21. Silas
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Lilith
Feels like I should be the one buying you lunch after all this weird late night emotional support hugging.
Silas
You don’t need to do anything of the sort. You can have whatever you want.
Lilith
Are you sure? Because if you just give me the address of where you work, I’ll get you a sandwich sent over ASAP. Might even hand deliver it myself.
Silas
Stop.
I had no idea what was happening anymore. Didn’t even know if I wanted it to stop.
She’d waved at me through the damn doorbell camera every single morning for the last week. Smirking, smug, her eyes flicking up to the little lens like she knew I was watching. Because she did know. And she was milking it.
On every single one of those nights, I’d walked her home, and she’d invited me inside.
First, she’d shoot me a barrage of questions.
“Are you going to show me your face yet?”
“Tell me your name.”
“Let me see those abs again. ”
Then she’d shove me onto the couch, lay her head on me, and press her face into my hoodie like she belonged there.
I wasn’t supposed to be doing it.
And yet, my hands found her hair without hesitation, stroking through the soft strands, mapping the shape of her skull, memorising the weight of her against me.
And I felt it—that thing —the ache that’d burrowed itself into my bones when she first entered my life.
The one I’d tried to ignore, convincing myself it was nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
Every time she shifted against me—just a little, just enough—heat would slam through me, sharp and sudden, stomach knotting hard. Shame crawled up my spine, bitter and suffocating, even as my fingers threaded deeper into her hair.
What was wrong with me?
She’d just lay there, stretched across my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, her head tucked beneath my chin, hand resting loosely on my ribs, fingers sometimes trailing absently against my hoodie.
And all the while, she’d make me sit through one of those god-awful rom-coms she loved so much.
I hated those movies. But when she laughed, when she’d snort mid-sentence or mumble some sarcastic commentary under her breath, it didn’t matter how bad the movie was. Because that sound? That sound felt like a hand in my chest, gripping my ribs and giving them a good, hard squeeze.
I swallowed it down every time. Buried it so deep I thought I might choke on it. Because this wasn’t about me. Wasn’t this whole thing about keeping her safe? Making her happy?
And if she felt safe when she pressed herself closer, if she felt happy when my fingers raked through her hair—then I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.
At least, that’s what I told myself every night when I wrapped my arm around her, letting her warmth seep through my clothes, branding me from the inside out.
Because the ugly, selfish truth, was that I liked it.
I liked the weight of her against me, the way her body seemed to mould to mine like she belonged there.
I liked the way her fingers would tap against my chest in time with the movie’s soundtrack, the way she’d hum quietly when she got lost in a scene she loved.
And every night, when I finally forced myself to go, dragging myself away from the only place I actually wanted to be, I reminded myself why I had to.
Because no matter how much I wanted to keep her right there, curled against me like she was made to fit, no matter how hard I ached to stay…
Wanting something didn’t mean you deserved to have it.
I shifted on my feet, watching as Lilith turned the key in the bookstore door, jiggling it a little before tugging to make sure it was locked. It was late. The street was mostly empty, save for the occasional car rolling by, headlights slicing long streaks of light across the damp concrete.
Her head snapped up, gaze locking on me and she sighed, loud enough to cut through the distance between us.
“Nope. We’re done with that,” she shouted over to me, waving her hand at the space between us. “Over here. Now.”
I sighed through my nose, adjusted my scarf across the lower half of my face like that was going to do anything, and did exactly as I was told.
The crossing light flashed green just in time, saving me from the indignity of jogging across the street like an obedient puppy. But still, my feet carried me to her like it was inevitable. Like I had no choice in the matter.
She tilted her head slightly, squinting at me like she was trying to see through my layers. Then, she stepped back and nodded toward the pavement. “Come on then.”
I fell into step beside her.
She didn’t look at me as she walked, or as she veered toward the convenience store and pushed the door open, heading straight for the drinks fridge. She grabbed a bottle of soda and a few snacks off the shelf, then glanced up at me over her shoulder, one brow arching. “You want anything?”
I shook my head.
