Page 46 of The Sound of Silence

“Sfogliatella. Have you ever had it before?”

“Ah, no…can’t say that I have,” I said with a laugh, not even attempting to repeat back what he said.

“Oh, it’s so good! I’m getting you one.”

Once we ordered and received our drinks and pastries, we found an open table and sat down. I took a tentative sip of the tall, vanilla latte. I’d drink coffee in all its forms—flavored, black, with cream and sugar, extra foamy cappuccino, or poured over ice. Lattes were my weakness, but I didn’t show prejudice as long as it was good—and this was fantastic. I sighed in appreciation over the first good cup I’d had in what seemed like forever. When I sampled the pastry, I nearly swooned. The melt-in-your-mouth, shell-shaped pastry was filled with some sort of orange-flavored ricotta and it really was to die for.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Maybe,” I teased.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Leaning back, he put his palms face down on the table.

“Feel free to slap me if I’m crossing a line.”

I raised a brow. “Now, I’m afraid of what you want to ask.”

His knee brushed mine under the table, and I quickly shifted away, pretending not to notice as I absently stirred the foamy top of my drink.

“I told you that your story is your business but I’ve never seen anyone go from being terrified to determined quite like you have. I’m trying to figure out your drive. If I understand it, maybe I can use it to help others in my group classes. What’s your motivation for taking my classes?” His question was cautious but I could hear the innocent curiosity in it.

My breath stalled at the mere idea of Derek—or anyone else for that matter—finding out my motivations. If he knew what motivated me, he’d know about all the things Ethan did to me. I reached up to touch my throat—like Ethan’s hand had—shame wrapping around my neck like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life out of me. I shrugged, hoping the action would loosen the imaginative grip on my neck, struggling to find a simple explanation that wouldn’t provoke further questioning.

“It’s important I know how to defend myself. If I ever need to, that is. It’s a big city. You never know what might be lurking in an ally,” I said, keeping my tone even-keeled. It was a good enough explanation. I didn’t need to make myself vulnerable, by saying anything more.

He nodded and sipped his café Americana while I nervously ripped my pastry into bite-size pieces over my plate.

“Why do you own a gym?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Because I enjoy fitness,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Believe it or not, I used to be a pretty chunky kid. The other kids in school picked on me a lot.”

My eyes widened in surprise as I took in Derek’s perfectly muscled shoulders that tapered down to a trim waistline. He looked perfect to me. In fact, everything about Derek was perfect—from the gentle way he looked at me to his patience teaching me in class. He was almost too perfect.

“I can’t picture you as a chunky kid. I really find that hard to believe.”

“It’s no joke. Weight issues run in the family on my dad’s side. I guess you could say I inherited the slower-than-average metabolism from him. My sister takes after my mom and is naturally thin. Still, she understood my struggle. She was a big motivator for me and helped out a lot. Her encouragement is why I started working out and eating better. I ended up going to college for physical therapy and worked at a gym part-time. After I graduated, I decided to venture into entrepreneurship rather than look for a job in my degree field, but New York is expensive—very expensive. Luckily for me, I was able to pull in a silent partner who believed in me. That’s the guy I was meeting in Cincinnati when we first met.”

“I remember,” I murmured. I thought about how, even then, I was able to see the sharp contrasts between the stranger and my husband—Derek and his vulnerabilities versus Ethan and all of his arrogance.

“I understand the struggles of everyday people and I want to help them see their potential like I did. That was my focus when I started The Mill. I didn’t want it to be all about bulking up or bodybuilding, although some clients are into that. I wanted The Mill to zero in on what it means to be healthy at all ages. We have programs for men, women, and children. We even have family programs where families can exercise together. I hired a nutritionist to consult with clients on diets that work for them. We began offering instructional classes, such as the self-defense class you took. I also brought on a full staff of personal trainers. When everything fell in line, I began considering expansion. Two years later, I opened my second location and recently added a third and fourth in other parts of the city.”

“That amount of success is impressive for someone so young,” I told him.

“How old do you think I am?” he asked with a laugh.

I flushed, hoping I wouldn’t be too far off. I wasn’t a very good judge of age.

“I don’t know. Thirty maybe?”

“Close. I’m thirty-two. You? How old are you?”

“A woman never tells her age,” I teased.

“Is that how it’s going to be, Sparky?”

“You betcha. My lips are sealed,” I said, emphasizing my words by pulling an imaginary zipper across my lips.

We talked for a close to an hour and by the time our coffee was finished, I didn’t want to leave. It seemed as though he didn’t either because we stayed long after that. I felt comfortable in his presence—at ease in a way I found difficult to grasp. Eventually, I shifted to signal I should get going. It was going on two in the afternoon and I was scheduled to work at four. If I wanted time to shower and change, I needed to get moving.

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