Chapter 2 - Iris
Up close, he's even more overwhelming than he was on stage. Tall… so tall I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that makes the air feel thicker. And those eyes, storm-gray and focused on me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
My mouth goes dry.
"Hi," he says, and his voice is low, textured like gravel, the kind of voice that sounds like it doesn't get used for small talk.
"Hi," I manage, and it comes out breathier than I intended.
He's staring at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. Like I'm the first interesting thing he's seen in a very long time. The attention is overwhelming and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
"I'm Silas," he says, even though I obviously know that already.
"Iris." I resist the urge to smooth my hair, tuck it behind my ear, do something with my nervous hands. "I'm the one who... well, Nora bid first, but then I bid at the end, so I guess I'm the one who won…" I stop, heat flooding my cheeks. "That sounds weird. Won you. You're not a prize. I mean—"
"Iris." He steps closer, and I catch the scent of clean sweat and winter air, something fundamentally masculine that makes my pulse quicken. "Breathe."
I do, drawing in air that tastes like him, and watch his eyes track the movement of my chest.
"Thank you," he says. "For bidding."
"I... you're welcome?" I'm not sure why it comes out as a question. "It's for charity. The center needs…"
"I know what it's for." He pauses, and something flickers in his expression. "But that's not why you did it, is it?"
My heart stumbles. "What?"
"You bid at the end. Raised the amount when you didn't have to. Why?"
Because you looked like you'd rather be anywhere else. Because nobody was fighting for you and something about that felt fundamentally wrong. Because when our eyes met, I felt something I haven't felt in two years—alive.
I can't say any of that. It's too much, too honest, too revealing for someone I met five minutes ago.
"I don't know," I say finally. "I just... it felt like the right thing to do."
"The right thing."
"You were up there and nobody was bidding higher and you looked..." I trail off, searching for words that won't make me sound completely insane.
"Looked what?"
"Like you didn't care," I say softly. "But also like maybe you did. Just a little. And I thought... I thought maybe you deserved someone who cared too."
His expression shifts, something raw and unguarded flashes across his face before he can lock it down. But I saw it. That crack in his armor, that glimpse of vulnerability underneath all that military control.
"I'm picking you up next Friday," he says, and it's not a question. It's a statement of fact, delivered with absolute certainty. "Six o'clock. Bring warm clothes."
My stomach does a flip. "Okay."
"Where do you live?"
I give him my address, the little house on Magnolia Street that used to be my parents', now just mine. He nods once, committing it to memory with the same focus he probably used for mission briefings.
"See you Friday, Iris Whitfield."
He turns to leave, and panic flutters in my chest. This can't be it. This can't be the whole conversation.
"Silas?"
He stops, looks back. Waiting.
"I'm glad I bid on you," I say, and the sincerity in my voice surprises even me.
Something in his expression softens. Just barely, just enough.
"Yeah," he says, voice rough. "Me too."
Then he's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the same purposeful efficiency he used to find me.
I stand there, staring after him, my heart racing like I've just run a marathon.
"Holy shit," Nora breathes beside me.
I turn to look at her. "What?"
"That man just claimed you."
"He did not—"
"Iris. He walked through a crowd of people like they didn't exist, looked at you like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life, and told you—not asked, told you—that he's picking you up Friday. That's claiming behavior."
Heat floods my cheeks. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being observant. And as your best friend, I'm obligated to tell you that you're in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The best kind." She grins. "The falling-hard-and-fast kind. The kind where you're going to spend the next three days obsessing over Friday. The kind where—"
"Okay, okay, I get it." I press my hands to my hot cheeks. "Oh God, Nora. What did I just do?"
"You bid on the hottest, most intense bachelor in Lovesbury. You won him. And now you're spending a weekend in a secluded cabin with a man who looks like he knows exactly what to do with a woman." She squeezes my arm. "This is amazing."
"This is terrifying."
"Also amazing."
I look back toward where Silas disappeared, but he's long gone. Still, the memory of his eyes on me, the way he said my name, the absolute certainty in his voice when he said he'd pick me up, it's all seared into my brain.