She huffed, but didn’t press. Instead, she headed for the counter. I followed, keeping a step behind as she set her things down. The cashier barely glanced up as he scanned her stuff.
She reached for her wallet, flipping it open with one hand as she dug for her card with the other.
And I moved.
Leaning in close enough to brush against her shoulder, I reached over, and tapped my card against the reader.
Her fingers hovered before she snapped her wallet shut and turned her head toward me. “I can pay for my own stuff.”
“I know,” I murmured.
Her jaw tightened. Not with anger, but something else, like she was trying to figure out what had just happened .
What had just happened was simple. She was hungry. And I had money. More than enough. And she deserved someone to do this shit for her—someone who actually gave a fuck.
The cold slapped me again the second we stepped outside, sharp enough to bite through my coat, but not enough to pull my focus away from her.
She exhaled, her breath a soft cloud in the air, then glanced up at me. “Thank you.”
My gaze dropped to the bag swinging from her fingers. “Want me to hold that?”
Her head tilted slightly, as if considering, then she shrugged. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Her lips quirked, something small, but it was there. Then she passed it to me, and we walked in step, her boots scuffing against the pavement as she flung questions at me left, right and centre, determined to drag words out of me like it was some kind of sport.
“Be honest,” she said, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Do you have a whole basement full of unmarked VHS tapes?”
I huffed through my nose, shaking my head. “No.”
She nodded to herself. “Hmm. That’s exactly what someone with a whole basement full of unmarked VHS tapes would say.”
I shot her a look.
“Okay,” she grinned. “Tell me one thing about yourself that isn’t terrifying.”
“Terrifying?”
“Give me something. Anything. Otherwise, I’m just going to assume you were born in a government lab, and you’re doing all of this as a part of some weird top-secret assignment.”
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it, rattling my chest.
She slowed her pace, but didn’t look at me. “You have a pretty laugh.”
Pretty.
That was the second time she’d ever called me pretty, and just like the first time, it wrecked me a little on the inside.
“Yeah?” My voice came out like I’d swallowed a handful of gravel and chased it with a shot of embarrassment.
She hummed nonchalantly. “Mhmm.”
My mouth opened, then closed again underneath the scarf. “Thanks.”
She smiled, and I had to look away, heart hammering like some idiot kid with a crush.
Get a grip.
When we reached her house, I extended her bag like it was evidence in a courtroom. “Here.”
She barely glanced at it. “No. Absolutely not.”
I frowned. “It’s your stuff. ”
“And now it’s your problem,” she said, walking up her steps and unlocking the door with a flick of her wrist. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and she turned to look at me like I was some kind of particularly dense stray she was coaxing inside. “Come on, in you get.”
I was frozen. No idea why. But my limbs wouldn’t move.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “No. No standing there all brooding and mysterious. This is a regular thing now. Inside.”
I flexed my jaw as I forced my feet to follow her. Just one step, and then another, it really shouldn’t have been this difficult.
She was already halfway across the room, shrugging out of her coat and tossing it over the back of her couch without a second thought. “You gonna stand there breathing weird all night?”
“No.”
“You wanna give me my bag now then?”
“Yeah. Right. Here.” I handed it over.
“I’d ask if you want coffee, but I’m assuming the scarf isn’t coming down?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
She hummed, like she’d already known the answer, then turned and disappeared.
I scanned the room as I sank onto the couch. Soft blankets draped across the furniture, one folded neatly, the others in varying states of use. Stacks of books lined almost every available surface. Some were brand new, spines uncracked. Others were old, pages yellowed, dog-eared, lived in.
She’d love my penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining my walls, filled with first editions and well-loved copies, stories I’d collected like artefacts over the years. She’d run her fingers along the spines, pull one free, settle into my couch like she owned the place…
No. That was stupid. She could never go there.
This was her space, her world, and I had no business trying to imagine her in mine . But it was getting harder by the second.
She reappeared, mug in hand, steam curling into the air as she settled into the other end of the couch, throwing a blanket over her legs with her free hand.
I should’ve left. Right there and then. But I couldn’t.