part is, she never seems to notice or care.

“Oh good. I’m glad I caught you.” She says it like she calls me all the time and not once every few years. “Look, I’m going to be in town soon and I want to see you.”

Not a chance in hell.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been really busy lately, and getting time off has been a struggle.” Not technically a lie. I have been super busy between the apartment getting fixed and buying this place.

“Oh, come on. I haven’t seen you in years, Silly,” Silly .

My dad gave me that nickname when I was a baby.

He said it was because I was his silly girl because I was always happy and giggling.

He always knew how to make me feel special.

Hearing it coming out of her mouth sounds like nails scraping down a chalkboard, shrill and wrong.

“Who’s fault is that?” I snap.

“Silly—” she starts before I interrupt her.