Nine
Silas
Bending my legs and gripping on to the sides of the tub, I lower myself into the warm water and close my eyes. I hold my breath for only a few seconds before I’m hit with a flashback of swimming in the lake while occasionally smiling and waving back at someone whose face is blurred by the harsh sunlight. My arms and legs move in the same rhythm, the outside heat following closely behind me.
“ You’ll turn into a withered grape if you stay in there any longer ,” a deep voice says and I quickly open my eyes, raising my head while gasping for air. My lungs and nose burn from the small inhalation of water. The bathroom door swings open and Stacey is wearing a worried expression, her brows pulling together tightly. “What happened? Did you have one of your episodes?”
“No.” I breathe in deep, each time painful as the next with my lungs feeling like they’re on fire. How long did I fall asleep for? Is that what happened? Sometimes the random memories hit me out of nowhere, like dreams, when everything is too quiet and I’m alone for too long. They feel so real. Will they ever go away? Will mine ever come back? I guess it’s hard to have many when I haven’t had much of a chance at a full life. My best moments can be easily counted on one hand and they all involve Stacey. There isn’t much outside her. “I think I fell asleep.”
Her expression changes and she rushes my way with a towel. “It’s because you’ve been lying in bed awake all night, haven’t you?”
She knows. I didn’t have to text her last night for her intuition to kick in. She was always good at reading me and others. Can she spot my inner struggles, of sometimes feeling like I’m looking at the wrong person in the mirror or living in the wrong house?
“I’ve felt restless and too wound up this week. The doctor said that can happen with the meds.” He didn’t mention anything about me dreaming and thinking about some man I don’t know, or remembering moments I’ve never experienced before. I loved swimming as a kid, and took lessons with my cousins, but wasn’t able to put them to much use once I was diagnosed with a bad heart.
Resting a hand on my shoulder, she leans down a little, frowning. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time adjusting. I think I might be too. You haven’t been yourself since you got home and I know the doctor said that wasn’t super uncommon either. I only wish I knew how to help you.”
Me too. If only I knew how to help myself. “It’s okay. I’m sure it’ll all pass with time.” How much longer will I have to go on this way, though? Six months? One year? What if this is who I am now? I feel like a little of myself mixed with someone else. My hobbies have slightly shifted but that’s probably because I never really had any to begin with. I wasn’t allowed to play the flute like I wanted and eventually had to quit the swim team in high school. Running and sports were out of the question. Maybe I didn’t know who I was before and this is my way of finding myself. Being unhealthy for so long ruled over my life and I didn’t fully choose how I spent my days. A lot of it was me watching others live through a window or a TV screen.
“You’re probably right,” she finally says, offering me a hand to help me out of the tub. I take it, keeping my fingers wrapped around hers long enough to get my bearings. She wraps the warm, soft towel around me and kisses my shoulder. “If you need me to call into work tonight, I can.”
“You’re working at the restaurant this late?”
She shakes her head. “I already did my shift there. I’m going to the after-hours clinic where I’ve been working part time. Someone hasn’t been checking the calendar that I have up in the kitchen.” She tsks at me. “Not sure why I made it.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t good at calendars before the operation, so I don’t know why you thought I’d be better after.”
She laughs. “If you need me to stay here, I will. We can order dinner and curl up on the couch to watch a movie.” She rests her chin on my shoulder. I feel her eyes reaching out for me and I can’t remember how to reach back.
“No. Go to work. I’ll be fine. You should think about quitting the restaurant soon, though, because working three places is too much.”
“It’s only until you can go back full time. Do you think . . .” She pulls back a little. “You think your recovery is taking longer with my absence?”
“I don’t know.” It’s definitely not making things better.
Letting out a soft sigh, she glances at her phone and back at me. “I have to go. If you need anything—”
“I’ll call or send out an SOS.” I tie my towel around my waist. The worry in her eyes still hasn’t lessened. What have I done to deserve her? She spends her days worrying about me and working to pay off all our bills, while I keep thinking about someone else. It’s fucked up and I can’t turn it off. I wish someone could tell me how to.
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.” She kisses the corner of my lips and it’s more how an acquaintance would, brief and kind of stiff.
