Chapter 8 – Iris
I wake to warmth and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath my ear.
For a moment, I'm disoriented, this isn't my bed, this isn't my room, and then everything from last night comes rushing back.
Silas's hands on me. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
Heat floods my cheeks even as desire pools low in my belly.
I'm draped across his chest, one leg thrown over his, my hand resting over his heart. He appears asleep, his face relaxed in a way I've never seen when he's awake. Without the guards up, he looks younger. Almost vulnerable.
I study him in the early morning light filtering through the curtains. The strong line of his jaw, dark with stubble. The way his lashes fan against his cheeks. He's beautiful in a harsh, masculine way that makes my breath catch.
And last night, he was mine. The possessive thought surprises me. I've never been the possessive type. But something about Silas brings out instincts I didn't know I had.
His hand, which has been resting on my lower back, starts moving in slow circles. I tilt my head up to find him watching me with those intense gray eyes.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I'm suddenly aware of how naked we both are, how intimate this position is. "Did I wake you?"
"No. Been awake for a few minutes. Watching you sleep."
"That's not creepy at all," I tease.
His lips quirk. "Couldn't help it. You're beautiful when you sleep."
"I probably have bedhead and drool."
"Still beautiful." His hand slides up my spine, making me shiver. "How do you feel?"
"Good. Really good." I shift slightly, and a pleasant ache reminds me of exactly what we did last night. "A little sore, maybe."
His eyes darken with something possessive. "I wasn’t too rough, was I?"
"No. It was perfect. You were perfect."
He pulls me up so we're face to face, then kisses me slowly, thoroughly. When he pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
"What time is it?" I ask.
He glances at the window. "Early. Sun's barely up. We have time."
"Time for what?"
"Whatever you want." His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "We have today. One more day before reality comes back. I want to make every second count."
Something in my chest tightens. "Me too."
We lie there for a while, just holding each other, and I try to memorize this moment. The weight of him beside me. The warmth of his skin. The way his fingers trace idle patterns on my back.
"I can hear you thinking," he murmurs.
"Just trying to remember everything. This weekend has been unexpected."
"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"
"The best unexpected." I press a kiss to his chest. "I didn't think it would be like this."
His arms tighten around me. "Neither did I."
"What happens tomorrow?" I ask quietly. "When we go back?"
He's silent for a moment, his hand stilling on my back. "What do you want to happen?"
"I don't want this to end. I don't want to go back to my life and have this just be... a weekend. A charity obligation that we both enjoyed but then moved on from."
He rolls us so I'm beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his eyes boring into mine.
"Listen to me," he says, voice fierce. "This was never just a weekend for me. From the moment you bid on me, from the moment our eyes met across that pavilion, this became something more. And tomorrow, when we go back to Lovesbury, nothing changes except the location."
"Silas—"
"I'm not done." His thumb traces my lower lip.
"I want to see you every day. I want to take you to dinner, to the movies, on walks through town.
I want everyone to know you're with me. And if that's too much too soon, if I'm scaring you off, tell me now so I can dial it back.
But I can't pretend this is casual. Not with you. "
My eyes sting with sudden tears. "You're not scaring me off. I want all of that too. I just... I didn't know if you felt the same way."
"How could you not know?" He leans down and kisses me softly. "I'm not good with words, Iris. Never have been. But I thought I made it pretty clear last night exactly how I feel about you."
"Show me again," I whisper.
His eyes flash with heat, and then his mouth is on mine, and I'm lost.
An hour later, thoroughly satisfied and boneless, I watch from the bed as Silas pulls on sweatpants.
"Stay here," he commands. "I'm bringing you breakfast in bed."
"Silas, you don't have to—"
"I want to. Let me take care of you."
He disappears downstairs, and I burrow into the blankets that smell like him, like us, and let myself just feel happy. Purely, simply happy in a way I haven't been since before Dad got sick.
He returns twenty minutes later with a tray laden with pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, and coffee made exactly how I like it.
"How did you know I like blueberries in my pancakes?" I ask, delighted.
"You mentioned it yesterday. Said one of your students asked if teachers eat regular food or just apples and blueberry pancakes."
He remembered. A throwaway comment in the middle of a conversation, and he remembered.
We eat in bed, sharing bites, talking about everything and nothing.
He tells me about his childhood, moving around from base to base, never staying anywhere long enough to feel like home.
