I nod.
He sighs, closing his laptop and setting it aside. “It was a shit show.”
My eyes snap open wide.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine; it just took me by surprise.” I clear my throat, turning to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Are you offering to listen?”
I nod. “Here, let’s go to the couch.”
This sage green, worn with rips and tears, carefully sewn back together to keep it from falling apart, couch was the first thing that sparked the idea of The Blooming Wine for me. I saw the couch, and the what-ifs inundated me almost immediately.
What if I host a book club, and we all sit around this couch and talk?
What if I have a bookstore where you can stay and hang?
Sad? How about coffee and the couch?
Oh, a flower arrangement next to the couch.
So many ideas, all which ended in what this space is today.
I can’t get rid of it. At this point, this couch is part of me, and it makes me feel a certain way that people dispose of precious things when they’re not in perfect condition.
Am I disposable because I’m not whole anymore?
I sure hope not.
"When are you sharing whatever secret it is that makes all your coffees this good?” Holden asks, settling into the couch, his body relaxing into the corner.
“You’d have to earn it before I can tell you.”
“Mm, and what would make me earn it?” There’s teasing and amusement in his tone, such a contrast from the sad man I met not too long ago.
“I need to know I can trust you first.”
“And what does one have to do to earn your trust?”
“Well, for starters…” I pause for good measure. “Never, and I mean never, tell anyone about my little dance sesh.”
He mimics zipping his lips.
“And maybe share something embarrassing about yourself.”
“Well…I did dance for you, and that was embarrassing."
I giggle like a schoolgirl, and it’s been so damn long since anything made me giggle like this that it catches me by surprise.
“I guess only time will tell, huh?”
“What?” I ask.
“When I gain your trust.”
“Sure, sure. Now, give me the tea.”