“Bye.” She leaves without asking what I’m doing the rest of the day. Working earlier should have worn me out but it hasn’t. On my lunch break I read one of my new books on a park bench at the nearby lake, skipping the sad and going right to the happy. I don’t feel I have to read about misery when I’m already living it.
Not in the mood to eat dinner at home, I dress in a pair of jeans and a plain shirt. As soon as I’m done brushing my hair and slipping on my shoes, I leave the house and eat at a diner down the road. Not many people occupy the tables around me and the food is a little soggy when it finally arrives. I’m here but also somewhere else. My mind keeps drifting to other places.
After I finish my chicken sandwich and fries, I don’t go back home but keep driving instead. I’m not in control of the wheel anymore and go in a direction I haven’t been before. No bookstore or lake this time. A big black, pink, and white sign catches my attention, and as if following some usual routine, I pull into the parking lot of Mabel’s Bakery with a sudden craving for a strawberry cheese danish. As good as they may be, I don’t typically seek them out. I don’t typically do a lot of things I’ve been wanting to do lately.
I park my car and get out, walking toward the entrance of the small brown-brick building that sits alone. I’m hit with a smell of strawberry, vanilla, and coconut when I enter the double doors of the bakery. Being full from dinner doesn’t stop my stomach from grumbling. Yeah, this was a great choice. How did I not know this place existed? Overwhelmed by the large selection of desserts in the glass casings in front of me, I slow my steps, glancing around.
Blue walls. Various art pieces surround me and rows of booths are scattered throughout the bakery. What I don’t expect to see behind the counter is a tall guy covered in tattoos and piercings wearing a too-small apron over a suit. He stands out and looks misplaced in the colorful shop dressed in nothing but black with a beanie on his head in the middle of summer while wearing an “I’d rather be anywhere but here” expression.
“Can I help you?” he asks in a bored tone, looking everywhere but me. Why anyone would think it’s a good idea to put him up at the front to greet customers beats the hell out of me. He taps on the counter. I’m obviously taking too long for him.
“Hi. Yeah, do you have strawberry cheese danishes?”
He shoots me a look, sighing loudly. “I don’t know, do we?” He eyes the pastries on the left of him, pointing to the second row.
“Sorry, I guess I didn’t see them.” Or think to look. Instead I walked in and said what was on my mind.
“Evidently not. How many do you want?”
“One please.” Staring up at the menu behind him written in chalk, I quickly browse the drink list. “Can I have a lemonade too?”
“We’re out of lemonade,” he grumbles.
“Oh. What about sweet tea?”
He tucks a loose strand of red hair into his gray beanie. “We’re out of that too.”
“A Coke?”
“Out. There are water fountains by the restrooms. Do you want your danish bagged to go?” Is this guy serious? What a dick. Does he even work here? Did he come in today randomly deciding he’d sell desserts because he had nothing better going on?
“Oh come on AJ, stop pulling the guy’s chain and give him what he wants. He’s clearly new here,” a deep voice says from behind me. Why is it so familiar? No. It can’t be. Not ready to confirm who the voice belongs to, I continue staring ahead.
Rolling his eyes, AJ grabs a cup from behind him and walks through the back kitchen doors. Not sure if I should thank the man behind me or gripe at him for possibly being the reason I’ll have a loogie in my drink, I turn around to finally face him, my throat going dry the moment our eyes lock.
“Hi,” I say, my heart doing flips in my chest like it has a mind of its own.
“Hey yourself,” Elijah says, giving a crooked smile. “You aren’t following me, are you?”
Blowing out a nervous laugh, I shake my head. “No, I’m not that good at tracking people down. I was eating close by and decided to drive around. I didn’t get out much before recently.”
“Let me guess . . . workaholic?”
“Not exactly.” Someone clears their throat from behind us and AJ is waiting with a cup and bag in his hand. “That’ll be eight seventy-five.”
“I got it,” Elijah says, pulling out his card. “Add my usual to that too, will ya?”
“Sure thing, man.”
“You don’t have to pay for me,” I say, watching the quick exchange between the two men.
“I already am.” Elijah cocks his head, handing me my stuff.
“You know, tables are for chatting and catching up. Lines are for people who don’t have their stuff yet,” AJ blurts out.
