I always see Marina when I’m there to do tasks for Wade, even though I go at odd hours (the only time I have). I don’t seek her out, but she’s there, working on projects that have become increasingly more ambitious as she’s healed. The last time, I found her on top of a ladder, painting an awkward corner in the store. I spent the rest of the day holding it steady and spotting her, worried she’d fall or need something. Her soft smile assured me she appreciated it.

I don’t ask to help—I know what she’ll say. Instead, I just appear and make myself useful. This works better for us, putting me in her vicinity without much engagement and giving me an excuse to be near her. I want to be near her. I want to talk. But truthfully, I’m scared.

I once told a well-known MMA fighter with his own gyms that he was a lazy fucker and an asshole for not taking better care of his dogs—a confrontation that ended with police involvement and him relinquishing his pets. I almost got my ass kicked, but still, I wasn’t scared.

Marina scares me. I’d give her anything, everything, even the real me—a frightening prospect since history proves I can’t hold a relationship together. Or even deserve to be in one.

Our encounters are always the same.

She smiles widely, and I offer something more muted.

We ask each other if we’re okay, and both say we are (though I’m not).

Then, the hesitation.

Finally, we return to our prospective work zones, usually after she says something like, “Well, those shelves aren’t going to paint themselves,” or “Back to the old coffee grinder.”

I spend the rest of the day ruminating on our hesitation—that moment between us when more begs to be said, but neither of us gives in. I get back to work thinking, what should I’ve said? A million answers flood me at once, dredging up her strange words to me that day. You look like a man with a million thoughts and no one to tell them to. Now, she’s the one I want to tell them to, only I don’t.

She doesn’t need me and deserves better anyway. Something more. Someone her age, for one thing. Someone to match her brightness and charm, who won’t bring her down. I’m not good for her. So, maybe that’s why I keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself.

But I miss her. Even when she’s right in front of me, gleaming with hope and beauty, I miss her.