Silver

by A E Gamrat

  Claire’s eyes question my tense stance. All the humor in them is gone, and I think she is finally catching on to my unease. Silver hasn’t made a sound or moved a muscle; his eyes are glued to my face. I can literally feel the hole in my cheek his stare is creating.

  “Right, well, I shouldn’t have pulled you away from your work like that. We have a rowdy group of women storming our place tonight for a book club meeting,” Claire says to me and then Silver.

  “It can get crazy in here fast, and I hate not having everything set up,” I tell him. I’m not sure why my lips are moving. My nerves are all over the place. It makes sense to set up before the group comes. It does not make sense waiting until the last minute and then having to try to work around them. Claire remembers when Claire remembers, so who knows when the table would be set up. It's like a bad metaphor for our lives.

  Finally, I make eye contact, like real eye contact. Not a quick glance to see if he’s still here, because for how big he is, the man hasn’t made a noise. The spark is instant and intense. His gray-silver eyes latch on to my soul, ready for battle. This is the second my soul has been waiting for.

  “Do you need help?” is all he growls out. I know the question is for me to answer, but it seems I'm at a loss. In four words he has me floating on air, wrapped in his deep, baritone voice. I can only imagine what that voice would do to someone in the darkness of night, behind closed doors.

  “Oh, she would love that,” Claire chimes in, jolting me out of my little bubble.

  When my response never comes, his eyebrow rises in that cocky, questioning look. He knows I'm as flustered, if not more so than he is, and he’s eating it up. I’ve never been one for a cocky smile, but his seems to have hidden promises laced throughout it. Not a cocky “I know you want me” smile but an “I'm making you uncomfortable just for me” way.

  “Gin?” My name comes out as a question, but all I hear is my choppy breathing. Flashes of the past, that night, come out of nowhere, hitting me hard and fast. The crazier my life became, Silver still appeared in my dreams. About a month ago he appeared, but still as the sixteen-year-old boy, not the strapping, distinguished older man. My dreams couldn’t even put together the masterpiece standing face to face with me now.

  “Yes,” comes out as an answer to Silver, instead of a question. I'm losing grip on my reality. Claire will never let me live this down. His deep chuckle finally snaps me back to reality, and I notice two cars pulling into the parking lot. Damn. This is what I was trying to avoid.

  “Do you need help setting up?” He stalks over to me, but because I'm a spaz, I hardly notice; instead my eyes are on the window. My anxiety is building watching those two cars park. All I can do is look back at him and say, “Please,” urgently. He is hot on my heels as we make our way into the backroom.

  “So, there’s only one table, but a ton of chairs? Doesn't make sense,” he mumbles to himself. His presence is making me so nervous, I don’t realize he asked me a question with his mumbling.

  “The table is for snacks and their bags. They sit around in a circle of sorts to talk about the book.”

  “Table doesn’t look too big,” he says to himself again, but his tone still annoys me.

  “That's why I said I was fine,” I fire back.

  “Huh, oh, I didn’t mean…Claire made it seem…”

  “Oh, I know how Claire made it seem, no worries.” I go for the table, but Silver sidesteps me and gets to the table first. He grabs the table, and I grab some chairs, and when he notices there are a bunch more, I know he’ll be helping. That thought isn’t as annoying as this whole table situation. I make him walk in front of me—this is the smartest idea I've had all day.

  Silver’s body is every man’s dream and every woman’s fantasy. His shoulders are wide, arms nicely formed, with a tight midsection. I'm positive there are abs under his shirt. Maybe an eight-pack, even. My daydream has him exercising daily for the pure want and need of it. Not to make his body big and bulky. After a hard day of work, he comes home to sweat it all out. The man is solid everywhere and not twenty years old. Perfection takes a lifetime to produce, and he’s damn near close to it.

  “You okay back there?” he asks, turning his head to the side for me to hear, wondering why my steps are nonexistent.

