12. Storm
I keep my eyes on the road as I steer the truck through the ranch gates. For once, I’m grateful for the rattle of the engine to fill the silence. Or the simmering beneath my composed exterior.
The truck isn’t old—it’s ancient. It was Dad’s before he turned it over to me after he retired. It’s loud in places it shouldn’t be, but reliable—most of the time.
We tried to go back to The Shack for Max’s jacket but it was already closed for the evening. My kid’s now wearing Silas’s jacket and trying to contain himself in the back seat.
I’m painfully aware of everything surrounding me. The temperature. My breathing, his breathing. The faint scent of clean soap that shouldn’t bother me but does. Silas shifting to remove his sling.
Wait, what?
“Should you be doing that?”
He grunts softly. “Yeah. For short periods to relieve stiffness.” He shifts again and I notice just how much space his frame takes up in my truck—which always seemed big to me until now.
“Okay, there’s no way this is less space than the Hot Wheels you’re driving around.”
“Mom,” Max mumbles in warning.
“It’s okay, Max. Your mom and I go way back. If anyone can take a dig at me, it’s her.”
I shoot a glare at him.
“Really?” Max scoots up in his seat. “Mom, you didn’t tell me you and Silas were friends.”
“Sit back and buckle up,” I snap, glancing sharply in the rearview.
Silas and Max exchange a frightened look and both lean back, reaching for their seatbelt.
After a breath, I answer the question I knew was coming. “And I wouldn’t call us friends.”
I catch Silas wince, clutching his heart and mouthing, Ouch. I fire off another glare.
In fact, I imagine tonight will be an evening full of warning glares and a limited amount of stories Silas is allowed to share with my kid—or ask about him.
This was a mistake.
“You know your grandpa used to work at the ranch. He’d bring me along here and there when I was about your age. Met all kinds of people,” I go on, practically rambling at this point. “And . . . Silas was probably one of them––who could keep up, really?”
I stop at a red light and glance at Silas, who’s staring at me in amused awe. “Wow,” he whispers.
Okay, so maybe there was a happy medium between the truth and what I’d just said, but it was the best I could do. He did after all ambush me into this dinner.
“Where are we going anyway?” I change the subject as the light turns green.
“The arcade on River Road. There’s a restaurant connected. It’s been a while since I’ve gone but think it’ll work.”
Max cheers in the background while my mind works to think of the best route.
Which typically isn’t hard—I know my way around town.
But something about Silas knowing where to take us—someplace appropriate for my kid and a decent eatery—is impressive.
Most people make me decide where we go. It’s oddly refreshing for someone not to. That, and I’m too exhausted to think.
I park in an open spot and turn off the engine, then look over at Silas, who’s staring ahead with no move to step out of the car. That’s when I remember the shoulder—and no sling. “Would you like me to get the door for you?” I ask with only a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, I imagine the task might be slightly simpler than walking a rambunctious pony from one end of the fence to the other.” He looks over at me with a cool smirk then glances to the back seat. “Hey, kid, hand me that baseball hat back there.”
Max hands him my beige cap and Silas slips it over his head without giving it a second look.
It’s faded to the point it doesn’t even have a real color anymore, been lost and found at least five times between the two ranches I’ve worked.
And I can’t remember the last time I washed it. Likely in the rain.
We make our way inside through the arcade entrance. I’ve only brought Max here a handful of times. The restaurant isn’t on the expensive side, but two hours of gaming could run me a day’s pay.
“Three please, and an unlimited gaming card for the night.” Silas tells the hostess who seems oblivious to his identity—but certainly not his body as she scopes him out.
“Certainly,” she says in a breath, then punches something into a screen, running a blue card through it. Then hands the card on a lanyard to Max. “Here you go.”
“Whoa, thanks!”
“I’ll get you seated shortly.”
“Silas . . .” A burly man I’ve seen here before approaches us. “Heard you were back in town. You here for dinner?”
“We are.” They shake hands quickly before Silas introduces us. “This is Max and you probably know Storm.”
The man smiles warmly at me. “I do now. Welcome Storm. I’m Rudy, the owner. Come on back, I’ll get you a table by the water.”
Panic settles as my eyes roam over the arcade space. “Um, I’d prefer one where I can keep an eye on Max.”
“Not to worry, my staff will keep an eye on him and bring him over when the food’s ready.”
“You do that for all your patrons?” I mutter with a side-eye to Silas who gives me a sheepish look.
