Page 24 of Silver Linings

thirteen

. . .

My feet pound against the pavement as I sprint a path around Washington Square Park, trying to clear my mind for the day ahead. The sun is hiding behind the cover of clouds, and there’s a soft, cool breeze floating in the air, hinting at the first signs of early autumn.

It’s a task that’s proving to be more difficult by the minute with Silver invading my every thought.

A cab almost took me out earlier while at a crosswalk.

I was distracted thinking about what I could ask during our next round of twenty questions, and didn’t notice the yellow blob in my peripherals barreling toward me, blaring its horn.

I jumped back in barely enough time to not get mowed down, but I did get a colorful string of expletives thrown out the window in my direction.

It’s early on Sunday morning, and the city that never sleeps is as quiet as it will ever be—which is to say, still really fucking noisy, something it now has in common with my head.

I got up around five, wide awake with frenetic energy and the strong desire to pick up my long neglected sketchpad and pencil for the first time in years.

I drew in bed without thinking, my mind replaying the kiss with Silver on a never-ending highlight reel while I mindlessly doodled.

My brain helpfully supplied reminders of each gasp and moan she made to a near-torturous melody, building into a crescendo until I set down my drawing supplies and sprang out of bed to go on this run, afraid if I didn’t, I might take matters into my own hands—literally.

But it wasn’t just the lingering taste of her on my tongue that had me fidgeting in bed until the sheets tangled around my legs like a boa constrictor.

It was just her…and the sense of awareness my body has when I’m thinking about her or near her.

I thought I would go in there, help her paint, and then be done with it.

But then, she started that damn twenty questions game, and fuck, it was so charming and…

disarming . It made me want to tell her things, unearth hidden truths and desires.

It’s too soon for that.

We agreed when we parted that we would keep renovations to weeknights so we could both rest on our weekends.

That’s probably for the best in hindsight—to give me a chance to get my ever-loving shit together.

I told myself repeatedly to keep my distance, but I kept getting sucked into her gravitational pull, unable to wrench myself free.

Do I even want to be free?

No, I don’t, but I should. This consuming need to be near Silver has been joined with a feeling of guilt that’s persistently knocking at the back of my mind, demanding to be let in.

How could I enjoy myself, feel light and free and alive, when Maddox is dead?

My brain has been doing mental gymnastics since Friday night, trying to reconcile the two things, compartmentalize them in separate files so I don’t feel like I’m betraying my younger brother.

Because denying feelings for Silver—trying to put her out of my mind—is getting harder by the day. I’m not sure the connection I feel to her is something I will be able to let go of easily.

She makes me feel…everything.

And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything .

Silver is the human embodiment of sunshine.

No matter who you are, she makes it a point to make you feel welcome and at home.

That’s what walking into her store felt like, even before we started making changes, and I realize now it’s because she was there.

Nothing else. Just her presence brightening up any room she’s in.

She reminds me of Maddox.

The thought jolts me back to reality with the force of a lightning strike, and my shame renews as I pick up my pace, weighing the pros and cons.

Cons: losing my job is a very real threat, and that can’t happen for multiple reasons.

This city is expensive, and I won’t rely on my friends to bail me out of a hard situation if things go south.

Then, there’s the fact that I don’t want to move back to Seattle.

Call it cowardice, but I don’t want to face my family after the way I left.

I can’t bear the look in Mom’s eyes or the vitriol my dad would spew my way.

And then there’s the niggling feeling of betraying Maddox that won’t go away.

Pros: Silver’s eyes lighting up every time she makes a crude joke.

Her laugh ringing out over a crowd of noise, making me feel grounded.

The soft moans she makes when I kiss under her ear.

The way she looks out for the people around her.

How utterly brilliant and brave she is despite her fear.

How I crave apricots every day. The razor sharp wit she flings out like grenades, making me laugh for the first time in years.

The way her nose scrunched up in distaste when I told her I don’t like donuts.

