Page 28 of Show Me How to Heal
So I thoroughly enjoyed meeting up with people for lunch and helping Corbyn pick out colors for some of the furniture he was flipping. I’d spent an afternoon in Raphael’s flower shop. Hell, I’d met his daughter.
Yet there was this part of me that just wanted to see Zayne. A little nagging voice in my head, urging me to text him, to call him, to walk by his shop on the odd chance I could run into him. He hadn’t, but I’d gotten a good look at the store through the display windows. It had still been under construction, but already I’d seen Zayne’s influences.
Today was finally the day I was going to meet him again. Face to face. In his shop. Because the construction workers were done, and Zayne wanted my help to get the shop ready for opening.
I really didn’t know if I’d be any help, but since I desperately wanted to see him again, I hadn’t complained. The only thing I’d done was insisting this was not my first day as his employee yet because I didn’t want him to pay me for standing in the way. Or sitting in the way — if there was a chair available.
I looked in the mirror one last time, checking my hair — tousled, but artfully so — my clothes — jeans and a shirt, nothing special about it — before nodding, grabbing my crutches, and heading towards the front door, grabbing the keys on the way.
Not the keys for my BMW. Nope. I grabbed the keys for my beat-up red pickup truck. A huge monstrosity that’d definitely seen better days and that wasn’t a permanent solution because I’d wept when I’d realized just how much fuel that beast needed. Not that I couldn’t afford it, but hello? Climate change? However, it was the best solution for now. Because I’d gotten it dirt cheap, which meant Zayne wouldn’t realize I wasn’t poor and, in fact, didn’t need the job he’d given me at all.
Yeah, I was not taking Moritz’s advice.
I couldn’t.
Every time I even thought about talking to Zayne, my throat closed up, my palms got all sweaty, and my heart started pounding as if I’d just played ninety minutes on the football field after taking a year off.
By now I’d gotten used to driving the red monstrosity, and I had to admit that the engine still purred, a low, deep rumbling I found weirdly comforting. My private road consisting of one pothole after the other didn’t seem so bad now, either.
Over the last weeks, I’d gotten comfortable driving here in the US. I’d started watching a couple of YouTube videos on traffic laws and stuff, and it’d done wonders to lessen my anxiety.
Today, however, I was more nervous than I’d been on my first day in the US navigating my brand-new BMW through Denver. Because I’d be seeing Zayne again. The man that’d managed to turn my world upside down in a heartbeat. Whose smile managed to light up my world. Who’d given me a job out of the goodness of his heart.
I didn’t know how I’d manage to actually do the job, but I already knew I wouldn’t let him down. I couldn’t.
He’d seen something in me besides a hook-up or friend or… whatever might be one day. He’d sensed me needing help, needing a purpose. Sure, he’d probably thought I needed financial help, which I didn’t, but he’d given me something incredibly important, nonetheless. A purpose. Responsibility. Trust.
I couldn’t let him down.
And I didn’t want to. I wanted to make him happy. To see more of his beautiful smiles… like the one that was lighting up his face as I parked my red monstrosity right in front of his shop.
“Hi!” he called excitedly upon me opening my driver’s door and getting out of the truck.
“Hey!” I said, sounding way too soft and gentle. Like this was a date, not some kind of unofficial work meeting. I took my crutches from the passenger seat and got out of the car, rolling my shoulders to get the stiffness out of them.
“Soo… this is it… my shop.” Zayne gestured towards the big display windows that were currently completely taped with newspaper so people couldn’t peek inside.
“Congratulations, again,” I said, stepping towards his store. “I wanted to bring coffee and cupcakes from Kickstart, but I was a little late. Maybe we can grab something later.” Yeah, I was killing the nonchalance-thing. That didn’t sound like I was desperately trying to trick him into a date with me.
“I’d like that.”
Okay, I’d tried — and it had worked!
“Great.”
Zayne pushed in front of me, quickly walking towards the door of the shop, holding it open for me. His smile made me swallow my “I don’t need help” right back down. He just looked so happy. Ecstatic. I didn’t want to rain on his parade.
“Okay,” he said after we were both inside. The interior looked amazing. Like Zayne.
Everything was a little… soft. And nature-y.
Those knotted rugs made out of beige ropes hung on the walls. There were tall vases with dried grasses and flowers inside, along with a couple of big photographs of flowers in pastel-tones. Lavender, and…Kornblumen, and sunflowers.
The shelves were white, but in a distressed style, which — as Corbyn had taught me recently — meant that the white color was partially sanded off or had chemicals or tools used in order to let the wood peek through. It was supposed to give the furniture a weathered and old look. I hadn’t really liked the concept when he’d told me about it, but I had to admit it worked, especially since the part of the shelves you actually put the goods on were raw wood.
It looked cohesive. Everything belonged together.
And Zayne belonged in this store, that much was obvious.
