17. Silas
Chapter seventeen
Silas
T he morning forecast had been harmless—just an inch or two of snow expected. The weather report predicted the kind of gentle dusting that would transform Whistleport into a picture-perfect coastal postcard before melting away by midday—nothing to worry about. Nothing unusual for Maine as February turned into early March.
By noon, the scattered flakes had thickened, and the prediction shifted. The storm had veered inland instead of spinning harmlessly out to sea, gathering strength over the warmer waters. My phone buzzed with increasingly urgent weather alerts. A low-pressure system. A coastal front. It was the more scientific vocabulary that meteorologists used when they didn't want to admit they'd miscalculated.
The plate glass windows of Tidal Grounds offered a stark view of Main Street as it disappeared beneath accumulating inches of white. The once-lazy snowfall had transformed into a proper Nor'easter, with flakes that didn't so much fall as launch themselves sideways in the strengthening wind.
I refilled Vi's tea for the third time that hour, noticing how her gaze kept drifting toward the windows.
"Starting to look serious out there," I said, setting the teapot down.
Vi nodded, her fingers tapping nervously against her mug. "Reminds me of the Blizzard of '98. Roads were impassable for days."
From the corner table, Ruthie folded her newspaper with decisive movements. "We should head home before it gets any worse."
The bell above the door jingled, a momentary blast of frigid air sweeping through the café as Jack and Cody burst in, their shoulders dusted with snow.
"You two look like walking snowmen," I said, reaching for mugs. "I thought you would be home and staying there."
Jack shook snowflakes from his hair. "It's getting nasty out. The plows can't keep up." He helped Cody out of his coat, hanging it on the rack near the door. "School sent everyone home. Roads are starting to ice over. I thought we'd check to make sure all was well here."
Mr. Peterson stood from his usual spot by the window, knees cracking as he reached for his cane. "Best be getting on, then. Martha will worry."
I watched as my remaining customers gathered their belongings, expressions pinched with concern as they eyed the thickening snow outside. Most of them had 4-weel-drive vehicles that could handle storms. Jack moved to help Mr. Peterson with his coat, murmuring something about careful steps on the sidewalk.
"You should close up, Silas," Ruthie advised, buttoning her heavy wool coat. "Weather service is saying it'll only get worse."
Vi nodded in agreement. "No sense staying open in this—or encouraging somebody to be out in these conditions."
"I'm shutting down now," I assured them, though the thought of closing early didn't sit quite right—I'd stayed open through countless winter storms before.
Jack returned from seeing Mr. Peterson safely to his truck. "Roads are getting worse. Police scanner's reporting accidents on Route 1 already." He brushed more snow from his shoulders. "Sorry to say it, but I don't think we should chance it to drive to our place."
"You're welcome to wait it out here."
Cody's face brightened immediately. "We're stuck in a coffee shop? Best snow day ever!" He bounced on his toes, already scanning the space while generating ideas. "This place would make an awesome storm headquarters!"
Jack raised an eyebrow at his son's enthusiasm before turning back to Vi and Ruthie. "You two need a ride home? My SUV handles snow better than most."
Vi waved him off. "We're right around the corner, dear. Been walking these streets for sixty years—a bit of snow won't stop us now."
After a few more reassurances and promises to call when they arrived safely home, Vi and Ruthie departed, leaving the three of us alone in a suddenly quiet Tidal Grounds.
I moved to the door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and turned the deadbolt with a decisive click. The wind howled against the glass, making the old building creak and shift.
"Guess we're having a snow day sleepover!" Cody announced, dropping his backpack onto a chair.
Jack pulled out his phone, frowning at the screen. "Signal's getting spotty. Three accidents reported on Main Street alone." He looked up at me. "You sure it's okay if we camp out here? I don't want to impose."
"Of course," I said, though a flicker of nervousness stirred in my stomach. It wasn't the storm that concerned me—the building was solid, and I had a generator if needed. It was the prospect of hours trapped in close quarters with Jack, with nowhere to retreat if my emotions overwhelmed me.
The lights flickered once before stabilizing. Cody gasped and then giggled with excitement.
"If the power goes out, can we use candles?" he asked, eyes wide with delight at the adventure of it all.
"I've got plenty of those," I assured him. "And a generator for the essentials."
Jack tucked his phone away. "Looks like we're officially your guests, then." His eyes met mine, something warm and steady in his gaze. "Thanks, Silas."
My name sounded right on his lips. I turned away, focusing on practicalities to keep my composure. "Let me check the important supplies. If we're stuck here, we might as well be comfortable."
Jack watched me as I moved behind the counter, and I wondered whether he could sense my unease.
