Page 39 of Silver Linings

twenty-two

. . .

At twenty-eight years old, I’m on the very first legitimate date of my life. And I’m…nervous. As a teenager, I went on casual hang outs in the park with a group of people, but I don’t really consider that a date. But this? What we’re doing here tonight is most definitely a date.

Hendrix and I walk down the block hand in hand, passing by brick inlaid townhomes, tiny cafés, and boutiques, and I absently think we must look like the picture of domesticity.

The people we’re passing would never know I have a serious case of the bubble guts because the man clutching my hand and steering me around the city to take me out is so perfect, I have a hard time believing he’s real.

When I spotted him in the shop tonight, my heart stopped, and my stomach did a back handspring so sharp, it would make an Olympic gymnast envious.

He was standing there, talking to Carmen, open and friendly, looking so handsome, I couldn’t get my heart to stop racing.

It should be illegal for him to look that good in jeans, a white tee, and an oversized leather jacket.

That was distinctly a very normal outfit as far as menswear goes, and yet he looked like he’d just stepped off a movie set— golden skin gleaming under the shop lights, full mouth smiling, hair perfectly tousled in a way that made me want to rake my hands through it like I had so many other times the past week.

I hesitated to make myself known just so I could openly admire him.

But it isn’t just my attraction to him that makes my chest ache.

It’s his vulnerability with me, the way he’s opened up over the past couple months and allowed me to see behind the curtain.

It’s how quick he is to pick up on my jokes and lob them right back at me, how I feel safer with him than anyone else.

It’s every time he shows up after working an eight hour shift to help me and never complains.

He is kind, and selfless, and steadfast and funny and so sexy, my bones ache for him.

It was dizzying. Terrifying. I didn’t want it to ever stop.

I was starting to have a vague understanding of how my mom must have felt for my dad, and that was a hard pill to swallow, giving her any kind of leniency over abandoning me in the wake of her heartbreak. Our heartbreak. It made me uncomfortable, thinking about it.

“What’s wrong?” He lumbers over me, but his hold on me is gentle.

“Nothing.” The look he gives me is assessing. “I promise.”

He takes a beat to respond. “Come on, we gotta hop on the train.”

We rush over to the subway station, dodging the rush of after-work traffic, and the whole time, Hendrix never lets go of my hand, creating a path for me through the throngs of people trying to get above ground and out of the station.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I grip his hand tighter.

“You’re not one for surprises, are you?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever surprised me with anything before.” The unknown variables that always accompanied a surprise stressed me out, so I did my best to avoid them at all costs, mitigating any potential disappointment.

He finds us a spot to rest on the platform, caging me between his arms and a wall while we wait for the next train to arrive. Faint music floats from down the tracks, a musician playing a well-known hip-hop song on an electric violin.

Until you, I think. I’m having a lot of firsts with you.

A second later, a packed train pulls up, and we’re whisked uptown. The subway crawls along the track, screeching metal against metal on every turn, jostling us around. Hendrix places my arms around his middle before pinning my body between his arms and the closed door, keeping me steady on my feet.

When he signals we’ve made it to our stop, I notice we’ve come all the way up to Washington Heights, a neighborhood in the northwest section of the city.

I give him an inquisitive look, but he just tugs me by my hand. “Let’s go.”

We exit the subway and walk for a couple blocks, passing a corner bodega with a grey shop cat sitting outside, a few chain eateries, and a deli with couple centenarians at a table outside playing a round of cards, before we stop in front of a place called Mimi’s Bakery.

“Did you bring me all the way uptown for pastries?” I’m perplexed. “I mean, I’m not mad about it, but we do have plenty of bakeries closer to us.”

“This is stop one of your personalized New York City donut tour.” He is clearly very proud of himself for the idea.

“You’re joking.”

“Not even a little.”

“But—but you hate donuts…” My voice trails off.

“But I like you .”

I hold back the squeal that wants to burst out of me, acting unaffected by his words. “Yes, well…I’m very likable.”

He chuckles as he ushers me inside the building, and we get in line to order.

