Chapter 10 Silas
CHAPTER TEN
Silas
There are two things I’m good at in this life: Making people laugh and pretending I’m not constantly drawn to the woman who turned my brain inside out the other week.
Today, I excel at both.
The farmers' market is buzzing this morning.
Sun out, music low, kids weaving between stalls fast as caffeinated ferrets.
Boone is already in Full Stoic Ranch King Mode, Caleb is quietly fixing something someone broke, and Sadie is on pumpkin-arranging duty with Micah, running logistics for a small militia.
I float through it all, greeting people, leaning on stalls, spreading just enough charm to keep the town’s goodwill pointed our way.
“Silas!” Ivy calls across the square, waving me over.
She’s got one hand on her belly, the other wrestling a small tornado disguised as her dog, Pickle. The triplets are running circles around her, while Penny stands off to the side, judging everyone.
I stop in front of Ivy, grin already in place. “You look radiant today, Ivy.”
“That’s because I swallowed a whole basketball,” she deadpans.
“Sexy.”
“Shut up.”
Her men, Mitchell, Timothy, and Freddie, appear behind her as summoned bodyguards.
Mitch crosses his arms, big, tattooed, intimidating in a “please kneel for me” kind of way, and looks down at me, deciding whether or not to flick me into the sun.
“Morning.”
Always the dominant one. Always laser-focused on Ivy first, everyone else second.
Freddie grins wider, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Coyote Glen’s favorite anarchy generator.”
“I accept this title with great humility,” I say, hand over my heart.
Timothy chuckles. “Sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive with that mad brain of yours.”
I shrug. “It’s a combination of luck, charm, and Caleb keeping me away from power tools.”
“That tracks,” Mitch mutters.
Ivy sighs dramatically. “Thank goodness you’re here. These three are driving me insane. Freddie keeps offering to tattoo the baby when it’s born.”
Freddie holds up his hands defensively. “A temporary tattoo.”
“It was still on a newborn in the design sketch,” Ivy snaps.
“It was tasteful,” Freddie insists.
Timothy groans. “It was a flaming skull with a rattle in its mouth, you idiot.”
Mitchell places a massive, broad palm on Ivy’s back, cool without even trying. “We’re not tattooing the baby.”
“Exactly,” Ivy laughs, poking him lightly in the chest. “See? Mitchell gets me.”
Freddie leans close to me and whispers, “He doesn’t get her—he obeys her. There’s a difference.”
Ivy smacks him upside the head without looking.
“Ow!”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she snaps.
“You scare me,” Freddie mutters.
“Good.”
Before I can interject, Pickle sees me and immediately tries to scale my leg.
“I missed you too, demon,” I tell him, scooping him up.
He licks my face with the enthusiasm of a creature with no sense of boundaries or personal space. Ivy looks delighted.
“Delaney’s working with you today,” Ivy declares casually, tilting her head toward the cluster of tables near the coffee tent. “Interesting.”
I set Pickle down and follow her gaze.
Delaney stands laughing with Savannah, lemonade in hand, sunlight catching her hair like it’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial. She looks comfortable. Open. I’ve noticed her getting a lot more settled.
Something warm and traitorous flips in my stomach. I pretend it doesn’t.
“Yeah, she’s doing a good job.”
I smile, before it hits me. How much does Ivy know?
“Mm hmm.” Ivy pats her belly. “Be careful, golden boy. She looks like someone who might accidentally matter to you.”
Pregnant women should be banned from seeing straight through a man.
“I like her,” Ivy adds. “And she looks like she needs a soft landing.”
Before I can respond, noise erupts behind us.
The triplets sprint past with a shriek, Penny chasing them, yelling, “Stop touching Pickle’s butt, Max!”
I blink. “Should I…?”
“No,” Ivy says. “Mitchell will stop them before everything gets too out of hand.”
Fair enough.
I drift toward Delaney, not consciously choosing to—some instinct pulls me into her orbit before I can talk myself out of it.
She sees me before I reach her. Her lips curve in a smile, small at first, then blooming.
Dammit.
“Sunshine,” I drawl, leaning one elbow lazily on her table. “Enjoying market life?”
“It’s… a lot,” she laughs. “Everyone keeps talking to me.”
“That’s Coyote Glen,” Savannah tells her. “We bond aggressively.”
Delaney shakes her head, bemused.
