1 – The Town’s Man Candy

Bailey

Asking your brother’s best friend for a professional favor should be simple. Unless the favor is something you can never, ever tell your brother about.

It’s that awkward time of year in the Catskills between the fall foliage and the winter snow, where the trees are bare and it’s cold and gray and days like today when it’s raining are even worse. I scrape my boots against the welcome mat before staring at the plaque listing businesses in the old Victorian building that’s been turned into office spaces. Silas Montgomery’s name is second from the top. Real estate agent and photographer. It leaves off his third job: a risque cleaning service that I’m certain raised some eyebrows in this little town.

What it also doesn’t say is everything else: that his smile makes me forget I live hours away in New York City, that his flannel shirts are somehow both practical and unfairly attractive, that he’s been my brother’s best friend since forever—and my secret crush for almost as long.

And I’m about to ask him to do something ridiculous for me. His response could be anywhere from speed-dialling my brother to letting me down gently and never being able to look me in the eye again.

Hunter can never know about this. Ever.

There’s a laminated sign by the door handle that says “if it’s unlocked, come on in!” I turn the antique knob and the door gives a bit. I have to put my shoulder into it to get it all the way open.

“Hello?” I call, closing the door behind me. I’ve never been here before, and I’m not sure where Silas’s office is. “Hello?” I call again.

“Coming!” comes a voice from upstairs. The stairway in front of me turns twice before the second floor, so I can’t see whoever is approaching, but my heart races because I recognized the speaker.

It’s him.

There’s a stained glass window on the left that casts red light on Silas as he turns the first corner and leans over to catch sight of me. I get to watch his handsome face contort from curiosity to surprise to delight.

“Bailey!” He gallops the rest of the way down the stairs and throws his arms around me.

I go stiff for half a second before reluctantly hugging him back. “Okay, okay, enough,” I mutter, but he just squeezes tighter, because he knows I don’t actually mean it.

In New York, people have the decency to keep their hands to themselves. Here? Everyone acts like a golden retriever who hasn’t seen their owner in years.

“Hunter didn’t tell me you were coming,” Silas says, still holding on.

“Yeah, well, I’m here now.” I let myself have one more second, knowing this might be the last normal hug we ever have. Then I pull back.

He pushes his glasses up his nose. It’s adorable.

Before I can answer, a door slams shut down the hall. Another tenant, probably disturbed by our conversation. Silas’s smile only widens. “Wait, wait. Let’s go up to my office.” He takes the first two stairs in one leap and then jerks himself back, almost bumping into me. “Oh, you want a coffee? I’ve got hazelnut. We’ve got a fancy machine in the old kitchen, and I can have it ready in two minutes.””

He remembers my favorite coffee? I accept, grateful for anything that delays what I’m about to ask him.

“Sweet, okay. You can head on up. Do you know which office is mine?”

I shake my head.

Silas gives me directions and trots off to get coffee. I continue up the stairs, the old treads creaking under my feet.

The first door on the left is Silas’s. There’s a big desk in the center, some Ikea-ish thing, with a nice office chair behind it. One wall has three large photos—landscapes that Silas must have taken based on what he posts on Instagram. They’re moody, artistic shots that prove he sees beauty in unexpected places. That’s what I’m counting on—not the engagement photos and headshots that pay his bills, but this. I want to see myself that way too.

I ignore the two upholstered chairs in front of the desk, clearly for his real estate clients, and approach the shelves in the back.

There are binders and notebooks and other business accouterments, but what I’m drawn toward is the pictures. Photos of Silas with Hunter and two other friends, Morgan and Kit, after they rescued a skier on the local mountain—my brother has a copy of the newspaper article in his living room. A bigger group at the summit during peak fall that includes several other people I recognize. Pictures of Silas’s cat, Echo. His parents.

I lean in to look closer at a picture of Silas and my brother at the summit of the mountain. My brother’s now the General Manager, so while the mountain is closed outside of ski season, this photo was taken in the summer, the green valley stretched out behind the two men. There’s a lot I hate about this place, but it sure is beautiful.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out—a text from my assistant. We’re hiring a new manager to handle a big new contract we got in Western Massachusetts, and she’s sent me three potential times to interview. I scan the messages, check my calendar, and fire off a response. Ninety seconds, done.

I pocket my phone as footsteps sound on the stairs. Back to the negotiation that actually terrifies me. I’ve got to spit this out, because I’ve already rented the venue for a weekend in February. Which means I need Silas to say yes. Today.

I turn as Silas walks into the room. He’s carrying two steaming cups of coffee and closes the door with his foot.

“I was just admiring this picture of you guys.” I look back at the photo. If I had to guess, the picture was taken about four or five years ago.

“Those hooligans? I don’t know if admire is the right word.”

I scoff. “Sure, sure. Play down the town’s man candy role.”

“You including your brother as man candy?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. Hard pass on that mental image.” Though if I’m being honest, Hunter’s friends are unfairly attractive. Especially the one sitting across from me.

Not helpful, Bailey.

I take the cup Silas offers me and clasp my hands around its warmth.

“So,” Silas begins as I take a seat. He sits in the chair next to me instead of the desk chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “What brings you to my office? Are you looking at buying a house? Oh my god, you’re buying a house, aren’t you? Hunter’s going to flip his shit.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not buying a house.”

“So, not moving back home. Bummer.” He does look genuinely disappointed, which makes my chest feel warm and gooey.

Ugh. Stop it. This is not why you’re here.

I just need to ask him. Get it over with before I lose my nerve. “I need a favor. I’ve been working toward this for a year, and I’m finally ready, but I need someone I can trust, and that’s you.”

He looks at me with confusion. “Okay . . .” he draws out.

I fiddle with the zipper of my fleece. Rip the band-aid off, Bailey.

“I want to do a photo shoot with you.” That’s the easy part. I keep my voice flat, businesslike. “Before you ask, yes, I’m serious. And yes, I’ll pay you professional rates, plus more if you have to reschedule anything. Because I’ve already reserved the venue.”

He tilts his head. “Like, headshots?”

“No,” I say. “Like a boudoir session.”