I tell him about growing up in the same small town, knowing every person, every street, feeling both comforted and suffocated by the familiarity.
"Do you ever wish you'd left?" he asks. "Really left, not just for college?"
"Sometimes," I admit. "But then I think about my students, about the veterans I read to on Tuesdays, about Nora and Mabel and everyone who makes Lovesbury feel like community instead of trap. And I think maybe home isn't a place you escape from. Maybe it's a place you choose, every day."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me. "I've never had that. A place worth choosing."
"Maybe you do now."
His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
Later that morning, we venture outside again. Silas has this look in his eye, mischievous and playful in a way I'm learning means trouble.
"What are you planning?" I ask suspiciously.
"You'll see."
He leads me to a shed behind the cabin and emerges with two sleds.
"There's a hill about half a mile east. Perfect sledding territory."
"You're like a big kid," I tease.
"I never got to be a kid. Military brat, remember? We're making up for lost time."
And we do. We spend the next two hours racing down the hill, wiping out spectacularly, laughing until our sides hurt. At one point, he tackles me into a snowbank, and we end up making snow angels side by side, our breath visible in the cold air.
"I can't remember the last time I did this," I say, staring up at the brilliant blue sky.
"Made snow angels?"
"Played. Just... played. Without worrying about lesson plans or bills or whether I'm doing enough, being enough."
He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. Snow clings to his hair, his eyelashes, making him look almost ethereal despite his size.
"You're more than enough, Iris. You're everything."
The words settle into my chest, warming me from the inside out.
By the time we get back to the cabin, we're frozen and exhausted and happier than either of us can remember being. We shed our wet clothes in the mudroom, and Silas starts the shower running.
"Big enough for two," he says with a wicked grin.
I step in beside him, letting the warm water wash over us.
The shower is tender. He washes my hair with careful fingers, massaging my scalp until I'm practically purring.
I return the favor, learning the geography of his scars, the shrapnel wounds, the surgical scars, the old marks from training accidents.
"Does it bother you?" he asks quietly as my fingers trace the largest scar on his thigh. "The damage?"
"It's not damage. It's proof you survived. Proof you're here with me now." I press a kiss to his shoulder. "Every scar is a story. Someday, when you're ready, I want to hear them all."
His arms band around me, holding me so tight I can barely breathe. "I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do. And I'm going to spend however long it takes convincing you of that."
That evening, our last evening, we cook dinner together again. This time there's less nervous tension and more easy partnership. We move around each other like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
Over wine and pasta, we talk about the future, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence.
"I want to take you to the veteran's center this week," he says. "Officially. As my... as my girlfriend."
The word sends a thrill through me. "Girlfriend. I like the sound of that."
"Good. Because I also want to take you to Tom's Garage and introduce you to the guys. And to The Waffle Den for breakfast. And basically anywhere and everywhere so the whole town knows you're mine."
"Possessive," I tease, but my heart is soaring.
"Completely. Is that a problem?"
"Not even a little bit."
After dinner, we curl up on the couch, and this time when we watch a movie, we actually watch it. Well, mostly. Silas keeps pressing kisses to my temple, my cheek, my neck, and I keep getting distracted by the way his thumb rubs circles on my hip.
"We should probably pack," I say eventually, though I don't move.
"We should," he agrees, not moving either.
"We have to leave early tomorrow."
"I know."
Neither of us moves.
Finally, he sighs and stands, pulling me up with him. "Come on. I'll help you pack. And then..."
"Then?"
"Then I'm keeping you in my bed all night. Because tomorrow, reality comes back, and I want one more night of this being just ours."
We pack slowly, both dragging it out, neither wanting to acknowledge that our bubble is about to burst. But eventually, both our bags are ready, sitting by the door like sentinels marking the end.
Upstairs, in Silas's bed, we make love slowly. Tenderly. Every touch feels weighted with meaning, every kiss tastes like promises.
Afterward, wrapped in his arms, I whisper, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this weekend. For seeing me. For making me feel... alive again."
He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Thank you for bidding on me. For taking a chance on the moody ex-military guy in the corner."
"Best two hundred and fifty dollars I ever spent."
He laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest into mine. "Best weekend of my life."
"Mine too."
We fall asleep like that, tangled together, holding on tight like we can stop tomorrow from coming if we just don't let go.