Chapter 5 #2
I don’t push back. Elodie doesn’t say things like that lightly. I’ve always wondered what shaped that caution in her. There are parts of her life before Cherrywood that she hasn’t shared with us.
She moved here after being adopted by her mom, a single woman she lost to cancer a few years ago. We met in middle school and became inseparable almost immediately.
But everything before that remains locked away, and every time any of us—me, Daisy, or Willow—have tried to ask, El has gently but firmly changed the subject.
“What if he’s a murderer?” she asks, dead serious. “Or a kidnapper who’s also a smooth talker and preys on women online?”
I pause, actually considering it for a second. I replay his words in my head, the careful phrasing, the humor, the hesitation.
“I didn’t get any murdery or kidnappery vibes from him.”
El blinks. “Kidnappery vibes? I don’t even know what that means. So what kind of vibes did you get?”
I pull my legs up onto the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees and resting my chin on top of them, staring at the opposite wall as I search for the right words.
“I don’t know. He seems… shy. Guarded. Like he’s holding something back. But deep down, I think he’s like me. He craves the real kind of love.”
Elodie studies me for a long moment.
“I don’t know what else to say, Vi. Just be careful. You’re too nice sometimes and don’t always see the cracks in people until it’s too late.”
“I’m okay,” I promise. “I really am.”
“So, what do you actually know about him? His name? What he does?”
I shake my head. “Anonymity is the whole point of FYS.”
Her eyes widen. “Right, I forgot. So, what do you even call him?”
“His profile name is SilenceInMidnight.” I’m unable to stop my smile. “But I call him Night.”
Her mouth twists. “And you’re telling me he doesn’t give you murdery or kidnappery vibes when his name literally has silence and midnight in it? I’d have trusted him more if his name was ChatterInDaylight.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous, El.”
ChaosInPurple: The theories about your name are taking a ridiculous turn. My friend thinks it gives off murdery and kidnappery vibes. She’d much rather you were called ChatterInDaylight.
I hit send giggling like a three-year-old just as a shadow falls over my phone.
“Violet, hi.”
My head jerks up, and I’m staring straight at the Teager twins. Rowan and Archer.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Archer asks, already scanning the area as if he expects someone to materialize out of thin air. His twin, on the other hand, gives me an annoyed look like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than exactly where he is right now.
I shake my head and slide my phone into my lap.
I’m seated on one of the old wooden benches near the town center, perfectly positioned to overlook Lake Cherry, where the afternoon is slowly melting into evening.
The sun is sinking behind the hills, painting the sky in warm shades of amber and rose, and the lake mirrors it all back like it’s holding fire just beneath the surface.
There’s a crisp bite in the air that sneaks under your clothes once the light begins to fade.
“No,” I say softly. “I’m just enjoying the sunset.”
“Alone?” Archer lifts a brow like I’ve just confessed to committing a small crime.
“Yeah.” I nod once. After his very vocal opinions about FYS, he’s scaling high on my list of people I barely tolerate.
“Okay,” Archer drawls after a beat. “We’re heading for an early dinner. Want to join us?” He gestures toward the upscale Greek restaurant across the street, where the tall windows glow warmly with candlelight at each table inside.
I follow the motion before my gaze lands on Rowan.
His lips are pressed into a thin line as his gaze drops to his watch, the kind of understated luxury that probably costs more than my car ever did.
There’s an extra edge of impatience about him right now, as if he’s counting down the minutes until he can slip away from here and disappear back into whatever quiet corner of the world he prefers.
Archer and Rowan aren’t identical twins, yet they have undeniable similarities.
Both of them are tall, broad-shouldered, built like men who take up space without trying. Where Archer carries it with effortless charm, as if the world has always bent just enough to accommodate him, Rowan is anything but effortless.
A seriousness clings to him. His green eyes are deep and unreadable, reminding me of the sea right before a storm, quiet on the surface but vast and restless beneath.
His jaw is sharply cut, his features clean and controlled, as if every emotion is carefully reined in before it ever reaches his face.
And yet… it hard to look away from him. Maybe it’s the way he avoids eye contact or how his shoulders seem permanently braced. Or maybe it’s just the contrast, how someone so outwardly composed can radiate such quiet tension.
I tear my gaze away before it lingers too long.
The Teager family is well-known in Cherrywood. Their name carries weight in our small town, quiet power that doesn’t need to announce itself.
And Rowan Teager, in particular, is a name that gets tossed around often and loudly among my journalist friends at the Cherrywood Gazette.
Rowan is the CEO of Elixir Communications, head of one of the largest media empires in the state. It’s no secret that my boss quietly hopes that one day our little newspaper might catch Rowan’s discerning eye and end up under his very expensive umbrella.
But business is never the only thing people talk about when it comes to Rowan. Eventually, the conversation always drifts into lowered voices to his situational mutism, to the silence that follows him like a shadow.
People who don’t know him might feel sorry for him. But one look at Rowan and you’d forget every sympathetic thought.
He radiates a contained power that doesn’t ask for permission, and even without words, he can dismantle you with a glance and walk away without breaking stride.
Feeling pity for him isn’t just misplaced but almost insulting.
When we all gather at his cousin’s place, Rowan is usually quiet for most of the evening, tucked slightly into the background.
But I haven’t missed the way he and Archer communicate in brief glances and silent nods, using a language built on years of shared instinct. It’s mesmerizing. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have someone who understands you without needing a single word.
Right now, I’m fairly certain Archer can read Rowan’s irritation far better than I can.