I emerged from the storage room with an armful of blankets—thick flannel ones we normally kept for the outdoor seating on the back deck during crisp fall evenings. They smelled faintly of cedar from months in storage but were clean and would keep us warm if the power decided to give out.
"Whoa, awesome!" Cody bounded over, relieving me of half the stack. "These are perfect for a fort!"
"A fort?"
"Yeah! Every proper snow day needs a blanket fort. It's like, the rules." He surveyed the café critically, already plotting. "Those chairs would work for support, and we could use the tables to build a roof structure."
Jack appeared from behind the pastry case where he'd been assessing our food situation. "Should I be concerned that you've thought so much about optimal fort-building strategies before?"
Cody rolled his eyes. "Dad, I'm ten. Fort architecture is basically one of my jobs."
I laughed. "Well, architect away. Just don't dismantle anything we can't put back together."
Without another word, Cody flung himself into fort construction, dragging chairs into position with surprising precision. Jack watched him for a moment before turning to me.
"Sorry about the impromptu redecorating."
"Don't be. It's nice seeing the place used for something other than people hunched over laptops or gossiping about their neighbors."
Outside, snow continued to fall in thick curtains, but the atmosphere was warm and cozy inside Tidal Grounds. The scents of the day's baking—cardamom and cinnamon—lingered in the air.
Jack rolled up his sleeves and moved to help Cody, who was struggling to drape a blanket across two chairs. "Here, bud. Let me help with that."
I watched them work together; Jack's hands were steady and sure as he adjusted blanket corners and secured them with binder clips I'd found in a drawer. The natural ease between them—how they moved around each other with practiced familiarity, anticipating movements and needs—made me yearn to see more.
"Dad! We need more weight on this corner. It keeps slipping," Cody called.
Jack looked around, then grabbed a couple of mugs from the counter. "These work?"
"Perfect!"
While they continued refining their architectural masterpiece, I moved behind the counter, gathering ingredients for hot chocolate. It was the real thing—cocoa powder, heavy cream, a splash of vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt to heighten the flavor. I worked methodically, finding comfort in the familiar motions of measuring and whisking.
"Can I add marshmallows?" Cody appeared at the counter, his face flushed with excitement.
"What kind of hot chocolate doesn't have marshmallows?" I reached beneath the counter for the jar of homemade hockey stick-shaped marshmallows.
The fort now dominated the center of the café—a surprisingly elaborate structure constructed from blankets, chairs, and string lights that Cody had discovered in the storage closet. The lights cast a gentle golden glow through the fabric, creating a warm bubble in the middle of the storm.
I prepared a second mug of hot chocolate and offered it to Jack. He hadn't asked for one, but something told me he wouldn't refuse. I added a single hockey stick marshmallow—partly whimsy, partly because I knew it would make him smile.
He accepted the mug, his fingers brushing mine in the transfer. "You added a marshmallow."
"Thought you might want one."
"How'd you know?"
"A hunch."
Jack sipped, closing his eyes briefly as he savored the rich chocolate. When he opened them again, his gaze held mine. "This is incredible. Makes me question every cup of cocoa I've ever made for Cody."
"I have an advantage. Years of professional practice."
"And attention to detail. You notice things, and you anticipate. You know what people might want before they ask for it."
I turned away while my cheeks started to flush. "It's an occupational hazard. When you serve people coffee daily, you learn their patterns."
Jack watched me move, his eyes tracking my hands as they folded and refolded a dishcloth. "Is that all it is? Patterns?"
Before I could answer, a powerful gust of wind rattled the windows. We both turned toward the sound, momentarily startled by the reminder of the storm raging outside.
I was grateful for the interruption. "Sounds like it's picking up out there."
Jack nodded, moving toward the window. Beyond the glass, Whistleport had disappeared beneath snow drifts, and the street lights were only hazy glowing orbs in the whiteness.
"Dad! Silas!" Cody's voice called from inside the fort. "Come check this out! I found the perfect spot for everyone to sit!"
Jack turned to me. "Shall we?"
I hesitated, feeling strangely vulnerable at the prospect of entering the small, intimate space Cody created. Jack waited, patient and steady, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Lead the way," I gathered my mug and followed him toward the fort.
The blanket fort was surprisingly spacious inside—a testament to Cody's architectural vision. The string lights wove through the blanket ceiling, casting a constellation of soft golden points against the fabric. Cody had arranged the beanbag chairs I kept for the reading nook into a comfortable semicircle, creating a cozy den that was worlds away from the storm outside.
"Welcome to Fort Blizzard!" Cody announced proudly, gesturing around the space. "Best storm shelter in Whistleport."
"Very impressive." I was genuinely impressed by what they'd managed to create in such a short time.
