Page 78 of Silver Linings
We’ve reached the end of the block, her just a step ahead of me, when I grab her hand and whip her around, tugging her into me. I quickly lean down and capture her lips between mine. Surprise ebbs into a soft sigh as her body melts into mine. When I pull away, she’s leaning forward, trying to chase after my mouth.
I settle my forehead against hers. “I’ve been dreaming of doing that all day.”
“Call me Walt Disney then, cause I just made your dreams come true.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I huff against her lips.
“I think you like that about me.”
“More than you know. Now, let’s go,Walt. There’s romance to be had.” I grab her hand, leading her towards the subway, the sound of her laughter trilling behind me like wind chimes.
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.Ourheartbreak. 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 stoponeof your personalized New York City donut tour.” He is clearly very proud of himself for the idea.
