Page 17 of Silver Linings

So, I embrace my inner pop star and this new group of friends I’ve made tonight, looking out into the crowd because I don’t need the lyric monitor. I’ll probably be embarrassed about that fact later.

Kena and I are perfectly in sync, even if I’m not in tune, and as we get to the part of the chorus where we sing “this is what dreams are made of” , I look out into the crowd and find Silver dancing with abandon, the light back in her eyes with full force, staring right at me with a laugh falling off her full lips.

And for the first time in the last two years—I feel lighter.

Kena’s words bounced around in my mind like a pinball machine for the rest of the weekend.

They’re still bouncing around in my head now as I finish up the last bit of work on Silver’s ceiling.

It didn’t need much work today. Now that the compound is dried, I just need to sand it down till it’s smooth and paint over it.

It’ll be like the Niagara Falls of pipe bursts never happened.

She likes you, you know.

She’s smart and funny and beautiful; how could I not like her too?

I can’t seem to stop thinking about her, about how she looked at Spotlight—ethereal, sultry and addictive.

I’m dreading the fact that this is the last day I’ll need to work on her apartment but also relieved knowing it’s for the best to get some distance.

She brought a date to karaoke; she’s moved on from whatever flirtation she was trying to start with me.

I can’t even act on my feelings anyway, not without risking my position at The Langham.

If I lose my job, then the threat of having to move back to Seattle becomes very real.

I know Jae wouldn’t kick me out, but I am a product of my father, and I’m confident my ego would get in the way of allowing his charity a second time.

Then there’s the harsh truth that I’m too much of a coward to face all that I left back home.

I don’t want to be confronted by my mom’s sadness, Laurel’s disassociation, or Dad’s bitter resentment.

I left Seattle when I realized I would never not be haunted by the loss of my brother.

After two years, we had all moved on in the only way a family can after weathering that kind of suffering.

Dad dove further into work, his anger always on a short fuse, Mom focused on the kids still alive, Laurel started to party more, and I—well, I retreated into myself.

Slowly, we all stopped talking about it, about him.

I couldn’t take it anymore. There was always an inexpressible balloon in the room swelling with all the words left unspoken, and I was constantly on pins and needles waiting for it to pop.

I wouldn’t force anyone to talk about it and relive the singular, all-consuming torture of those memories, but I no longer wanted to be suffocated by the silence, by all the avoidance. So, I came back to the only other place that has ever felt like home: New York.

I didn’t give my family much time to adjust to the news of me leaving before I was gone.

Next thing I knew, I was on Jae’s doorstep with a large duffle thrown over my shoulder.

He had no idea I was showing up, and he didn’t ask questions as he took my bag to his spare room and then grabbed me a beer from the fridge while ordering takeout for us.

I made the right move, even though it hurts to think about my family, who no doubt feel betrayed by my swift departure.

“No, that can’t be right. You quoted me fifteen grand when we spoke last week.”

Silver’s voice pulls me out of my daze, and I realize I’d been painting over the same spot so much, it left streaks. I grab the roller brush to give it another coat and smooth it out.

“What do you mean, it’s going to cost fifty thousand dollars ?” Silver’s voice rings out, rising in octaves with every word.

I step off the ladder and move closer to the door leading into the living room, where her footsteps are wearing a path through her floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She sounds like she’s pulling at her hair, making it wild and messy. “No, I can’t proceed!” A pause, more pacing. “Because you’re price gouging me, you cretin. You wouldn’t be doing this if I was a man. It’s despicable, you’re despicable.”

Cold fury washes over her tone. I’ve never heard her so angry, and hearing her sound so upset has me on edge as I step into the doorway.

Just to check on her, I tell myself.

She’s pacing through her living room, skirting a path between the packed bookshelves that line the back wall and her pink velvet couch.

She moves around her side tables and in front of a coffee table that houses even more books, then back to the bookshelves again.

She’s created an F1 racetrack in her own living room, all the while listening to whatever the person on the other line is saying.

She’s shaking her head, and a scoff slips from her full rosebud lips right before she starts punching the air like there’s a Century Bob in front of her.

Her form is surprisingly good, even as she holds the phone between her shoulder and ear.

She stops abruptly and goes eerily quiet.

“You’re going to rue the day you crossed me, Phil.

” More silence follows. “Yes, people do say that in real life! You’re fired.

” She hangs up the phone, lets out a silent scream, and then turns to toss her phone onto the couch.

When she spots me leaning in the doorway, she jumps.

“What the hell, you creeper!” She’s clutching at her chest, trying to catch her breath. “You can’t just eavesdrop on someone’s conversation like a real life Joe Goldberg.”

“Who?”

“ You ?”

“Me?”

“No, it’s a show called You —never mind!” She settles her hands on her hips. She’s dressed in a pair of cut off denim shorts and an oversized Rangers tee. The sight is so casual but still makes my insides twist and pull like they’re on a taffy stretcher.

“You have a lot of books in here.” I nod around the room at all the books lining the walls, on the coffee table, lining the window sills.

“It kind of comes with the territory.”

“What, do you work at a bookstore?”

“I own one, actually. It’s falling apart,” she huffs a harried laugh, “but it’s mine.”

I walk toward one of the shelves now, pulling off a title and looking over the cover as I think about how much the occupation suits her.

She seems exactly like someone who’s spent her life jumping through different worlds, like the one she lived in couldn’t contain all her wonder or satiate her endless curiosity.

“Is that what the phone call was about?” I glance toward her discarded phone.

She groans and plops down on the plush, rosy cushions of her couch. Tucking her smooth legs underneath her, she reaches behind her for a throw pillow that she clutches to her chest while motioning for me to sit down next to her.