Cody patted the beanbag next to him. "You have to sit inside. That's the rule."
I hesitated, standing awkwardly at the entrance. Stepping inside meant entering their world rather than simply hosting them in mine. Jack stood behind me, close enough to sense the heat radiating from his body.
"Go on." He gently nudged me forward.
I lowered myself onto the beanbag, which exhaled beneath me with a soft whoosh. Cody immediately reached into his backpack and pulled out a well-worn paperback.
"I brought this for homework, but now it's perfect for a snow day." He handed me the book—a copy of The Hobbit with a cracked spine and dog-eared pages. "Will you read it? Dad talks about how great you were at the poetry night, so you must be good at reading stories, too."
Jack settled onto another beanbag across from us, arranging his long legs in the confined space. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Si."
"I don't mind," I said, taking the book from Cody. "Where should I start?"
"From the beginning!" Cody declared, pulling his blanket higher around his shoulders and settling in expectantly. "We might be here for a week!"
I opened to the first page, the paper soft and familiar beneath my fingers. "'In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit,'" I began, my voice finding its rhythm more quickly than I'd expected.
The words were familiar, too familiar. I'd read them before—years ago, curled up on the couch with Nico, a snowstorm much like this one rattling the windows of our culinary school apartment. He'd insisted I read out loud, even though he could have just as easily done it himself.
"Your voice is better,"he'd said, tucking his feet under my thigh, grinning up at me as I rolled my eyes but kept going."It makes the words feel like they belong to us."
I never finished the book.
It sat, half-read, on our coffee table until the night Nico packed his things and walked out the door. I remember staring at it, fingers tracing the dog-eared page where we'd stopped. Chapter Six. Riddles in the Dark. A fitting place to leave something unfinished.
Now, years later, I was reading the same words in a different storm to a different person. No—to two different people. And unlike before, I wasn't waiting for someone to leave. I wasn't bracing for the moment when warmth turned cold.
The words flowed naturally as if they'd been waiting for me—for this storm, this fort, and these listeners. Cody watched with rapt attention, occasionally interrupting with questions about hobbits and dragons. Jack remained quieter, but I sensed his gaze on me, steady and warm.
As I read about Bilbo Baggins and his unexpected adventure, something shifted in the atmosphere around us. The howling wind outside faded to background noise, and the blanket fort became our entire world—intimate and separate from everything beyond the fabric walls.
I paused after finishing a chapter, reaching for my now-lukewarm hot chocolate. "Should I continue?"
"Yes, please," Cody said, his voice softer than before, drowsiness beginning to tug at his words. "I want to hear about the trolls."
I glanced at Jack, who had shifted position, now leaning against one of the chair legs supporting our structure. His expression was open and unguarded.
It struck me then with a sudden clarity that nearly knocked the air out of my lungs. The way Jack looked at me wasn't only physical attraction. It was the longing in his eyes—for connection. He wanted this. Us. The three of us, together in this small, warm space we'd created as a fortress against the storm.
I stumbled over the next word, my voice faltering as the realization washed over me.
"You okay?" Jack asked, concern furrowing his brow.
"Fine," I managed, finding my place again on the page and pointing at words with a fingertip. "Lost my spot for a second."
I continued reading, but part of my mind remained fixed on that look in Jack's eyes—the unguarded hope I'd seen there.
Gradually, Cody's eyelids grew heavier. He slumped lower in his beanbag, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Dad," he mumbled, half-asleep, "I like it when Silas reads."
Jack moved closer, kneeling beside his son. With infinite tenderness, he brushed Cody's hair back from his forehead. "I do, too, bud."
The simple honesty in those words made something inside me unfurl—some tightly wound knot of resistance loosened its grip.
As Cody's breathing deepened toward sleep, Jack remained beside him, his fingers continuing their gentle movement through his son's hair. When he looked up at me, the space between us shrank.
"Keep reading?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, turning the page. But the words blurred before my eyes as Jack shifted, moving with deliberate slowness until he was seated beside me on the floor, our shoulders touching.
I read on, my voice dropping to match the hushed atmosphere. Jack leaned closer, ostensibly to see the illustrations on the page, but the movement also brought his face to a spot only a few inches from mine.
His breath was warm and steady against my cheek. My words slowed, then stopped entirely as I turned to face him.
Jack's eyes asked a question his lips didn't form. Time froze between us.
Neither of us pulled back.
With exquisite slowness, Jack leaned forward. I met him halfway, drawn by a force I'd resisted too long.
His lips touched mine—a gentle contact, questioning and tentative. The kiss deepened, and Jack's fingers raked up into my hair. I leaned into him, my fingers grazing the soft fabric of his sweater.
