Page 2 of Silver Linings

Kena and I grew up together in the city, living at The Langham until Nan moved down to Florida and his parents went upstate. Our whole college experience, we lived in my nan’s rent-controlled apartment. It will be a cold day in hell when I leave.

It’s the perfect location, just on the border of West Village and Tribeca, and it’s disgustingly cheap. New Yorkers know when you find a place in a great neighborhood with a good layout and efficient building management, you’re more likely to die there than you are to move.

“I’m pretty anxious,” he admits, pausing before I nudge him to continue. “I guess I just don’t want to mess it up. Maison Atelier has been on the vision board since high school.” His ebony eyes take on a dream-like quality as he smiles softly to himself. “I can still hardly believe it.”

I halt our steps with a hand on his arm.

“You are Makena Williams. You have been mixing textiles and patterns since your mom took you to the garment district at age three, and you got lost in a sea of brocade and silk. You have given countless clients their dream home. Hell, you made our apartment a palace when we lived there—not to mention the magic you can work on a flea market flip.”

“I do love a good flea market flip.”

“Everyone does, babe. That’s not the point.” I loop my arm through his, steering us forward and back on to the topic at hand. “You are the most talented designer I know?—”

“I’m the only designer you know.”

I give him a playful shove. “You’re the most talented designer in the world — ” I wave my arms with an exaggerated flourish, “—and clearly, Maison Atelier saw something in you that made them break all their rigid rules for hiring. Be yourself. You shine brightest when you don’t hide.”

We reach the steps into the train station, and I pull him into a hug. “You’re going to crush it. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind.”

When we pull apart, he gives the lapel of his maroon jacket a tug, nodding his head at me in confidence.

“Atta boy!” I balance my tray of coffee in one hand and slap his ass right before he takes off down the stairs.

He whips around, spearing me with a look. “You’re incorrigible.”

I beam wide and trill my fingers at him in goodbye.

There’s still ten minutes on my walk to work, and I’m lucky that three of them are spent on the phone to Nan.

It’s impossible to get a hold of her these days because the over-sixty community she lives in keeps her booked and busy with a better social life than mine.

She deserves it after having to put up with the trials and tribulations of raising me, but our call ends just as quickly as it began, and I’m left missing her with a persistent ache in my chest.

The sun beaming down on me slowly aids my recovery, but the light is making my already-sensitive eyes burn as sweat collects on my back.

Typically, I can handle my drink well enough to rally the next morning and make it through a work day.

Last night was a rare case. One look into Kena’s pleading eyes, and I was agreeing to whatever his stupid cherubic face wanted.

Which, as it turned out, was for everyone involved to get shit faced off Sambuca shots (vile) and stay out celebrating what he dubbed, “the last night of relative freedom before I become too busy to even remember who any of you are’’.

Charming.

Taking a sip of my cold brew, I’m about to round Christopher Street in the West Village, heading closer to Brownstone Books, holding the coffee I’m still finishing and the one I got for Holly.

I start rifling through my canvas bag, looking for my sunglasses, not needing to pay attention to a walk that’s muscle memory after a decade of commuting.

I’m treading a fairly brisk pace to at least attempt to arrive on time, digging through the black hole that is my bag, shoving twenty receipts, my wallet, and a minimum of seven lipsticks aside so I can find my sunglasses and—HA! There they are. My eyes can finally get some relief from–

“Omph!”

Pain lances through my body at the abrupt collision. Did I just walk into a wall?

“Damnit!” I cry, glancing down at all the coffee I just spilled. “Well, that’s not ideal.” At least the rats will be caffeinated.

“No, it certainly isn’t,” a deep voice grumbles from above my head.

The resonance of the voice vibrates through my body, making me go still.

I didn’t walk into a wall—no, I walked into a person.

A very hard person. Practically built from granite.

And yup…that is my precious toffee nut cold brew puddling around and all over his shoes.

I slowly drag my eyes up from his cognac-colored boots, over strong thighs encased in dark denim, and further up to a dark green henley hugging a trim, muscled waist and a broad chest.

My interest builds the longer I let my eyes roam up this stranger’s form. Who needs to arrive to work on time? Holly has it covered, right?

Continuing my perusal, I’m struck speechless as I feast my eyes on the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life—tanned golden skin, dark stubble neatly hugging his jaw, dark chestnut hair with a slight wave you just want to run your hands through, bright hazel eyes that remind me of the sun spearing through pine trees in a forest. And his mouth is full, sinful… and moving?

I snap out of my daze and obvious perusal to see him scowling down at me. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I was asking if you were okay, but I see you’ve gone into some sort of—” he gestures at me with his hands, “—catatonic state, mumbling to yourself about pine trees.”

I smirk, continuing my not so subtle perusal of him, noting the tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and the lack of any sort of ring on his left hand. There’s no doubt a deranged gleam in my eyes.

“You’re staring. Are you concussed or something?” There’s a vague note of concerned irritation in his tone, his eyes darting behind me.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! I’m so sorry about your shoes.

Here, I think I have a napkin.” I sift through my bag but come up empty.

