Chapter 17 #2
We pull into the driveway at Nana’s house.
Silas puts the oversized truck in park and points a warning finger at me.
I roll my eyes, but stay put until he’s come around the hood and opened my door for me.
I slide out, making sure to accidentally press against him as I get my feet on the ground.
He hums low in his throat as he looks down at me, which has me wishing he’d taken me up on the quickie in the storage room before we drove home.
He takes my hand and pulls me up the sidewalk to the front door where he knocks.
I smack his arm with the back of my hand. “I live here, silly.” I open the door, pull him behind me, and shout a greeting to Nana. “We’re home!”
She walks by with double pot holders, a hot casserole dish in her hands. “Well, come on in. It’s getting cold!”
We hurry over to the gorgeous old dining table and have a seat across from each other.
Nana has set the table like it’s Thanksgiving, complete with two candles burning, cloth napkins, and our best china set.
There’s a green salad with wooden salad tongs and a cheesy casserole she sets down with a thump.
“Go ahead! Dig in!”
Silas waits until she’s seated and then takes a serving of salad.
I dig into the casserole and we all pass around the dishes.
When our plates are full, Nana holds out her hands.
Silas instantly holds her hand and mine, bowing his head and saying a quick prayer.
That’s another thing I’ve gotten used to in the South.
I’ve even seen people say a prayer over their lunch out in a restaurant, something you’d never see out west.
“Amen,” we all say together and then dig into the food.
“Nana, this is excellent,” I say after my first bite. It’s true. The woman can have only three ingredients in the cupboard and somehow create a masterpiece.
“Thank you, honey.” She dabs the napkin against her lips. “So, tell me, Silas, how’ve you been dealing with things since your mama passed? We all miss Lia so much.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Silas answers, so prim and proper it makes me smile. “It’s been tough, especially because I want to see her boutique continue to be a success.”
“Oh, honey, that’s your boutique now.” Nana reaches over and pats his hand. “I remember when your mama had you and Mary London with her in that shop for the grand opening. She was so proud of you kids.”
Silas swallows hard and it makes me want to give him a hug. “Thank you.”
Nana waves her hand through the air. “Never mind this ol’ lady reminiscing. You lookin’ to get married, Silas?”
“Nana!” I bark out, nearly choking on a bite of salad. “You can’t ask that kind of thing.”
Nana scoffs. “I’m eighty-three years old. I can ask whatever I want, child.” She turns to Silas. “So, no wife at home? No prospects currently?”
I bury my face in my hand, supper forgotten. Silas chuckles, but being the nice guy he is, he answers her honestly. “No, ma’am. But that doesn’t mean I’m not always looking.”
Nana pats his hand again. “Oh good. I do like to hear that. We’ll add you to the prayer chain this week. You’re a good-looking boy, you know.”
“Nana,” I say softly, lifting my head. “Silas is forty. Hardly a boy.”
“Didn’t I just say I’m eighty-three?” Nana puts a hand to her forehead suddenly. “Oh my. Speaking of old. It’s time for my nap. Will you clean up, honey?”
I push back my chair and rush over to Nana. “You know I will, but are you okay?”
Nana stands and pats my cheek. “Just fine. Nothing a nap won’t fix.” And off she goes, shuffling out of the room. I hear her door slam, leaving me and Silas alone in the house.
I stare after her, confused. When I look to Silas, he’s grinning like he’s holding the world’s biggest secret. “What’s that all about?”
Silas reaches over and grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on the back. “I think Nana is trying to set you up with me, storm cloud.”
I snort very unladylike. That’s ridiculous.
Although, I don’t mind the privacy with Silas.
Maybe I can get him to recreate the storage room incident.
With a wicked grin, I snatch my hand back and lift a leg.
I straddle the poor man’s lap and have a seat, wrapping my arms around his neck and sinking my fingers into his thick hair.
Silas’s eyes go wide and he holds his hands out to the side like he’s not sure what to do with them.
I can feel Mr. Innocent hardening beneath me.
Leaning down slowly, eyes locked on each other, I kiss him. He’s timid at first, but I don’t give him a chance. I bite his lower lip and explore him with my tongue. He tastes like Silas and casserole, which shouldn’t be appealing but is. He kisses me back for two glorious minutes.
He grunts the second I rock my hips against his length. His hands grip my hips and push me away. My mouth pops off of his, none too happy to be disconnected so abruptly.
“Can’t do this here, Betsy Mae,” he whispers in a panic. Goddamn he looks cute with his hair mussed where my fists gripped the strands.
“Why not?” I whisper back.
“It’s disrespectful in your nana’s house!”
I roll my eyes. Him and his Southern manners. “Fine.” I climb off his lap and offer my hand. “Then follow me.”