We’re seated on the outdoor deck, enclosed for the cold season by a clear plastic tent, with the river and mountains still visible beyond it. The sun has already set, and dusk is settling in.
My stomach tightens in a low, traitorous way when we’re seated. The lighting is romantic, the view is one of the best in town. And for the seventh time today—he’s close. So close I feel it crawl under my skin.
Silas leans in. “Bet you can’t make it through a whole meal without looking absolutely annoyed.”
I wonder if he’s purposely referencing the bets and challenges we used to make with each other on the ranch when we were kids.
They weren’t always pranks on others. Sometimes they were on things we were good at and knew the other wasn’t.
He’d bet I couldn’t outrun him. I’d bet he couldn’t jump the fence in one swoop.
I set my napkin on my lap. “I’d hate to waste your evening, because I’m not going to answer any of your questions about Max.” I stretch out my hands. “Should we call it a night now?”
He grins. His eyes shining in the dim light. “Look, I’m sorry I used him to get you to have dinner with me, I knew it was wrong—I was advised against it—but I knew there wasn’t a shot in hell you’d agree any other way.”
Ugh.
I shouldn’t be flattered. I shouldn’t be swayed by how ridiculously gorgeous he is, or the way his features have matured. How much his shoulders broadened. How his forearms flex when he struggles to find the right words.
I cross my arms against my chest. “Well I hope you’re up for a night of sarcasm and disdain, because that’s all you’re getting.”
“Would I have asked you out if I didn’t already know what I was getting into?”
I scowl. “This isn’t a date.”
“Hey there, what can I get you two?”
“Three actually. My date and I will share a platter of barbecue wings, house salad, extra olives and . . . um . . .” He flips the menu to the kids’ side and frowns. Then hands the menu back to the waitress. “Mac and cheese, personal pizza, and . . . chicken tenders.”
My mind flashes back to days when Silas and I could swallow a bowl of fresh, hot barbecue wings.
They’ve always been my favorite—especially the way Carrie made them.
With a healthy dose of veggie sticks on the side we’d force-feed each other by the time we were done with the chicken.
She also always made me a side dish of olives—with pretty much everything I ate there.
And in case you’re wondering, no, olives don’t count as vegetables.
It takes me a moment before I realize how much food he just ordered.
“Exactly how much food do you think a nine-year-old can eat?”
“You said no Max questions, and I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot with the kid by taking the wrong guess.”
I sit back in my chair, arms loosening and falling to my lap. Speaking of first impressions. “You know he was feeling pretty silly about himself last night after meeting you.”
He frowns, leaning in like he doesn’t want to miss a word. “Why?”
“Why do you think? You’re Silas Thorne, and he was talking to you about leprechauns and rainbows instead of . . . hockey stuff.” I chuckle.
But Silas doesn’t laugh. He seems genuinely bothered by it. He glances back toward the arcade. “How do I fix it?”
I jerk. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t want him to feel like that conversation didn’t mean anything to me. It was one of the better afternoons I’d had in a while.”
I smile then scrunch my nose. “I don’t think you can without letting him know I told you.”
“Right.” He sits with the thought, irritation building as he seems to reject the idea that this is something he can’t fix.
“It’s fine. He’s a kid—they don’t hold on to things like that.” Max races back to the table, gleaming. I laugh. “Besides, I don’t think you need to worry about fixing anything. Hey baby, you had fun?”
“Oh, I’m going back.” He practically guzzles his water. “Can I get an orange soda?”
I reach for his hand to grab his attention. “Slow down and mind your manners,” I hiss. “We ordered some food—but I need you to remember it’s a school night and we’re not taking advantage, all right?”
Max slumps in his seat and looks at Silas. “Sorry.”
Silas winks at my kid then tilts his head to me with a scowl. “You happy now? You ruined his fun.”
“Wh—I did not. I’m parenting.”
“Sounded more like scolding,” he has the nerve to say.
“I appreciate that you live your life carefree but here in the real world—”
“One orange soda.” Our waitress sets the drink in front of Max.
“We didn’t, when did you—”
“While you were parenting.” He grins and winks at Max again. “Maybe you should go throw a few hoops while your mom yells at me some more.”
“Mom.”
“You know I don’t yell,” I remind my kid like I need to prove something. “Especially in public.” I shoot a warning glare at Silas like there will in fact be yelling at some point.
Max turns to Silas. “You’re safe for now. But be careful, she doesn’t forget things.”