Page 6 of Silver Linings

He’s staring down at me in what seems to be abject horror.

Silent. So silent. His gaze slowly coasts over my face, down to where my hand clutches the towel closed over my chest. His gaze snaps back up to my face quickly, and he seems…

I’m not sure. Irritated, maybe? Shit. I can’t get on his bad side.

I already ruined his shoes. I’m at a disadvantage.

“You.” His voice drips with definitive displeasure.

“You.” My voice is laced with a flirtation that’s second nature.

We’re in a standoff, staring at each other in disbelief. I’m just about to invite him in when he brusquely clears his throat. “Can you show me the problem?”

“Problem?” I’m still in disbelief that he’s in front of me. The universe has dropped this delectable morsel into my lap for a second time, and I intend to do something about it.

He stares behind me into my apartment like there’s a hidden mine field to navigate.

“Of course! Come in.” I step aside to let him pass. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to answer the door. I wasn’t expecting you this early, so I hopped in the shower,” I gesture to my towel, “and didn’t hear you knocking.”

He remains silent and just gives me a nod.

I lead us into my bedroom, and he stops dead in the doorway when he surveys the damage. “I’m just going to go put some clothes on while you start looking into all of…that.” I gesture to the bed, the heap of towels covered in ceiling debris and the trash can catching stray drops.

I walk to my dresser to grab a pair of pink denim shorts covered in watermelons and a white tank top before popping into the bathroom to change. I’m towel drying my hair when I hear him talking to himself.

“You have got to be kidding me,” followed by, “ this is not good,” and a few expletives thrown in for extra flavor.

I chuckle. “Are you alright?”

I get no response, so I brush out my hair, giving it a scrunch with the towel before I step back into the bedroom.

He’s standing there with his hands clasped behind his neck, looking not at the damage, but at my armchair to the left of the bed.

It’s clear he hasn’t heard me, because his gaze is zeroed in on the corner of my room, his jaw clenching.

Following his line of sight, I realized that in my derailed morning, I didn’t think to pick up my apartment before he came by.

My new maintenance man is staring directly at my bright red, very scandalous panties draped over the arm of my reading chair.

I make no move to hide them from his view, taking sick delight in the fact that he’s getting a little flustered. “Mr. Wells?”

He flicks his gaze toward me. “It’s Hendrix.”

“So that’s what the ‘H’ stands for. I was wondering when Fairbanks sent out your information.

I’m not going to lie, I was definitely hoping it was something cooler than that.

Hamish, perhaps. Havershim would’ve been good too.

” There’s a teasing lilt to my voice, and I can see that the corner of his mouth wants to quirk up, but he won’t allow it.

“I’ll tell my parents they chose poorly.”

“Please do.” I smile wide. At least he’s speaking now.

“I’m just going to assess the situation for a bit. I’ll need to move your bed. Is that alright?” He’s pointedly looking anywhere but my face or the armchair.

“No problem. I hide my contraband in the nightstand, not under my bed.” I give him a devilish grin. He stares at me silently, and I know he’s going to be tough to crack. “Do you want any help?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

I head into the kitchen to make myself some much needed coffee, and as I’m waiting for it to brew, I think about how serendipitous this second chance meeting is.

I’m loath to admit that since I ran into him, I’ve thought about him on more than one occasion—something I never do.

My bread and butter for dating, if you could even call it that, is to get in and get out.

I never dwell on the guy afterwards. It’s always a simple, mutual exchange of pleasure, and that’s what works for me.

So why was I so hung up on Hendrix the past couple days? Unrequited infatuation? I’m not used to that, and therefore I now want him more? What kind of psychological mind-fuckery is that?

The coffee machine beeps, signaling it’s done brewing, and I fill a cup for him along with mine, taking the two steaming mugs into my room.

“Coffee?” I extend a mug out to him.

“Don’t you think I’ve had enough coffee where you’re concerned?” The words almost sound teasing, but when I look at him, his face is stony.

“This is New York. There’s no such thing as too much coffee.” I hold the mug out further, and he takes it, careful to avoid touching my hand and nods his thanks.

“You really didn’t notice water damage on your ceiling? A hole that size would be kind of hard to miss.” He lifts the mug to his mouth, taking a sip and grimacing. There’s an air of judgment and disbelief coating his tone, making my hackles rise slightly.

“I wish I could tell you I have good spatial awareness, but I don’t. I noticed a small bubble a week or so ago and forgot about it. Kind of wish I didn’t, though, or else I wouldn’t have met a watery grave this morning,” I say with a bite in my voice.

He doesn’t apologize. “This is going to take a few weeks to take care of. Water damage isn’t a quick fix.”

“My schedule is pretty flexible, and if I can’t be here, then you’re fine to come in and do whatever you need to.

Just make sure to let me know you’re coming by so I can…

hide my unmentionables.” I nod towards my panties, and his ears flush while his face gives away nothing.

The irritated tension from before eases slightly.

He coughs. “Right, well,” he scratches the back of his neck, “it looks like the water has come to slow crawl. I think you’re okay for now, but I’m going to turn off the water valve on that line and investigate where the leak is coming from.

I’ll be back soon to tear some of this damaged ceiling out so the foundation can dry.

” He starts heading towards my front door.

“You have my number, so you can let me know when you’re coming by.”

We’re standing in the doorframe, staring at each other now, not saying anything.

“Thank you for the coffee–” He pauses, realizing he hasn’t asked for my name and I haven’t given it.

“Silver. And you’re welcome. Happy to keep you caffeinated whenever you need it.”

“Silver,” he tests out my name, his voice a low timber, and God help me, but I like the way it sounds rolling off his tongue, like molten metal. “What, your parents couldn’t think of something cooler?” He smirks.

I laugh as he sets his mug down on my entry table, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

Distantly, my brain registers he’s very different from the men I’m used to, but I stuff the feeling down.

I’m about to turn away from the door to get ready for the day when I hear him on the other side of the door, a faint but there exclamation.

“Shit.”