We both laugh, and Elijah pockets his card while grabbing his bag from the counter. “Is the booth by the back window okay?”
“I . . . Are you asking me to sit with you?”
“He did say tables were for chatting and catching up, didn’t he? I’m curious to find out if you’ve started your new book or not.”
“I guess staying for a little while won’t hurt, and while I’m at it I’ll have you taste my drink first. Just in case your friend added an extra ingredient to my lemonade,” I say, low enough for only him to hear me. Laughing, he walks a little ahead of me, taking the first seat. “Don’t worry. AJ might not be much of a people person but I can promise you, your drink is just fine.”
As far as he knows. Lowering myself into the chair across from him, I set down my drink and danish. “Exactly how often do you come here?”
Shrugging, he opens his bag and pulls out his lemon bar. “Enough for everyone to know my name and for me to have the menu memorized.”
“How long has this place been around?” I shove a straw in my drink, tempted to take a peek under the lid but not wanting to risk showing Elijah my overparanoid side so soon. Wait . . . Do I think we’re going to be long-lasting friends or something? What do I care what he thinks of me? I barely know the guy. Why doesn’t he feel like a stranger? Too thirsty to care anymore, I take the first sip. Tastes like homemade lemonade. Cold and refreshing.
“A while, but it closed down for a short time when the new owners bought it out. They might be a little odd and not as sweet as the woman who ran the place before, but the desserts are still amazing. Maybe even more so than before.”
As soon as I take a bite of my danish, the strawberry and cheese practically melt in my mouth, the fresh taste exploding on my tongue. This is the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted. Elijah laughs as I go back for more, biting a little too much this time with a little strawberry sauce spilling from my lips.
He hands me a napkin, hiding his smile behind his hand. “I take it you’re in agreement with me?”
Swallowing my last bite, I snatch the napkin from his hand and swipe my tongue over my lips before wiping the remaining food from my face. “I’ll be coming back for sure. I’m stumbling upon a lot of great places lately.” Why does him being here feel like a bonus? It really is weird that I keep ending up in places he’s at. The first time we met, he came to me, and now I can’t stop coming to him.
Continuously questioning everything is getting exhausting, while letting go and enjoying his company has made me more relaxed than I’ve been at home. Talking to him comes easy and for once no one’s asking me if I’m feeling okay. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
“So, why flowers?” he asks, rolling his straw between his fingers.
“Because they’re pretty. Why wine and books?”
“I feel like they go very well together and I love both.”
“Being surrounded by books every day does sound like a dream come true. I’m a little jealous, honestly.” I’m one of those people who dreamed of having a Beauty and the Beast library like Belle . Stacey said we didn’t have the space when I suggested we add more bookshelves in the living room, so I stopped buying physical books and got a Kindle.
“Feel free to come by anytime you feel like being surrounded.” Why don’t I want him to only be talking about books?
“Careful. You might regret saying that so soon.”
He chuckles and takes a bite of his dessert before talking again, a dust of sugar coating his lips. “You going to tell me the real reason you chose to work with flowers?” I watch his tongue a little too closely.
“What makes you think I chose it?”
He scoffs. “I recognized the passion and pride in your eyes when you flipped through those photos of arrangements you put together. My husband used to say I had more love in my eyes for my books than for him.” He chuckles again and his eyes grow a little cloudy. He loves talking about Landon but it also hurts him.
“You’re right. I’ve loved being around flowers since I was a kid. My mom had a rose garden and kept fresh sunflowers in our kitchen. They brighten up the darkest places and can easily cheer someone up by just being there.” They’re a lot like him. He’s hurting but doesn’t want to be known for it. Giving small glimpses of his grief, he also stays cheerful and full of life. His smiles and laughter are contagious and it feels wonderful to be infected by him.
“A lot like books,” he says pointedly. “The right one can turn your whole week around.”
“Yeah, and also make you want to go back to that world.”
“That’s the good thing about reading. You can return anytime you want.” His smile is back and brightens up the whole bakery. I want to keep talking about his favorite things to keep him this way—to keep the lights on inside. They’re a good change from the darkness I’ve been trapped in when I’m at home alone. “Speaking of which, have you had a chance to read your new books yet?”