I’d bottle that expression if I could.
Before I can be charming, or stupid, the music stops abruptly.
Then a voice blares over the speakers.
“Coyote Glen!”
“Oh no,” Savannah groans. “Who gave the mic to—”
“Are you ready for the best damn Saturday surprise ever?”
I freeze.
That voice.
I’d know it anywhere.
The whole crowd starts buzzing.
And then…
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer crows, “Welcome back to Coyote Glen… Wild Reverie!”
People scream. Cheer. Children sprint. Someone drops a bag of apples.
And me?
I grin so wide my face nearly breaks.
Delaney’s lemonade sloshes as her jaw drops. “No way. They’re back now?”
“Oh, yes way,” I say, enjoying her shock far too much. “Awesome, right?”
Because out from behind the coffee tent, as if they teleported straight out of a poster, comes the band.
Roman with his guitar slung low, Creed in sunglasses he absolutely doesn’t need, Ezra smiling softly, and Sloane waving at the crowd from the side of the stage, looking glad to be home.
Wild Reverie.
Big as ever.
Louder than ever.
Home.
The crowd loses its damn mind.
People clap, hoot, take pictures. The triplets scream because they think any loud noise means celebration. Sadie grabs Micah’s hand and jumps excitedly.
I glance at Delaney.
Her eyes are wide and wet and so full of joy that it knocks the breath out of me.
Roman steps up to the mic, flashes a grin that belongs on magazine covers.
“We missed you idiots,” he cries.
The crowd roars.
“And we’re here for some fun!” Creed jumps in.
Ezra only smirks. “Don’t blame us if your kids lose their minds.”
Someone yells, “We love you!”
Someone else yells, “Play your newest song!”
All I notice is that the look on Delaney’s face could power the entire state. Her friends, right? I’m assuming since she was staying at their place. Plus, the look on her face says it all.
The band launches into a stripped-down version of one of their hits. The square transforms. People sway. Kids climb on their parents’ shoulders. Ivy’s men are pretending not to love it. Pickle is barking in rhythm.
And Delaney?
She’s glowing.
She knows every lyric, mouth forming the words silently, hands curled at her chest joyfully.
I step closer without thinking.
“You okay?” I ask.
She laughs breathlessly. “I haven’t seen them in months. I didn’t know they’d be back so soon.”
“You like them that much?”
“They’re my friends,” she says softly. “They got me through… everything.”
Her voice cracks on that last word.
And goddammit, my chest cracks with it.
I should say something flirty. Light. On brand.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Then it’s good they’re here.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
I force myself to look away before I do something stupid. I could easily tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in front of thirty townsfolk and a famous band.
Focus, Silas. Charm the town. Be helpful. Do literally anything else.
Creed leans into the mic. “This one’s for our girl, Delaney Rivers, because we love her and we heard she’s burning down a kitchen somewhere up the mountain.”
The crowd laughs.
My eyebrows shoot up.
Delaney’s cheeks go crimson.
Boone, across the square, stiffens.
Caleb freezes mid-conversation with Terry Claymore.
Oh, this is going to be so fun for me later.
They start a new song, and Delaney laughs into her lemonade, hiding her face.
“You didn’t tell them I was here with you, did you?” she accuses.
I place a hand over my heart. “Sunshine, I don’t have that kind of psychic influence. But somehow, they knew.”
Her smile softens. “This is… amazing.”
“Good. You deserve something amazing.”
Her breath hitches just a fraction.
I pretend I don’t notice.
Because even I know this isn’t the time.
The market turns into a mini concert. People dance. Kids shriek. Someone pulls Ivy into a slow sway. Her men follow, tripping over each other because they can’t dance worth shit, but they’d die before leaving her out.
Delaney watches them all, wrapped in sound and color and familiarity, and she belongs.
“Come on,” I tell her when the band pauses to tune. “Let’s get closer.”
She hesitates. “Won’t we be in the way?”
“Sunshine,” I grin, offering my hand, “we are the way.”
Her cheeks flush.
But she takes my hand.
And for the rest of the set, with the whole town watching and cheering and singing along… I don’t let go.
Not once.
And from the corner of my eye, I see Caleb notice.
And Boone.
And I pretend I don’t see either of them stiffen again.
Because this is Delaney’s moment.
And whether the other two realize it or not…
We’re all already orbiting her.