  “Yeah,” I practically yell at him. I'm anxious, and when I’m anxious, I talk loudly. It seems I can’t hide my feelings from anyone. Silver probably thinks I’m annoyed at him, not struggling to keep from yelling at everyone. If I had it my way, I would kick everyone out and start over. My anxiety likes that idea too.

  “K, because you are awful quiet. Where should this go?” He’s standing with the table leaning up against him, not even acknowledging my tone.

  I know exactly where that table should go, in my bedroom, but all I say is, “This corner right here.”

  He gives me a panty-dropping smile and easily sets it up where I ask. My feet don’t move, in hopes my brain will come up with something witty or even a conversation-starter. They are planted firmly on the tile floor, and what do I say? “I’m going to grab the other chairs.” My legs do an about turn and off we go. If he was going to say something else, I don’t hear it. My body is ready to entertain him, and my brain wants to take twenty steps back. Never has a man made me feel so off-kilter before.

  Dragging the rest of the chairs up front, I hear lots of giggling. The carefree sound has my stomach clenching hard. Rationally I can’t be mad or jealous of their giggles, but the irrational side couldn’t care less. There might be a few decades between our meetings, but the man is mine. How I’m going to make that happen is the question that will keep me up at night.

  Tonight is an all-girl group that meets twice a month. It’s nonstop laughs and giggles from their first step inside the bookstore to their last step out at the end of the night. The spread of food is to die for. Sometimes the food is themed off the main characters in the book they are discussing. Holidays are done up to the “T,” and they even wear costumes. They have way too much fun and are kind enough to let us hang out with them if we want.

  “Silver, can you come over here and help move my casserole dish? It’s super heavy,” Mrs. Rome yells over to him. It would be the matriarch of the group bossing him around. Mrs. Rome is one of a kind; she’s seen and been through it all, or so she says. Let’s not forget one of the dirtiest-minded women around, too. She is who she is, and if you don’t like it, she’ll tell you to “fuck off” to your face. This is no rumor; I've seen this scene play out. She’s one fierce lady.

  Silver throws out a “yes, ma’am” and does exactly as she asked. He picks up the dish with ease and walks it over to the table. Mrs. Rome’s eyes never leave his ass, and she is proud of it. Most of the women don’t take their eyes off his ass. They should be ashamed of themselves, but who am I kidding? I’m watching his tight ass walk away from us too.

  He puts the dish down very slowly so as not to disturb the carousel. He turns toward all the drooling women and smiles, knowing what we have been looking at. “I think I'm heading out, unless anyone else needs help.”

  The instant murmurs of what else he could help with are loud, but Claire steps in. “Now, ladies, my friend needs to get going. He can’t be here all night doing your bidding.”

  Groans come from every corner of the front, and I even let a little one out.

  “Ladies, now calm down,” he starts off with both arms out in front of him. There’s a nice shade of pink coating his cheeks and forehead. He might be acting flirty, but all the female attention is getting to him. “I will try to come back another day, but I do need to go.”

  Claire grabs Silver by the elbow, and my brain explodes. I can’t be jealous of one of my best friends, but the picture of the two of them together is looking too cozy. No way would Claire keep a man a secret, but we’ve been friends for three years, and his name never even came up. Silver is not a common name. I would’ve put the puzzle pieces together.

  “Ple
ase don’t,” someone shouts from the back of the room.

  These ladies have no shame.

  “If I stay here, ladies, it will cause a riot with my other ladies.” He yells back.

  Claire walks back to back with him and acts like she is bull-whipping the crowd back. Their goofing around even has me laughing out loud.

  Silver catches my stare on the way out, sending me a wink that stops time. I want to get on my hands and knees, begging him to stay with me. Not these crazy ladies, but me, at my new house, under the trees and stars. Only in a perfect world would my dream come true. His strong arms would be wrapped around my waist. Us snuggling together on one lounger without a care or thought in the world.