I do, however, have all twenty receipts that will do the trick in a pinch.

I grab the wad of them, smiling as I bring them up to his face for him to see.

He flinches back from my sudden movement.

“No napkins, but these will work.” I kneel on the sidewalk to clean up the mess I made.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks incredulously.

I pat at the liquid coating his shoes with the physical proof of my love for a sweet treat.

“I know it’s not ideal; the absorption of these is just not on par with a napkin or paper towel, but it’s all I have.

” I look up at him from the ground, pasting on my best flirty smile.

“If you want to give me your phone number, I can call you to get these cleaned properly.” It’s not exactly the most subtle come on.

He clenches his jaw, his whole body rigid. “Please get up.”

Okay…maybe I’m off my game today. Normally, I’m more charming than this, but I did spill coffee all over his shoes and look like a swamp creature.

I slowly stand, looking up at him. He looks like he stepped straight out of the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean, in one of those cologne ads that never make any sense, all rugged lines and intense stares.

“So, like I said, I can get those cleaned for you when you aren’t currently wearing them and have them returned to you ASAP.” I reach to grab my phone so I can hand it to him to put in his number.

“No, thanks. They’ll be fine.” He’s still looking past me.

“Are you sure? It’s really no prob?—”

I can’t even finish my sentence before he looks at his watch anxiously. “I’ve gotta go.” He leaves no room for argument before he takes off in the direction I just came from, and I watch him as he goes.

I don’t make it to work on time.

Instead, I alert Holly of my arrival by barreling through the front door, the bell ringing in my wake, and I’m instantly put at ease. Every time I step inside Brownstone Books I feel like I’ve come home again after being away too long. Like I belong here.

Kena likes to joke that the store is my one true love because it’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had.

He’s wrong—it’s the only relationship I’ve had.

It’s just always been easier for me to not do the romance thing .

I’ve never particularly had the urge, and the way I figure it, the closer you get to someone, the greater risk you take of them leaving you.

So, I keep it simple and keep my circle small—like count it on one hand small.

My constants are Nan, Kena, and this shop, just the way I want it.

Holly steps out from the back room, shoulders easing when she sees it’s just me.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m later than I said I would be. Forgive me?” I curl my fists against my chest and give her my best pouty face.

A bout of fear claws at my chest thinking I might have inconvenienced her.

The anxiety that seeps in through carefully held together cracks if anyone is upset with me, or if they don’t like me, is a feeling I’ve grown familiar with over the years.

I know it’s impossible to please everyone, but I’m programmed to try. If they’re happy, maybe they’ll stay.

“I didn’t expect you to be on time, Silver.” Holly huffs a laugh. “Not after last night’s phone call.”

“God, I’m so sorry. Did I say anything mortifying? I can’t be held responsible. Everything is Kena and liquor’s fault.” I hold up my hands in placation, a surrender for mercy.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. You did propose to my wife again, but that’s fairly commonplace for you,” Holly says.

“Yes, well, she is an actual goddess. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I can’t even blame you.” Holly’s eyes take on a dreamy quality.

Her wife Serafina is a baker with a famous cooking blog called Mental Bake Down.

They met years ago in their twenties, and they realized pretty quickly that what they felt for each other was different.

Holly always said she was lucky to be in Serafina’s orbit, that it was pure happenstance that landed her in the café where Sera was the head baker…

but I see the way Sera looks at Holly. She looks at Holly like she’s the lucky one, bettered just by knowing her, let alone loving her.

It’s pure, their love, two souls who compliment and challenge each other, for better or worse.

It makes my heart hurt sometimes to witness, knowing I’m not made for that.

I snap myself back into the present. “Full disclosure, I did have a coffee for you…but then I ran into a wall of a man and dropped it on the ground.”

“A wall of a man?” Holly repeats back to me.

“Yup,” I say, popping the p . “He was so tall, broad, and grumpy.”

“Stop drooling,” Holly calls me out of my reverie. “Did you get his number?”

“No. I tried, but he didn’t seem interested,” I pout.

“That’s…unusual for you.”

“He’s the one that got away,” I sigh dramatically.

“Okay, well, that’s a bit intense. Do you even know his name?”

“That is beside the point and completely irrelevant, Hols. He was the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

Now, I’ll always wonder what could have been.

I’ll be eighty in a nursing home, ranting to Kena about the walking sex symbol I spilled coffee on and how he could have been my best lay ever until Kena gets so tired of my rambling, he beats me to death with his badminton racket.

” I suck in a breath of air. “The point is, I’ll never know, and the lack of knowledge will haunt me until the end of my days, because I will never see him again.

” I slump against an age-worn bookshelf that creaks precariously under the pressure.

“Are you done?”

“I think so.” I pop up to stand.

“Great. We have some new releases to put out on the shelves.” Holly points at a shipment we must have gotten in this morning. “But you’re going to get me a coffee first.”

I start laughing as I grab my wallet.

“Flat white?” I ask as I back out of the shop, on my way to a different coffee house a block over.

“The biggest one they’ve got. Try not to spill this one on any other hot men!” She calls before I’m out of earshot.

“No promises!”