“I have, and shamefully must admit to skipping to the happy. I was having a rough day and really needed it.”
“I’m glad you had it available to you then. I think I could go without reading a sad book for the rest of the year. Movies too.”
“For me it depends.” Grabbing my used napkin, I fumble with it on the table. “Sometimes I need to see someone else going through the same struggles as me so I can feel seen and valid.”
“Makes sense.” He studies my hands and my fingers get ahead of my brain, forming the napkin into a shape resembling a bird.
His breaths stutter and he scoots back in his chair. Face paling, he looks as if he’s seen a ghost. “You make origami.”
Staring down at my work, I shrug. “I guess so. Must have seen it in a book or on TV.” Not remembering much from the last time I almost died, it could’ve been something I learned from all the do it yourself and craft videos I watched on social media. My boredom had led me toward all kinds of strange new hobbies. Some I won’t miss or care to pick up again. Not when I can go outside for walks, drive to bookstores, and swim in the lake.
A loud buzzing noise has him reaching into his pocket. “Shit. Trouble in paradise.”
“What?” I shift in my seat, reaching for my cup.
“I don’t only run a bookstore. I also own a restaurant. Well, it was my husband’s. There’s actually two and I’ve yet to set foot in either one. Looks like tonight I have no choice.” I don’t miss the dread in his eyes or how it slowly spreads to the rest of his face.
“Which restaurant?”
“Maybe I don’t have to tell you and you’ll show up anyway. Only one way to find out, right?” He raises a brow.
My face heats. Is he flirting? Is my body responding to it? Why would it? Maybe for the same reason it’s been responding to everything else from him. His smiles and jokes touch a part inside me I didn’t think worked anymore. Why can he reach me there easier than my wife can? I love Stacey and haven’t shared more than a few conversations with this man.
I’m not attracted to him or anything. I wouldn’t be, not sexually. Not even if he was a woman. Gender didn’t matter to me. I didn’t experience sexual attraction to anyone unless there was a strong emotional connection between us first. The realization of me being demisexual didn’t come to me until a little over a year ago, over a casual conversation with a friend. Why I’d never had celebrity crushes, didn’t understand one- night stands, and had taken my relationship with Stacey so slowly, made sense to me after that day.
Could I be with a man if the feelings were there? I don’t know. I never had the opportunity to fall for anyone else but Stacey. It doesn’t matter. I’m married to my soulmate. This is nothing but some weird misunderstanding. We must have encountered each other before and we both forgot. I’ve fainted at plenty of restaurants when I was really sick. His husband’s perhaps? I’ve heard about how traumatic events can connect you to people. That has to be it. I’m running out of ideas and explanations.
“Hey, I was kidding.” His words bring me back to where I am—sitting in front of him, choosing the wrong time to get caught in my head. Shit. I didn’t realize how much time had passed.
“Huh? Oh.” I smile. “Yeah, I know. It was funny. Careful, your jokes are starting to sound like mine,” I say lightheartedly.
“I better get going then, before I’m too far gone or one of the cooks sets the kitchen on fire, whichever comes first.” Grinning, he slides his phone back into his pocket and clutches the empty brown paper bag between his fingers.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” I deadpan.
“Me neither. They’re probably on equal levels.” Smiling, he looks down at his feet and then back at me. “It was nice running into you again.” He shoves his chair back and slowly stands up.
“Yeah, you too. I’ll see you at the restaurant,” I joke. “You can even hold onto my paper bird and give it to me the next time we run into each other.” Lifting the napkin from the table, I stick out my hand and he hesitates for a few seconds before wrapping his finger around the bottom, briefly touching my skin. My heart feels like it’s bouncing off the walls of my chest and my head is spinning.
“Enjoy the rest of your night. Don’t get lost exploring too much.”
Haven’t I already? “I’ll try.”
Waving me off, he grabs his cup and tosses his empty bag in the trash before walking out the double doors I never expected him to enter tonight. He leaves and comes into my real life the way he does my subconscious, setting back any progress I think I might have made each time. A strange yearning inside takes over during his absence and I keep giving in to it without meaning to.
Why him? Why me?
Finishing my drink in one long sip, I leave the shop and head back to the place I feel like a stranger the most—home.