Page 35 of Silver Linings

nineteen

. . .

I’m still riding the high of this morning when I step inside Brownstone Books and immediately into a disaster.

At least two inches of water is covering the floor and rising by the second in time with my panic.

How the hell has this happened? The only thing that could be more detrimental to a bookstore than flooding is fire.

As grateful as I am that I’m dealing with an inch or two of water as opposed to bonfire kindling, this is the absolute last thing I need on a Saturday.

It’s our most profitable day of the week, and I can’t afford to close to deal with this.

Racing over to our stockroom to access our bathroom where I assume the water is originating from, I stop short when I see the damage to our back stock.

Storage in New York is a dime a dozen, and my little shop has always severely lacked the proper space needed to house all our inventory.

As a solution, we resorted to stacking on the floor—the same floor now covered in fluid.

Holding back tears, I rush into the staff bathroom and shut off the water valve before grabbing my phone and calling an emergency plumber.

Half an hour and one hastily written “opening late” sign on the door later, Steve the Septic Savior is finishing up his assessment.

“From what I can tell, it’s a combination of your pipes being older than God and a pretty nasty blockage. All the pressure coalesced and ruptured.”

Has anyone in the history of the world had the same shit poor luck as I’ve had with pipes lately? Did I piss off some vengeful plumbing deity?

“And how much is that going to cost me?”

Bracing for the impact of his estimate never could have prepared me for his answer.

“My estimate is somewhere around five grand.” My heart sinks down to my feet, through the floor, and straight into the Earth’s core, where I currently wished I was instead of here.

Five grand means depleting the rest of the money in my savings and giving up my dreams of the second floor.

That’s just for the cost to fix this catastrophe; it doesn’t include replacing the damaged inventory, renting industrial fans to dry out the shop floor, or the potential damage caused to the floorboards.

Fuck. What brand of misplaced confidence did I have, thinking I could pull this off? I had nothing in my life I could point to to indicate I would be able to accomplish something of this magnitude, and that stupidity is going to bleed me dry.

I am Icarus, and this store is the sun burning my wings.

“Can you start today?”

“Yup, I’ll just need to go grab some supplies. I can be back in around an hour.”

Steve heads out as I grab a mop while wondering if it’s too late to start selling feet pics online until I’ve come out the other end of this renovation period.

The pressure sitting on my shoulders feels so immense, I think it might crush me.

I am the sole provider for Holly and Carmen’s income now; this isn’t just about me.

It has to work out. There is no other option.

People are counting on me for the first time ever.

Still, I can’t deny that the feeling of others relying on me makes me feel cagey, like I need to cut and run.

But my insecurity is a Hydra, and that bitch is rearing its nine heads right about now in every aspect of my life. My ability to run a store—let alone rebuild it—coupled with my fears surrounding Hendrix and this…relationship has me on pins and needles.

It’s just after noon, and I haven’t heard from him since he snuck out of my apartment this morning.

I’m loath to admit it, but for the first time in my life, I’m anticipating when I’ll see him again.

The fact that I haven’t heard from him yet makes me feel like maybe I shouldn’t have divulged so much to him last night.

Either way, it’s not what I need to focus on right now.

Maybe more than the business would come to bite me in the ass by the time we got to the re-opening in a few weeks.

If I’m even able to pull it off at all.

If one more person asks why the store is a mess, I’m going to scream.

Yes, it looks like a tornado tore through it, and yes, it looks a bit random with the mismatched shelves, mess of shipment scattered throughout, and industrial fans drying out the floorboards, but can they not see I’m teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown?

I look like a frenzied hyena on the hunt for dinner, for fuck’s sake—which is precisely when my stomach growls and everyone starts to look like a slice of pizza.

When the jingling of the bell above the door signals a customer, I suppress a groan.

There is a special place in hell for the people who come into a store right before closing.

Nevertheless, I am the proprietor of this fine business and have to try and get money out of this person before I resort to turning tricks on the corner of the block.

I twist to greet the customer and stop when I see who’s in front of me.

“Hi,” I squeak out.

“Hey, Sunshine.” Hendrix’s smile feels like freshly baked donuts, warm and sweet. I want to guzzle down a dozen of those smiles.

“What are you doing here?” He stares at me with a mix of humor and confusion. “I just mean that it’s Saturday. We don’t work on Saturdays.”

“Can I still see you on Saturdays? Or are they reserved for some sort of pagan sacrificial ceremonies?” He’s dressed in slim cut jeans and a dark green sweater, the combination doing horrendously primal things to my insides.

“That’s every first Saturday, actually. I can add you to the group chat if you want to join next time.”

His resulting laugh is loud and carefree and so damn sexy, I fear I may combust. Someone is going to have to roll me out of here on a stretcher, because Hendrix Wells is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. He gets even sexier when he pulls a takeout bag from behind his back.

“I thought you could use some dinner.”

“I could kiss you.”

“You definitely could. I sure as hell won’t stop you.” He smirks.

So, I do just that. I walk right up to him, angle myself up on my tippy toes, and press my lips to his. The kiss lasts only seconds, but it has the effect of a ninety minute deep tissue massage the way all the anxiety seeps from my bones.

I settle back down on my heels and press my forehead to his firm chest as his free hand settles onto my hip, squeezing me tightly, deliciously.

