Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Ilet out a dramatic sigh as I drop into a chair beside the table littered with my mother’s journals.
I have been pacing around the house all morning, my eyes never straying from the books for too long. But I’ve not flipped any open, not even touched them. I’ve been too stuck in my own head.
I’m not sure if I’m distracting myself from thinking about the journals by thinking about Silas and our kiss last night or distracting myself from Silas and our kiss last night by thinking about the journals.
Nonetheless, those two things are all I’ve been able to focus on.
Sleep eluded me last night. I tossed myself around my bed, tangling my legs in the linens as I did. The taste of ale on Silas’s lips was the only thing I could think of in the quiet, dark night.
It didn’t feel like I thought it would.
I have imagined that moment with Silas an absurd number of times in recent years. Imagining the feelings that I thought would burst when his lips touched mine. Imagining desperate hands, open mouths, and a need unlike any other.
But the kiss with Silas wasn’t any of those things.
It was almost quiet in a way, tentative, like a moment that should’ve been hidden.
It was like he was nervous to cross that line with me, the line of kids who grew up together.
I thought it would be exhilarating to break that boundary, but it felt… wary.
I inhale deeply as I unwrap the leather straps holding the journal closest to me closed, breathing in dust as I flick the pages open. It seems time for a change of subject.
Grief shoots through me like an arrow as I stare at my mother’s handwriting scrawled across the pages. It’s as if I can see her, slightly hunched, as she sits in front of me, holding her quill the proper way as she documents her life.
I flick through the pages until I reach one with a rough sketch of our old house covering half of the page.
This place is perfect for me. He is perfect for me. This town is quiet enough, far quieter than Arizaya, but that is what I need. A safe space to live a peaceful life.
I try not to wonder where the others went, where they landed.
It was best for us to split up, even if it feels lonely this way.
I cannot look back, for it is futile. Everything that I knew is gone.
I must start again here, with a wonderful man in a town enveloped by nature.
At least I have that. That small connection to what once was, to that part of me now hidden—
My head snaps up at the sound of footsteps on my porch. My heart kicks in my chest as I take in the journals splashed across the table. I can’t hide them all.
The sound of my chair scraping along the wooden floorboards echoes as I stand and rush to hide the journal I was reading in a drawer in the kitchen. I slam it shut and turn around, my breathing frantic as Silas walks through the door.
Relief floods me, but only momentarily.
I still haven’t told him about my mother’s study, about what I found. I find myself chained to that one little lie, unable to admit that I deceived him, and what I found when I did. Including the book I just shoved into the drawer behind me.
“Uh, good morning,” he says, his demeanour wary as he takes me in, my panting breath and my dishevelled hair I’m certain is far more unruly than it was earlier.
“Hi,” I breathe, pushing my hair behind my ears, trying to tame it.
He takes another step into the room, the small dimple in his cheek deepening as his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Are you all right?”
“Yes!” I say far too enthusiastically. “I am fine. Are you…well?” I ask, my apparent anxiety quickly replaced by the memories of what we did last night.
“I’m well,” he says, a small smile lighting his face. “I just, uh…” He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Came to see how you are today.” His eyes roam over the space, and I see the moment his eyes catch on the abundance of journals on the table.
“What is all of this?” he asks, mindlessly walking over to the table. In any other situation, I wouldn’t mind Silas walking in here like he belongs in the space, but if he sees those journals, my lies begin to unravel.
I step in front of him, a hand on his chest stopping him. My breathing quickens as he looks down at me, his deep eyes staring into mine.
“They are merely old healers’ journals from the library, nothing you would find interesting.”
He searches my eyes, staring intently as I blanch beneath the weight of it. I have to glance away.
“Why does it feel like you are lying to me?” he whispers.
My heart drops, finding a home in the deepest pit of my stomach as I look back up into his brown eyes. Because that is exactly what I have been doing for days now.
“Why would I lie to you, Silas?” The words taste revolting on my tongue, but I can’t stop myself.