The bakery is very unassuming but has a vintage sort of charm, the kind where you feel like you’ve been transported into a southern grandma’s kitchen.

The walls are a buttercream yellow with white trim, varying shades of blue accenting throughout while antique frames in need of a good dusting are scattered around haphazardly.

“The rules are as follows?—”

“Ah, now you’re starting to sound like you again.”

“Cute.” I laugh as he continues. “We have this booklet I made.” He pulls a tiny leather bound notebook out of his jacket pocket, and when he opens it, I can see he’s labeled the top page with our first stop at Mimi’s and has categories for rating.

“By the end of the night, we’ll have rated and found your favorite donut place in Manhattan. ”

“Wow, you sure know how to impress the ladies, don’t you, Haskell?”

“As long as I’m impressing you , Saskia.”

The line shifts forward, and we’re suddenly face to face with a dark skinned woman with kind eyes. Her bright white smile greets us, happiness etched into every well-worn line on her face.

I glance down and see her name tag reads Mimi. “Is this your place?” I ask.

She beams. “For thirty-seven years. What can I get for you two today?”

“Do you have a recommendation?”

After inquiring about any allergies, she suggests the key lime pie donut and wraps one up for me. “What about you, sugar?” She gives Hendrix a flirtatious smile. I can’t even blame her—he has that effect on me too.

“Just a coffee for me, please. Black, no cream or sugar.”

“He has an aversion to joy,” I quip.

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here with you, would I?” He knows that line was smooth as hell, based on the smug look on his face as he bends down and kisses my neck.

Mimi gives me a you’re in trouble look. “You better watch out for that one with a tongue like that.”

Oh, Mimi, you have no idea.

After saying thank you, we make our way to a table at the front against the window. Hendrix pulls out my seat for me in a feat of chivalry I’ve yet to experience in life before he takes the chair opposite me, setting his scoring book on the table between us.

“Alright, the categories are as follows…”

“It’s such a turn on when you go all Type A on me.” I bite my lip for extra humor, but he fixates on my mouth instead, not catching the joke.

“Whatever does it for you.” Leaning back in his chair, he wraps his hands around his coffee cup as he nods toward my donut. “What are you waiting for?”

He rattles off the categories for judging as I pick up the confection and bring it to my mouth.

My teeth cut through a toasted meringue layer and pillowy soft dough before settling into the tart, key lime center.

Flavor explodes along my tastebuds from the combination of smooth subtle sweetness cut with the sharpness of the lime curd.

A sigh escapes my nose, and I drop my head down into my free palm as I try to process how sinful this tastes.

“That good?”

I take another bite before I respond by holding it out to him. “I know you’re not a sweets guy, but you have to try this. It would be a crime not to. Do it for Mimi. Do it for me.”

Without hesitation, he leans forward, grabbing onto my wrist and bringing the donut to his mouth while maintaining full eye contact.

When he pulls away slightly, I notice a bit of cream gathered at the corner of his mouth and, without thinking, I bring my thumb up, brushing it off before I bring the digit up to my mouth to taste.

His eyes darken, staring intently at my mouth, and a slow, wide smile stretches around the finger in my mouth. A look that can only be described as devious settles on his face. “Second best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I blush furiously. “So bold, Mr. Wells. I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

He harrumphs in my direction. “Come on, pretty girl. Finish that one off. We’ve got more stops to hit.”

The excitement that jolts through my body at his words is equivalent to being thrown into an electric fence.

I don’t know if it’s the sugar high or Hendrix calling me pretty, but my body feels like a live wire.

I may not have much experience in the dating department, but I can’t imagine it gets any better than this.

…

Three stops, one hazelnut crunch, one strawberry rhubarb, and one maple bacon donut later, we’re walking to our final stop on the Lower East Side. According to Hendrix, he saved the best for last, but if you ask me, each stop has been perfect, especially all the moments in between.

While waiting for a train in Times Square, we stumbled upon a performer who had dozens of electronic plushies scattered around him, dancing and gyrating to electric house music.

Hendrix groaned when I grabbed his arm, forcing him to dance with me and a harem of creepy stuffed animals, but judging by the carefree smile on his face, I’d wager he secretly liked it.