“What happened in here?” His gaze darts around the store, taking in the mess and fans.

“Noticed that, did you?” Hendrix drills me with a look. “Pipe burst and flooded the store.”

“Wow, you must be cursed or something,” I scoff in agreement.

“What did you bring me?” I ask, nodding toward the bag.

“Chow House.”

“Who told you?”

“The secrets of the Pentagon? I believe that was Nicholas Cage.”

I swat his arm. “No,” I laugh. “Chow House is my favorite Chinese place in the city.”

He smiles softly. “It’s mine too. I’ve been getting it since I was in college. Best sautéed green beans on the East Coast.”

“You would point out the vegetable. Please tell me there’s something fried in there.” I lean forward, trying to peek in the bag, but he holds it out of reach.

“Be patient, and I’ll tell you.”

“Diabolical,” I murmur, turning to move away before he hauls me back with the hand settled around my waist, placing a kiss on my forehead, lips lingering for a beat too long, making me melt.

“Do you want to eat here or somewhere else?”

“You overestimate my ability to make it further than a few steps with food at stake. We can eat here.” I reach out with grabby hands for the bag, and he finally acquiesces by giving it to me before I lead us toward the back to the only available space for us to sit.

I settle down on the floor between two stacks of freestanding shelves and start pulling out to-go containers, music from the store speakers setting the tone for our dinner.

I waste no time inhaling a spring roll at record speed, and when I look up, Hendrix stares at me with a fondness I’m not used to. It’s a heady feeling that makes me feel cherished and frightened in equal measure.

I hold out the bag with the remaining roll in offering, but he shakes his head. “You have it.”

“Are you sure?” Hoping he doesn’t want it, I lift the roll slowly towards my mouth, praying he won’t change his mind before I can demolish the second serving.

“I like watching you eat.”

A slow smile spreads over my stuffed cheeks. “Pervert.”

Hendrix gives me another one of his free laughs, and I think I’d do whatever, say whatever, to keep hearing the sound.

His laugh—the real one—is like the wind whistling through the evergreens, like cerulean waves crashing down onto the shore, like the sun hitting your face after polar night—natural, strong and incandescently beautiful.

“I just mean I like seeing you happy. Those spring rolls were making you very happy. You let out this soft sigh after taking the first bite, and it was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

I’m positive my face has gone beet red. “I could use a little happy today,” I admit.

“Tell me about it?”

“I know it’s not a big deal, and worse things could have happened, but the damage is zapping the rest of my savings. I can’t fix the second floor now. I’m feeling a little morose about it.” I shove the last of the spring roll in my mouth.

“It’s okay to be upset,” he says.

Old habits rise, and I feel the need to deflect. “This is helping, though.” I point at the spread of food. “Will you tell me more about your life back in Seattle?”

He looks down at the container of beef and broccoli, and I worry I might’ve taken it a step too far, maybe he’s still feeling too raw after last night’s conversation. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Why did you move back after school? You seem to really like it here.” There’s an ease to the set of his shoulders now that was absent when we first met.

“I made a deal with my dad—” he uses his chopsticks to take a bite of the savory meat— “when I was eighteen and picking a college. I wanted to see what the world had to offer. I wanted to experience somewhere completely different than what I knew. But I was a kid with no way to afford tuition, so we made an agreement. I could go to college in New York, but I had to study business, and I had to move home after graduation so I could be primed to take over the family business.”

“Sounds like that wasn’t what you wanted?” I fish for more information, desperate to know everything about the man who has me so tied up in knots.

“That’s one way of putting it. Dad values control over everything else, so I agreed to his plan just so I could have four years of freedom.

The thing is, I liked the work. I liked designing something and bringing it to life with my own two hands.

It just wasn’t enough for him. I wanted to create , and he wanted me to manage the shop, take over for him.

I didn’t want to leave my life here, but I had made a deal and dad had always drilled into me the importance of a man’s word.

A few years later, Maddie died, and well, you know the rest.”

“What are your siblings like?”

This brings a soft smile to his face, and I have to hold myself back from lunging forward and tackling him to the floor. This big, brawny man is so soft and gooey inside, and it’s making my pulse accelerate.

“Laurel is a spitfire, always has been. She’s definitely the type to punch you in the face and then read you the riot act as to why you deserved it.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” he scoffs. “Maddox…” He takes a second to gather himself. “Maddox was the life of the party. There was never a dull moment when he was around. You remind me a lot of him, actually. Just so full of life, so brave.”

Oh. Oh no.

My nose starts to tingle. “Brave?” Surely I didn’t hear him right.

“You don’t think buying up your favorite place in the world and creating a community, not knowing if it would pan out, with no guarantees for success, is brave?”

“I guess when you put it like that…” I try to joke, feeling sheepish and unable to escape his penetrating stare.

“Don’t minimize what you’re doing here, Sunshine.

I was there at book club. I see how your friends look at you with awe and admiration.

It’s the same way I look at you every day.

” He gives me a cocksure smile. “Well, the way I look at you might be a little different than your friends.” And then, he, honest to God, winks at me. Who knew a wink could feel so charged?

The song playing softly over the speakers changes then into something slow and aching, and Hendrix jumps up and extends his hand out to me.

I look up at him in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Dance with me.”