  I sigh a wistful sigh as the laughter subsides. Now I need to try to formulate some kind of plan for when Claire gets back here and grills me on our relationship. Hopefully she’ll take what I can give and let it go for now.

  Silver has always been my favorite color, and now he’s reappeared in my life. Do I have it in me to take what I deserve? Time will only tell.

  Chapter Three

  Ladies…thank you for the invite, but Ginny and I have a lot of paperwork to get caught up on.” Nice how Claire blames our leaving on paperwork, even though she is practically pushing me into the office.

  I'm not exactly pushing back, but I'm not moving quickly either. Talking feelings, emotions, and truths is not my forte. I know, I know, whose forte is it? But I grew up around superficial families, superficial ladies, and I acted superficial too. Then marriage and kids came along, keeping feelings on the back burner. I was the lady of the house who took care of every household need and/or want. My emotional times were spent in my walk-in closet sobbing into the nearest cookie container I could find.

  There was no “girl time” or “girls’ night out.” The Ex would get mad if I got a late phone call, and by late, I mean eight o’clock. I internalized everything and learned to deal. I couldn’t take notes from my mother because my dad would never treat my mom the way I let that man treat me. So now when Anne or Claire want girl time, the thought of opening up puts a sour taste in my mouth.

  The girls have no idea what is about to transpire and wave us off. “How do you know Silver, Ginny?” She makes a power move and positions herself behind her desk. She wants the upper hand.

  “Wellll,” I draw out, trying to keep my face neutral. The story is quite tame and boring, even by my standards. I know the more I drag this out, the bigger story Claire will be expecting.

  “Is he your friend?”

  “I wish” is the answer in my head, but what comes out is, “Not exactly.” I could slap myself for an even more vague answer. Where is this aloofness coming from? These friends of mine might be finally rubbing off on me. Anne can be very vague when she wants to be, but usually I let her be. If she wants to tell me her secrets, she will. This viper staring me down is another story.

  “I’ve known him a very long time now, and none of this adds up.” She pauses and looks to the ceiling. “Especially since you were looking at each other like long-lost lovers.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” is on the tip of my tongue, but then too much would have to be divulged, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around that last hour really happening.

  We randomly look at each other for a minute or two, and Claire breaks first. “Well, can you give me something? I brought him your way for the two of you to meet. I need to know what to do next.”

  I had a feeling our meeting was planned, but us knowing each other is a major wrench in her plans. “We kind of grew up around each other, but the last time I laid eyes on him was the day before I left for college.” My eyes mist over, admitting a rough time in my life out loud because no one back then had a clue. He could have been my forever, but family and social statuses were always top priority.

  It’s funny how the ones who would’ve shamed my relationship with Silver, a good man, were nowhere to be found during my divorce. They applauded the family I married into, even though I didn‘t need his money, and thought I should stick it out while he was sticking it to someone else. There is no love in that world, only greed and power.

  I need to know how Claire knows him before I divulge any more, so I bite the bullet. “How do the two of you know each other? Never heard his name come up before.” I need to play it safe. She is one of my best friends, someone I'm not willing to give up for anyone, male or otherwise.

  “Ah, hell,” she barks out, plopping down into her chair. “He's a cousin of a friend. We’ve met a bunch of times, so he is a friend. Didn't say good friend, but more an acquaintance.” She shrugs as if to say “no big deal,” but it is to me.

  “I thought maybe it was because of his mother’s flower shop. She’s the best around.” I throw a little more bait out to see how much she really knows.

  “Look at you.” She wags her pointer finger at me. “You haven’t seen him in decades, and in an hour, you are talking up his family.”

  Is that true? My mom has shopped at Stem A Day since I was a little girl. Every party my mother ever put together or threw, all the flowers came from Silver’s mom’s place. Wonder what would have happened if I told my mother my true feelings?

  “She has the best flowers around, and his family knows how to run a business. You should at least know that, if you guys are acquaintances.” I sit my ass down quick after that snarky comment. I must be coming down with something, and it’s blocking my filter.