Jack exhaled against my mouth. His fingers curled slightly into the blanket on our laps, anchoring him as we explored.
I didn't pull away. For once, I had no desire to run. I was ready to allow myself to want and be wanted in return.
When we finally separated, it was only by inches. Jack's eyes searched mine, looking for regret or panic.
He found neither.
What he couldn't see—what neither of us noticed—was Cody. One eye had opened for a moment, catching us when our lips touched.
If it surprised him, he gave no sign. His eye drifted closed again, and he nestled deeper into his blanket, his breathing even and deep.
Some secrets reveal themselves in their own time. This one would wait, held safely in the heart of a boy who understood more than we realized.
"You okay?" Jack asked
I nodded, not entirely sure I could find any words that matched what was happening inside. A kaleidoscope of emotions tumbled through me—wonder, fear, desire, and a strange, unfamiliar peace.
Jack didn't press for more. He watched me with a steady gaze and saw past the last of my carefully constructed defenses.
A noise interrupted the moment—Cody shifting in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible as he turned over in his beanbag nest. Jack and I pulled apart instantly, guilty as teenagers caught by a parent, though Cody's eyes remained closed.
The book had slipped from my lap during our kiss. Jack retrieved it, fingers brushing mine as he handed it back. "Maybe we should pause the adventure for now."
I accepted the book, tucking it safely beside the beanbag. "Probably wise."
The fort felt too confining. I ducked through the blanket entrance, emerging into the relative openness of the café proper. Jack followed, pausing to tuck the blanket more securely around Cody before joining me.
Outside, the storm had intensified, snow pelting the windows with increasing force. The wind moaned around the corner of the building—a hollow, lonely sound.
I busied myself behind the counter, gathering mugs and the now-cold pot of hot chocolate. They were mundane tasks that could occupy me while my mind tangled with the implications of what had just happened.
"I should freshen this," I said, gesturing to the pot.
Jack leaned against the counter, watching me. "Silas. I don't want to pretend that didn't happen."
"I don't either." My words, direct and honest, surprised me.
"The question is, where do we go from here?"
Where should we go? Forward into uncertainty? Backward into safety? The doors of possibility were opening before me, and for once, I wasn't immediately looking for the exit.
"I don't know," I admitted. "This is... new territory for me. Nico and I never got as far as seriously talking about our relationship."
"It's different for me, too. Every discussion was always removed from emotion with Edward. He planned our relationship like he was using a project management chart." Jack looked at the fort where Cody slept. "And there's more than just us to consider."
I nodded. "Yes, of course."
"He likes you," Jack continued softly. "More than that—he trusts you. That's not something he gives easily, especially after the divorce."
"I don't want to complicate things for him."
"Is that what you're worried about? That you and me together would hurt Cody?"
I considered the question, searching for honesty. "Partly. And partly... I'm worried about myself. What happens if I let myself want this, and then it falls apart."
Jack was quiet for a moment, weighing my words. "I can't promise it won't. Nobody can. But I can promise I won't walk away easily." He paused, his eyes holding mine. "I've spent too long circling what matters, Si. I don't want to do that anymore."
The nickname again—so natural on his lips, as if he'd been saying it for years. I found myself reaching across the counter, bridging the gap between us. Jack's fingers met mine, warm and solid.
"I'm not good at this," I confessed. "Letting people in. Believing they'll stay."
"I know." His thumb traced a gentle pattern across my knuckles. "But maybe it's time to try something new."
Before I could respond, a soft voice interrupted from behind us.
"Dad? Silas?" Cody stood at the entrance to the fort, blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape, hair mussed from sleep. "Is it still snowing?"
Jack pulled his hand back casually, turning to his son. "Sure is, bud. How was your nap?"
Cody rubbed his eyes, shuffling toward us. "Good. I had this weird dream about dragons." He climbed onto a stool at the counter, blanket still clutched around him. "Can I have more hot chocolate?"
"Coming right up," I said, grateful for the distraction. I moved to reheat the pot, aware of Jack's eyes following me.
"Did you guys finish the chapter?" Cody asked, glancing between us.
Jack and I exchanged a look, a current of understanding passing between us.
"Not quite. We thought we'd let you rest."
Cody nodded sagely. "That's okay. We have plenty of time." He gestured toward the windows, where snow continued to fall in thick curtains. "We're not going anywhere."
I returned with fresh hot chocolate. Jack stood nearby, his presence solid and reassuring.
Outside, the storm raged on, but inside Tidal Grounds, we'd found an unexpected shelter—not only from the weather but also from the isolation I'd convinced myself was safer than connection.
The path ahead remained uncertain, but we had our moment for now—a strange, beautiful pause created by the blizzard. I was in no hurry for it to end.