Page 53 of Silver Linings
I reinforce my spine, readying myself to tell Hendrix we can’t have a repeat of Friday night and that things need to remain friendly and professional. But when I’ve finally worked up the nerve, I turn to find him leaving.
“Where are you going?” I stutter out.
He pauses on the threshold of the store. “I’m just grabbing the tools I left outside. I didn’t want to have them on the floor while you might have customers still browsing.”
Oh. Well, that was thoughtful.
He steps through the door and starts hauling in planks, electrical sanders, paint, and a large bag of tools. Christ, I really would’ve been lost if I had tried to do this all on my own.
“When—” I clear my throat as he stands from dragging the last of the materials in. “When did you order all of this?”
He stands to full height, pulls the hat off his head, pushes his hair back, and repositions his cap in one bizarrely, shouldn’t be sexy move. “After the first visit,” he says sheepishly.
“Oh.” I suddenly feel queasy.
“Should we get started?” he asks tentatively, as if sensing the shift in my tone. “Maybe with the shelf the kid was climbing on?”
I nod and head over that way, and, yup, there it is, a row that’s collapsed in the middle of the shelf. I start pulling the books off that one first and set them on the table behind me so we can clear it for repairs.
Hendrix wordlessly follows my lead and pulls titles off the shelf next to mine, occasionally pausing to read a synopsisor flip through the pages. It’s…disarming, seeing him look so comfortable here while I feel anything but. There’s a tension in the air, a rubber band pulled taut, waiting to snap. I can feel him glance over at me every few minutes as we continue to work in silence—and I ignore it each time he does. Even as I struggle to pull titles off the highest shelf, and he reaches over to help me, crowding my senses with his woodsy scent, I keep my gaze downcast and murmur my thanks.
Book after book is removed until we have two, floor-to-ceiling shelves removed of stock to repair broken or bowed wood, fill any dings, so we can sand down and paint them until they’re gleaming. Then, we’ll repeat that on the other twenty that fill the room, not including the tables, floorboards, staircase and second floor.
I feel Hendrix’s eyes shift to me again, and I know I can’t keep putting this off. Time to put on my big girl pants and rip off the proverbial band-aid.
“We need to talk…about Friday,” I blurt out.
“Will you be looking at me during this conversation?”
I face him, slightly chagrined.
“Great. Okay, great,” I stutter over my words, unsure of myself. “I’m just going to come out and say it. While that kiss was super hot…likereallyhot…” I chance looking up at him and feel the full weight of his stare, heavy and inescapable. For a second, I forget why I even wanted to do this, but I power through. “I think it’s best if we keep things professional from here on out.”
I don’t know what I expect to see in his eyes after I deliver my speech, but it certainly wasn’t the look he’s directing at me now. He looks resolute. Determined. A little pained.
“Can I ask why?
I’m nodding my head, even though I want to run out the door and jump into the Hudson River. “I just think this,” I point between him and me, “could get too complicated very quickly.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” The look on his face is impossible to decipher.
No.“Yes.”
“Sure thing, Sunshine.” He holds his hand out to me to shake, and when my skin touches his, he tugs me forward and leans down towards my ear, warm breath ghosting across my skin, making me suppress a shiver. “I’ll be the best damnfriendyou ever had.”
Every inch of my body coils tight in anticipation .
“Great. So, uh,” I step out of his hold, “now that the shelves are empty, where should we start?” I ask, desperate to erase the previous topic from the forefront of my mind.
“Let’s remove the broken planks, and then we’ll each grab a sander and start stripping off the old wood stain.”
He motions for me to follow him to grab the tools we left by the door. There’s a lingering awkwardness in the air, but I must be the only one who feels it, because Hendrix carries on, unperturbed. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed, but if he can carry on as if nothing happened, then so can I.
We make our way back to the shelves, equipment in tow, and I’m about to start sanding when he stops me with a hand on my wrist.
Slowly, he pulls the device out of my hand and sets it on the ground. When I give him a questioning stare, he responds by pulling something out of his back pocket.
When I look down, I see he’s holding a protection mask and glasses. He hands me the mask to put on, and before I can grab the glasses from him, he leans forward and slips them over my ears to rest on my face, unintentionally tucking my hair.