"I don't even know him," I say quietly.
"You will. That's the whole point of the weekend, right? Getting to know each other?"
"Right. Getting to know each other. In a cabin. Alone." My voice climbs higher with each word.
Nora laughs. "Come on. Let's get out of here before you have a full panic attack. First, emergency waffles at The Waffle Den, then back to my place for the summit. We need to plan your outfits."
"My outfits?"
"You're spending a weekend with that man. You need to look good. Effortlessly gorgeous but also practical for winter activities. It's a delicate balance."
"That's... very specific."
"I know what I'm about." She loops her arm through mine and steers me toward the exit. "Plus we need to go over the rules."
"There are rules?"
"Of course there are rules. Rule number one: Don't jump him the first five minutes in the cabin, no matter how much you want to."
"Nora!"
"I'm just saying. Build anticipation. Make him work for it. Men like him, the intense, controlled types, they love the chase almost as much as the catch."
"I'm not trying to play games."
"It's not games. It's strategy." She pushes open the door, and cold air hits my face.
"Rule number two: be yourself. I know that sounds contradictory after rule one, but hear me out.
You're stuck with each other for a weekend.
If you try to be someone you're not, it's going to fall apart by Saturday morning.
Just be the Iris I know—kind, funny, secretly stubborn as hell. "
"So be myself but also strategically withhold intimacy?"
"Exactly." She grins. "You're learning."
We walk through the snowy streets toward The Waffle Den, grabbing our emergency waffles, before heading up to her apartment. The festival is still in full swing around us. Lights twinkle on every storefront, couples stroll hand-in-hand, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear music playing.
"Do you think this is crazy?" I ask as we climb the stairs to her place. "Spending a weekend with a complete stranger?"
"Yes. But the good kind of crazy. The kind that makes life interesting."
Inside her apartment, she sets the waffles on the table and pours hot chocolate into mugs while I collapse onto her couch. My mind is spinning, replaying every moment of that interaction with Silas.
The way he looked at me. The way he moved through the crowd like a man on a mission. The way he said my name.
"He's intense," I say when Nora hands me a mug.
"You like intense."
"How do you know?"
"Because you've been playing it safe for two years, Iris.
Ever since your dad died. You go to work, you volunteer, you come home.
You don't take risks. You don't put yourself out there.
" She sits beside me. "But tonight, you took a risk.
You bid on the scary-looking ex-military guy when you could've let it go.
That tells me you're ready for something more than safe. "
She's not wrong. I have been playing it safe. It was easier that way, easier to stay in my comfortable routine than to risk getting hurt again. But when I saw Silas on that stage, something in me woke up. Something that's been dormant for too long.
"What if he's not interested?" I ask quietly. "What if this is just an obligation for him?"
"Did he look uninterested to you?"
I think about the way his eyes tracked my every movement. The possessive note in his voice when he said he'd pick me up. The way he found me in the crowd like I was the only person he could see.
"No," I admit. "He didn't look uninterested."
"Exactly. So stop overthinking and just... enjoy it. Enjoy being noticed by a man who looks at you like you're something rare and precious."
I sip my hot chocolate, letting her words sink in.
Three days. I have three days to prepare for whatever this weekend is going to be.
Later that night, alone in my house, I stand in front of my closet trying to figure out what one packs for a weekend with an intense, brooding ex-military man.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
"It's Silas. Jonah gave me your number. Hope that's okay."
My heart does a somersault. He texted me. He actually texted me.
I type back: "It's okay. Hi."
Three dots appear immediately. A second later: "Hi. Just wanted to make sure Friday still works."
"It works."
"Good."
I wait for more, but the three dots disappear. Is that it? Is the conversation over?
Then: "Sleep well, Iris."
I stare at my phone, a ridiculous smile spreading across my face. He told me to sleep well. Like he's thinking about me. Like he cares whether I sleep well or not.
"You too," I type back.
I wait, but no response comes. I set my phone on the nightstand and climb into bed, but sleep is the last thing on my mind.
All I can think about is Friday. All I can think about is him.