The more I think about it, the more I think that maybe it is for the best. Telling Silas about the vials and the journals would only put him in danger, and that is the last thing I want to do. No one else needs to be caught in the crossfire of whatever this is.
Not to mention that I’m not certain about any of it. I could be putting him at risk over something inconsequential. I want to understand what it is that I’m hiding, and what I want to do about it, before I divulge anything.
I’ve already dragged Hazel and Cedar into this mess. I don’t want to put anyone else in the position where they might have to lie about things they have seen, especially Silas.
“I don’t know,” he mutters as he brings his hand up, delicately brushing his knuckles over my cheekbone.
I close my eyes and get lost in the feeling of his touch, a moment of calm in the raging storm of my mind. Because no matter what secrets I’m hiding, nothing could change the way I feel when his skin touches mine.
It seems he gets lost in it too, because he forgets any mention of a lie as he tucks my hair behind my ear, his calloused palm cupping my cheek. And when I open my eyes, I see him looking down at me with something like surrender in his gaze.
“We should speak about last night,” he says.
“Okay,” I whisper, my hands roaming over his chest.
“This isn’t nothing to me, Everleigh,” he breathes. “This is everything; you are everything to me.” I merely nod in response, knowing the exact feeling. It is one I have felt for years.
“I only said I want to go slow because I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want anything left unsaid if there are things either of us needs to say. I simply want this to be perfect. I don’t want to risk losing what we have now.”
Part of me aches to tell him now, to unravel everything and leave nothing standing between us. But my reasoning tugs at me, like vines holding me back from letting the words out.
Instead, I just reach behind his head and pull him down to me, crashing his lips into mine.
He moans as he takes my head in both hands, angling my head so our noses don’t crash into one another. His lips slot in between mine, and they’re so soft, like cushions for my own to fall upon.
He walks me backward until my bottom hits the kitchen counter, my hands grappling for more of him. Every part of my body fights for his attention, I want to feel him everywhere. I almost beg.
He chuckles into my mouth as a spoon clatters into the sink, the sound echoing over our breathless kisses. A small laugh slips from my lips too, and our kiss is broken, but my hands don’t stop their survey of his body.
My fingertips toy with the hair at the nape of his neck as my other hand falls against his chest. “You need a trim,” I say before my tongue glides over my lips, searching for the taste of him.
His hands do their own exploring as he grins down at me. “Is that you offering your services?” His big hands land in the curve of my waist.
“Well, that depends if you can sit still while I have a pair of scissors in my hands. I wouldn’t want to cut you,” I say.
My faux innocent tone has him shaking his head before he pulls one of my hands up to his mouth, pressing delicate kisses to each of my fingertips. “I fear I would end up with more than a few wounds,” he murmurs. “Sitting still is a big ask with these pretty fingers in my hair.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I imagine the scene we are painting together, but I nearly draw blood when a knock sounds at the door, frightening me.
Silas jumps away from me, his hand reaching to smooth his hair down as he avoids my gaze. With that move alone, I realise he doesn’t want to be caught with me, at least not in this capacity.
I can’t decipher the feeling that settles deep in my chest as I watch him, but it stings.
One part of me hopes it is out of care, that maybe he doesn’t want me to be seen in a compromised position. But another part of me wonders if it is simply because he doesn’t want anyone to see us together, but what I can’t understand is why?
The door creaks open, and Cedar’s head peeks inside. “Hey guys.” Her eyes roam over us, and I watch as she takes in Silas who is still attempting to smooth out his appearance, and the flush I can still feel on my cheeks.
Her eyes light up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“You didn’t,” Silas spits out. “I was just leaving.” I force myself not to rear back at his statement. It hurts me more than it should—the thought that he doesn’t want to so much as entertain the thought.
He runs a hand over his hair once more before he hesitates, like he’s not sure whether to approach me or not. “I’ll see you,” is all he says before he’s escaping out the doorway and past Cedar.
“See you at Equinox!” she yells out to him as he goes, reminding me that the celebration is in less than a week.
She gently closes the door behind her before swinging around to face me, her expression all knowing. “Did I just walk in on what I think I did?”