Page 48 of Silver Brewer

Friend? I don’t want to be her fucking friend. I don’t know how to define us—her—but friend is not my intention. I want her as my lover, as a partner, as a…I can’t even consider something more. I shouldn’t think it. But my heart jumps around like a monkey trapped in a cage, rattling the iron bars in hopes of release.

It could happen again, Giant, my mother said a few days before I left for Chicago as if her sixth sense, Mom-powers already knew something was out there. Someone.

Friend is not what I want.

We continue down the pier, the wind blasting around us as I prompt her to tell me more despite her initial protests. She explains how adoption works.

“It’s very scary. A biological parent could come back and demand his or her parental rights. I don’t want any issues. I just want a baby outright.”

I hold her tighter to me, but I don’t feel close enough. My gut twists with the reality of her financial situation. She assures me she’s well enough off and dismisses the commission once again, but I want to help. I just don’t know how without offering her thousands of dollars, which I know she won’t take from me.

We leave Navy Pier and travel to see The Bean where we take tons of selfies. I don’t typically take a lot of pictures on my phone, but we smile and kiss and act silly. Finally, I have her phone number, and I save an image of just her to the contact. A photo of us becomes my new background.

From Millennium Park, we travel to Willis Tower, formerly Sears Tower, and wait in a long line to go to the observation floor with the Sky Deck, a room hanging off the tower with a see-through floor. Letty goes inside the three-sided glass box, trembling from the height, and peers out at the steel jungle of buildings. It’s nothing compared to being on a mountain ridge overlooking a natural landscape.

“I could never live here,” I blurt, realizing too late it’s a bit insensitive.

“Why not?” she asks, her voice small as her eyes remain on the skyscrapers and rows of houses below. Chicago is very grid like.

“Too many buildings, too close together. I need space.”

Letty stands before me, my arms around her, trapping her against the glass with her back to my front. She nods as though she agrees with me, but she doesn’t say a word. Does she like living here? Would she like us to be closer? Would she continue to see me? Would she consider moving?

The last question surprises me, but I instantly realize I’d love to have her in the mountains with me.

“The mountain,” she whispers.

“It’s also the brewery. I’m in charge.” I don’t work for my dad. I’m the boss. I’m a forty-nine percent owner doing one hundred percent of the work.

Letty’s head softly rests on the glass, and she rolls it back and forth. “I know that.” Her voice is too quiet for someone who has talked almost the entire day.

My stomach grumbles, and Letty shifts to glance at me over her shoulder. A soft chuckle slowly restores her disposition. “What was that?”

“I’m hungry.” It’s true. We grabbed a Chicago-style hot dog, one steamed by a street vendor with no ketchup allowed, and ate as we walked to the Tower, but I need something more substantial. “Would you be upset if I wanted a couch and a television set?”

“I think I can provide that,” she teases. “Ready to head home?” A smile forms on her seductive lips, and I give her a too-short kiss. A moment later, I register what she said.

Her home. Here. A long way from mine.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I assure her.

+ + +

I shouldn’t be surprised, but her place is another closed-in space. A condo on the fifth floor in a building surrounded by concrete. It’s funny how I can sleep in a tent, but this wouldn’t work for me. It’s cozy, but I’d be claustrophobic here.

We stopped back at the hotel to retrieve our bags and then took another Uber to her place. She hasn’t driven me anywhere, and it’s a foreign concept. I love to drive my truck.

“So food?” she says, clapping her hands. “I don’t have a campfire handy, but I’m wicked good at using this.” She holds up her phone and jiggles it. “Delivery?”

I stare at her.

“What are you hungry for? We can order in anything you’d like.”

We decide on something we don’t readily have in Blue Ridge—Chinese food. When she starts reading off the names with moos and choos and I don’t even know what, I just tell her lots of meat and vegetables are good enough for me.

“How do you feel about football?”

I chuckle. Is this a woman after my heart? “College or pro?”