  Claire’s eyes are huge at my little outburst, but instead of anger in her eyes, there’s excitement. Her plan on how to get us together is slowly forming right in this office as this weird exchange is happening.

  “I don’t want to piss you off anymore, I'll drop this for now.” I'm not sure if I believe her or not.

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen you so animated, or,” she taps her pointer finger on her chin, now humming. Her finger never stops. “Maybe even territorial before.”

  I roll my eyes at this and am ready to change the subject. “So, you set this up?” Claire knows I can’t stand blind dates. My anxiety tends to take over and small talk becomes nonexistent. Then I stress for the rest of the evening about how bad my small talk truly is. Shocking, I know, that I don’t handle surprises very well.

  “Funny story…”

  “It better be.” I cross my arms over my chest. She lives for this shit, and I hate it.

  “I was unloading my car from my stop at the store, and out of nowhere a man asks if I needed help.”

  “I’m guessing it was Silver?” The street outside our building is always backed up with traffic, and spotting someone leaning into their car is no easy feat. Or she knew Silver would be across the street; she's crafty like that.

  “Yes, yes it was. It was a shock; he’s never over on this side of town. He did help me and wanted to check the place out.”

  “I assume you want a pat on the back for telling the truth.” She would never not tell the truth, but my snarky is still alive and well.

  “Of course. I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. Silver has known about my store for a long time but never made his way over. Doubt he’s much into books.”

  The boy I knew was definitely into books.

  “You two knowing each other is completely coincidental.” She puts her right hand over her heart. Dramatic? Yes, but she knows her own reputation. “What are you going to do?”

  Probably the million-dollar question right there. The sixteen-year-old girl in me wants to beg her for his info, run to him, and snatch him up. If he had a woman of any kind, Claire would’ve said something, letting me know how amazing he still is and how amazingly taken he is too. That would be my luck. Find him now, like a needle in a haystack, to find out another woman is being pampered with all his love.

  Shrugging is all I can do. Who even knows if or when we’ll see each other again. Claire being our bridge makes our chances of seeing each other again greater. What if he was shocked to
see me, and then seeing me working threw him off? Not long-lost love or lust for me, but shock and pity. How could Ginny come from a very wealthy, affluent family and be working in a used bookstore? I’ve been on the receiving end of those looks for a while now. I’ve been over them since they started too. Why is it anyone’s business what I’m doing?

  For the first time in my life, my inner self is finally coming alive. No more beating the inner Ginny down or trying to hide her away. This is the only life we get, and for far too long I was only living a quarter of mine. I love working around all the used and well-worn books. I feel a little worn and used too, so I understand them. All we want is to be loved and cherished; is that too much to ask for?

  The next hour we do what Claire told the ladies we would be doing and that is a lot of paperwork. This is where I shine, putting numbers together, flow charts, and calendars are my thing. Running a household with two kids of different genders, I became a queen at scheduling. That man I was married to for so long was lucky but took me for granted, never blinking an eye.

  Never did I realize how unappreciated I really was. I told myself over the years keeping the family going was my job. His job was to keep the money coming in. How indulgent was I? The early years are buried away with shame. We can’t help how we are brought up, but man, was I a self-absorbed woman.

  Anne and Claire would’ve hated me. When you are surrounded by fake, outside of your family, the walls build high and quickly. When you live behind your own walls, not much growth can happen, and you have to tell yourself what an amazing person you are. People think you are selfish, but what you really are is lonely and in search of some praise.

  My mom and aunts are lovely women and did the best they could raising us, but they could only teach what they were taught. My mom was the rebel of her sisters. She found true, long-lasting love. She raised me to be a decent well-rounded woman. When the cheating came to light, my parents didn’t bat an eye at my divorce. Didn’t try to use my age and lifestyle as leverage to keep me in an unloving marriage. My aunts, on the other hand, still whisper about me, and a few of my cousins quit all communication. Their loss, not mine.