As we arrive at our final destination, I see him sneaking glances at me every few seconds. At first, I think it’s because he wants to look at me, but it’s happening more often than is normal. It’s almost…anticipatory.

“Do I have something on my f–” and then, I see it.

Our last stop on the Manhattan donut tour, in all its neon-signed splendor, is called Glory Holes . A shop that specializes in donut holes. Their honest to God slogan is, ‘put us in your hole” . It’s marketing genius at its finest.

“No way.” I start jumping up and down, cackling my excitement. “How did I not know this existed?”

Hendrix is laughing at my obvious joy over an inappropriately named bakery. “I think it’s fairly new.”

“This is the greatest day of my life.” I beam up at him.

I’m suddenly overcome by a feeling of absolute happiness.

Hendrix has seen so many pieces of me and hasn’t balked.

I’ve been so many different versions of myself in his presence—struggling business owner, fearless karaoke starlet, broken and traumatized, raunchy and irreverent, and he’s embraced each one, encouraged every facet of me and who I am, who I could be.

He smiles down at me softly, brushing a tendril of hair out of my face before leaning forward and whispering against my lips, “I’m glad, baby.

” A shiver skates up my spine at the endearment.

Leaning forward, he kisses me gently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and it feels like it might be.

“Can we go get some glory holes now?” I whisper against his mouth.

He laughs and places his hand on my lower back, pushing me towards the open door.

It’s a small space, only big enough to hold maybe three to four people in line, with a counter top made of wood behind glass pastry cases.

Inside the cases are various flavors to choose from, and when we make it to the front of the line, we order one of each to try.

With a box of each hole in hand, we make our way to a small park nearby to sit on a bench and eat the last donuts I’ll be enjoying for a long while. And when I say long while, I mean three weeks maximum.

The mini spherical delights are delicious, and I even get Hendrix to have a couple with me as we discuss ratings and rankings.

“As much as I love the depraved marketing strategy of Glory Holes, Mimi’s is still hands down the best. I think I might have to move uptown just to be close to it,” I say.

“I’ll go get it for you whenever you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hen. I think you’re underestimating how often I might want it.”

“I’m fully aware of your sweet tooth. I’ll go get you the donuts.”

“Mhmmm,” I moan as I bite into another one.

Hendrix is fiddling around in his jacket pocket for something as I polish off the last two pieces, a glimmer of gold catching in the street light.

“I almost forgot, but I have this for you.” He sounds nervous, and when I look over at what he’s holding, my breath catches.

Dangling from his hand is my gold necklace, not broken but whole.

I set it on my entry table that night to take care of after handling the store renovations.

Then, the plumbing repairs happened, and my necklace took a backseat.

I hadn’t given it another thought, prioritizing everything else over my need to have it fixed.

“What—”

He stops me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took it to have it repaired. The jeweler was able to replace just a couple of the links on the chain, so it’s mostly still the same necklace your dad gifted to you.”

I am absolutely speechless, like I cannot get a single word out of my mouth. If I had any more glory holes left, you could fit at least five easily in my mouth by how far my jaw has unhinged.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped– oomph !”

I launch myself at him, arms wrapping like a vise around his neck.

“Thank you,” I breathe into his neck as his arms wrap around my waist, gripping me to his broad chest.

My heart is pounding out of my chest at the feeling consuming every cell in my body.

He knows what this necklace means to me, and to have it repaired for me—to ensure the broken links were switched out and it stayed the same chain my father gifted to me—it makes the muscle in my chest constrict and swell with gratitude as I grip him tighter.

“You’re welcome, Sunshine,” he huffs into my hair.

We stay like that for a minute, an hour, a year. I don’t know how long it’s been; I don’t ever want it to end. But as his hands start to rub up and down my back in a comforting gesture, my body starts to warm all over, an ache starting to build in my core.

“Hendrix…” I say.

“Hmmm?” Slow, languid movements tease up and down my spine.

I pull back ever so slightly so I’m aligned with his ear. “Take me home. Now.”