How she’s burrowed so deeply under my skin, I can feel her energy thrumming through my veins, her unfiltered thoughts flowing freely and uninhibited out of her petal-soft mouth.

Silver. Silver. Silver.

I slow from a run into a slight jog when I come up to the coffee shop I stopped at the other day. I check the watch on my wrist, it’s half past seven in the morning, and I’ve been running for an hour and a half without realizing.

It’s not something I do for fun, more of a habit I picked up to clear my head after Maddox died and things between me and my father strained past a boiling point.

The first run came after one particularly aggressive blow out.

Dad blamed me for a client’s unhappiness with their finished build, and he made sure I knew it was my fault.

The words he flung at me that day still singe across my memory like acid.

“It’s all your fault! Everything is your fault and now I have to pay double the cost of materials.

” The intent in the word everything was not subtle, I knew exactly what he meant, and it had nothing to do with cabinets.

After that, I couldn’t contain my tumultuous feelings or my anger over everything, so I took it out on my body in punishing workouts.

It’s a pattern that has stuck since and morphed over time into something more routine.

I push my way into the coffee shop, the blast of air conditioning immediately cooling my flushed skin, and get in line to order.

It’s pretty packed in here for being so early—people on their morning commutes grabbing the coffee that will get them through the day, laptops being set up for work that will be done from the table they’ve staked a claim to.

The sound of beans grinding and steamers hissing creates a cacophony of music that makes up New York City.

Breaking through it all from the front of the line is a boisterous laugh that feels like warmth. I look to where the sound came from, knowing who will be there, and spot a familiar head of sleek platinum hair tossed up in an impossibly cute messy bun.

Silver James has her head tossed back, laughing at whatever the barista just said, and I feel a pit of jealousy in my stomach that I’m not the one who put it there.

I’m greedy. I want all her smiles now. I want to feel them on my skin—taste them on my tongue.

I stand in line and wait as she steps to the side with the group of people waiting for their drinks.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I cross my arms against my chest, watching her as she talks to a woman she just met, who’s rocking a stroller back and forth.

When the baby starts to get fussy, she hikes up her lavender sweatpants to crouch down to eye level with the child and starts singing a little song while clapping her hands to create a beat.

The child instantly calms, and the mother looks at her from above with wonder.

Apparently, she has this effect on everyone, not just me.

I move to the front of the queue and place my order around the same time the woman with the stroller leaves. Silver still hasn’t noticed me when I slip up behind her in the group waiting for orders.

I lean into her, getting a whiff of her subtle apricot scent. “I’m starting to think maybe you should be a popstar instead of a business woman with how much you like to sing in public.”

Her body stiffens in surprise before slowly turning towards me. There’s a subtle tinge of pink high on her cheekbones and wisps of blonde hair framing her face.

I have the urge to tuck an errant strand behind her ear.

“The world is my stage.” She tilts her head back, and there’s a challenge in her eyes.

I meet her stare. “I’d buy a ticket.”

She’s blushing harder than she was a minute ago. I like that color on her face—I like that something I said invoked it.

“You couldn’t afford me.”

“No, you’d be priceless, but I’d still be there, front row.”

She’s struck speechless. I’m no stranger to flirting, but it’s been a long time since I felt the urge.

Dating always came naturally to me. I had a couple of girlfriends post college, but nothing ever felt right .

I was always too focused on work or family, and any relationship fizzled off before it could really go anywhere.

Then, my brother passed, and it started to feel like enjoying any part of life was an insult to his memory.

After that, dating never really crossed my mind.

Until now. Until her .

We’re staring at each other, seafoam green eyes to my hazel, silent and waiting for the other to say something.

“Silver!”

We both turn to see the barista who made Silver laugh earlier set down her drink.

She moves to grab it from the counter and turns to face me again.

Barely a second later, my name is also being called out, and I lean forward into her space to grab mine.

My chest brushes her arm, and she inhales quietly.

I go out on a limb. “Do you want to sit with me?”