I place the book back on the shelf, hesitantly taking a seat, unsure of what to do. Do I face her and relax? That feels too familiar. But sitting here as if I have a rod shoved up my ass like a marionette puppet isn’t much better.

“You can relax. Your virtue is safe here.” She chuckles at my hesitation.

“I’m not worried about that,” I grumble as I adjust myself to fit more comfortably on the couch, it’s small size bringing us closer than is wise.

I clear my throat. “Is something wrong at your store?”

“So, here’s the thing…I sort of impulsively bought the bookstore I worked at around a month ago with blood money.”

“What do—” She cuts me off before I can finish asking my obvious question with a finger to my lips.

“ Shhh, don’t interrupt.” Her eyes flick down to where her digit rests against my mouth. I’m so tempted to bite the pad of her finger, but before my intrusive thoughts can win out, she yanks it away and sits on her hand.

“I’ve worked at Brownstone Books since I was in college, and the owner, Pat, decided she wanted to sell. I just couldn’t stand to see the place turned into another Dunkin Donuts or something. And I love donuts, so that’s really saying something.”

I grimace.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like donuts,” she trails off.

“It’s a sugar coma made of air.”

“What’s next? Are you going to say you don’t like puppies? This fake situationship we’re having in my head is never going to work if you don’t like donuts and puppies.”

“I love puppies. I’m not a psychopath.” I’m pointedly going to ignore that she thinks about us in a fake romance scenario.

“That remains to be seen. I guess it makes sense you don’t like donuts. You do look like that .” She gestures to my physique, and a small part of me—okay, a big part of me—preens at her attention.

I love how she says whatever thought comes to mind. Silver is completely uninhibited, and it’s so damn refreshing after years of everyone around me holding back everything they’re feeling.

“So, I gave Pat a down payment for the store and have worked out a monthly payment plan to pay off the remainder, specifically so that I can renovate the store. It’s a bit worse for wear.”

“How bad is it?” I’m genuinely curious and amazed that she jumped into something like this with no fear.

“It’s not great. The bookshelves are pretty dilapidated because they haven’t been updated since the eighties when Pat opened the place.

The upstairs area has been totally out of commission since I started working there a decade ago.

That, combined with new paint, updating our point of sale system, overhauling our inventory, and bringing our online presence into this century—I’m a bit overwhelmed. ”

“What was the phone call about then?” I ask.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. “That was Phil, the contractor I hired to help me renovate the things I didn’t think I could DIY on my own, calling to tell me that the fifteen grand he quoted me originally was somehow miraculously going to cost fifty thousand dollars now.”

“Fucking hell.” I resist the urge to shout.

“I know it’s a bit of a job, but fifty grand seems like he’s trying to take advantage of me. So, I fired him.”

“Good girl.”

Oh, shit. I did not mean to say that. God, I can actually feel the tips of my ears heating, and I’ve somehow stunned Silver into silence. I didn’t think it was possible, and thank God she takes mercy on me and chooses to ignore it, even though…yup, her eyes look a little glazed. Shit.

She clears her throat. “Right, so…I’m a little stressed about what to do. I guess I’ll be watching a lot of reno videos off YouTube.”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

“I’ll help you with the renovations.”

And there it is, the singular moment I can point to later on down the road and say, and that was when I lost my mind.

“What?” She’s blinking at me, clearly confused as well.

Fuck it all. If I’m going to offer, then I’m going to commit to it. I want to help her, and I’m not going to let a small thing like my inconvenient and unnecessary feelings get in the way.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit handy with my tools.” The second it’s out of my mouth, I realize how suggestive it sounded.

She smirks. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

I level her with a glare. “What I mean is…before I moved back to New York, I worked at my family’s carpentry shop, building furniture, cabinets, bookshelves …custom work for homes and businesses. I’m kind of exactly what you need. For the bookstore,” I clarify quickly.

“You would you really help me?” A rare glimmer of vulnerability clouds her features.

“Yes,” I say, no reluctance in my tone. I have a strange feeling that she doesn’t ask for things often, and if I were to hesitate, she wouldn’t accept my help.

“But you don’t even like me.”

“I like you just fine.” Her eyes flare with soft light.

“I can’t pay you much, but I will pay you.” She seems adamant, so if it gets her to let me help, then I’ll acquiesce.

“We can figure that out later.” Maybe it will help keep the lines from blurring.

She looks at me with a slight skepticism but also a sliver of hope.

“What do you get out of this?” Foolish. This was so foolish, and now I have to bluff my next words.

“It’ll help build my portfolio for the business I’m planning to start eventually.

” I have no intention of starting a business here.

I haven’t even picked up a pencil to draw in two years.

I used to love it as a way to escape. To create a piece in my head, put it on paper, and then build it with my hands was supremely rewarding work.

But I haven’t drawn for business or pleasure since that day at the gorge. The inspiration dried up.

“It’ll be really long days for you since we’ll have to work on it after the store closes.”

“You won’t scare me away, Sunshine. Let me help you.” We stare into each other’s eyes, and I don’t know if she realizes it, but I could do this all day with her, study the dozen different variations of green and blue in her irises.

I really need to get myself in check, remember she’s not mine, and that I can help her with this but it doesn’t mean anything beyond what it is.

It’s not happening, Hendrix. Point blank.

Silver stretches her hand out to me, and I don’t wait to grasp it as an electric shock fizzles up my wrist from the touch. Does she feel it too? From the way she’s staring at our joined hands, I think she might.

“Let’s do it.” Determination strengthens her gaze.

I know I’m well and truly fucked when I realize I’d do just about anything to keep that look on her face.