No doubt Rowan doesn’t want me to join them.
As if I was ever going to accept the invite anyway.
I shake my head and offer Archer a polite smile. “Thank you, but I already have plans.”
“I hope it’s not a blind date through some online dating site.” Archer grins like he’s just landed the joke of the century, except irritation flares hot and sharp through my veins.
Did he just freaking say that?
I fight the urge to stomp my feet and give him a piece of his mind.
My gaze flicks to Rowan, and that’s when I see it. His hand tightens, fingers curling in on themselves for just a split second. The movement is so restrained it would’ve gone unnoticed if I hadn’t been watching. Thick disapproval radiates from him. Of course his view mirrors his twin’s.
Silence, it turns out, doesn’t mean neutrality.
I turn back to Archer, my words tumbling out fast. “Are you worried about me, or are you genuinely this distrustful of the goodness in people?”
At the last second, I tack on a stiff smile to act friendlier, even though neither of them deserves it.
Archer shrugs. “I just wouldn’t want my sister-in-law’s best friend ending up in some dark alley.”
Why the heck does everyone act like online dating is a breeding ground exclusively for murderers and kidnappers? The urge to roll my eyes is so strong it borders on physical restraint.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” I rise from the bench. This conversation has already soured the evening, and I refuse to let it follow me home. “I should head out.”
The twins step back to give me space. As I turn to leave, Archer’s voice stops me.
“Jokes aside.” His voice is stripped of all teasing. “Take care, Violet. Be safe.”
The concern catches me off guard.
We’re not friends—barely more than acquaintances who share the same circle.
I turn back and this time my smile comes easily.
“I will. Thank you. I hope you both have a nice evening.”
Rowan answers with his signature curt nod before turning away.
I watch Archer register the movement, his expression tightening into a brief serious frown as his twin starts toward the restaurant.
But when Archer looks back at me, that worry disappears behind an easy smile, like he’s carefully tucking it away so I won’t question it.
He offers a final good night and follows his brother without another word.
I stand there longer than necessary, rooted to the spot, watching them walk away together.
Archer quickly catches up to Rowan and says something I can’t hear.
They turn the corner, and just before they disappear from view, I notice Rowan’s fingers moving, speaking in a language I’m not meant to understand.
Daisy once mentioned that although Rowan can technically speak, no one ever hears him do it. I find myself wondering what his voice sounds like, whether it’s deep or quiet or hesitant, and if he ever speaks out loud when he’s alone, just to remind himself that he can.
As much as I struggle to understand Rowan Teager—or even like him most days—I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in a world where words don’t come easily, where silence becomes both a shield and a sentence.
A few moments later, I slide into my car. I’m just reaching for the ignition when my phone lights up in my hand. My heart does a small ridiculous flip before I can stop it.
I look down.
SilenceInMidnight: I can confirm that I am neither a murderer nor a kidnapper, Purple. I’m a working man with a decent job, and my profile name has nothing to do with my profession. Also, I wouldn’t mind at all if you wanted to verify with FYS that they’ve run a background check on me.
Crap.
I tip my forehead forward until it rests against the cool leather of the steering wheel.
God. How did I forget the thorough vetting process?
It had been intense, borderline invasive, like I was applying for some top-secret government position rather than signing up for a matchmaking website. Identification documents, video verification, layers of confirmation to prove I was exactly who I claimed to be.
The same would have been true for Night.
ChaosInPurple: I completely forgot how thorough FYS was. I feel so stupid right now.
I hit send, then immediately feel that familiar itch, my inability to ever leave a thought unfinished.
ChaosInPurple: It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’ve just been warned by more than one person today about the dangers of online dating.
His response comes almost instantly.
SilenceInMidnight: You never need to explain being careful about your safety. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t.
Oh. This man. I read his message twice, just to let the sincerity of his words find a home in me.
ChaosInPurple: So that means you’re not a stripper?
I bite my lip, failing miserably to hold back the smile that spreads across my face.
SilenceInMidnight: No, Purple. I can confirm that I am not a stripper.
A beat passes.
SilenceInMidnight: I am smiling.
There’s something intimate and comforting about the way he names what he’s feeling instead of hiding behind an emoji.
SilenceInMidnight: And I didn’t think that was going to happen today.
ChaosInPurple: Why not?
SilenceInMidnight: I just had a run-in with someone who’s doing an exceptionally good job of getting under my skin lately.
My brows pull together as I stare at his words.
ChaosInPurple: Ex?
SilenceInMidnight: God, no. I can’t even categorize them as an acquaintance. I barely know them. We just run in the same circle.
I exhale, and the tension in my shoulders release.
ChaosInPurple: In that case, my best friend would say don’t give anyone that much power.
SilenceInMidnight: My brother would say fuck them.
A sudden laugh escapes me, filling the small space of my Fiat.
ChaosInPurple: You have a lot of siblings?
SilenceInMidnight: Just one brother. He often feels like a fifth limb, though. I’m close to my extended family too.
ChaosInPurple: I envy that. I’m an only child.
SilenceInMidnight: I won’t lie, Purple. My family might be the best thing about me. Even if there are days when their nosiness gets overwhelming.
I stare at the message longer than necessary.
My family might be the best thing about me.
There’s so much packed into that single sentence. I can’t tell if it means he loves them fiercely or if he struggles to see his own worth outside of them. Or maybe it’s both.
I already knew Night’s careful with his words, but just now he let a quiet admission slip through, giving me a glimpse of his real vulnerability.