Chapter 9 – Silas
Monday morning comes too soon. We're on the road by six, the sky still dark, the world quiet around us. Iris is curled in the passenger seat, my jacket draped over her like a blanket, and I'm driving one-handed so I can keep the other on her knee.
"Nervous?" I ask. "About everyone knowing?"
"A little," she admits. "Small town gossip is intense."
"I don't mind the gossip if you don't."
She turns to look at me, and even in the dim light, I can see the smile on her face. "I don't mind at all."
When I pull up to her house, the sun is just starting to rise, painting the sky pink and gold. I kill the engine but neither of us moves.
"So," she says softly.
"So."
"Dinner tonight?"
"Already planned on it. I'll pick you up at six."
"You really meant it. Every day."
I turn in my seat to face her fully. "Every single day, Iris. This isn't a weekend thing for me. This is an 'I want you in my life permanently' thing. If that's too fast, tell me, but that's where I'm at."
Her eyes well up, and she launches herself across the console into my arms. I hold her tight, breathing in that vanilla scent, memorizing the feel of her against me.
"I want that too," she whispers against my neck. "I want all of it."
I walk her to her door, carrying her bag despite her protests. On her porch, I cup her face and kiss her, long and deep and thorough.
"Six o'clock," I remind her when we break apart.
"I'll be ready. But Silas?"
"Yeah?"
"You could just... stay. We could have breakfast together."
The offer is tempting. So tempting. But I shake my head. "If I come inside now, you're going to be late for work. And as much as I want to spend every second with you, I also want to do this right. Take you on proper dates. Show this town that you're mine."
"Yours," she repeats softly, testing the word. Then she smiles. "I like the sound of that."
"Good. Because I'm not letting you go, Iris Whitfield."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I force myself to walk away, back to my truck, even though every instinct screams at me to turn around and go back to her.
At the garage, Jonah takes one look at me and grins. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"How was the weekend? Did you two—"
"None of your business," I say, but I can't keep the smile off my face.
"Oh my God, you're smiling. Silas Northwood is actually smiling. She must be magic."
"She is," I say simply. "And I'm taking her to dinner tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night after that if she'll have me."
Jonah's grin widens. "Told you that auction was a good idea."
"You ambushed me and forged my signature."
"Best decision I ever made for you. You're welcome."
I throw a wrench at him, but I'm still smiling.
The day drags endlessly. I check my phone too often, reading and rereading the texts Iris sends throughout the day.
"Morning! My students want to know why I'm smiling so much. I told them it's because spring is coming. (Total lie.)"
I text back: "Tell them it's because a very handsome man is taking you to dinner tonight. (Truth.)"
Her response comes immediately: "Very handsome, huh? Someone thinks highly of himself."
"Just stating facts, sunshine."
Around noon, she sends me a photo, a drawing one of her students made. It's two stick figures holding hands under a heart. "Miss Whitfield and her boyfriend," the caption reads in wobbly kid handwriting.
My chest tightens. I save the photo immediately.
"Tell them they're a talented artist," I text back.
"Already did. Fair warning: you're now famous among the first-grade set. Prepare for lots of questions if you ever visit my classroom."
"I'll be there whenever you want me."
"Careful. I might hold you to that."
"I'm counting on it."
At five o'clock, I close the garage early and head back to Jonah's place to shower and change. I stand in front of the mirror for way too long, debating shirts, running my hand through my hair, second-guessing everything.
"You look fine," Jonah calls from the living room. "Better than fine. She's already crazy about you. Stop overthinking."
He's right. But this is the first real date. The first time we're stepping out in public as... whatever we are. I want it to be perfect.
At five-thirty, I'm at her door. She answers in a dark blue dress that makes her eyes luminous, her hair loose around her shoulders, and I forget how to breathe.
"You're early," she says, but she's smiling.
"Couldn't wait. You look... Jesus, Iris. You're stunning."
She blushes, and I want to make her do that again and again.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," she says, her eyes traveling over me appreciatively.
"This is all for you."
"Then I'm a very lucky woman."
I drive us to the nicest restaurant in the area, a small place about twenty minutes outside Lovesbury, intimate and romantic. The owner seats us at a corner table, candles flickering between us.
"This is beautiful," Iris says, looking around. "How did you find this place?"
"Jonah recommended it. Said it's where people go when they want to make an impression."
"Consider me impressed."
Over dinner, we talk like we've been doing this for years. She tells me about her day, the student who brought her a dandelion, the parent meeting that went surprisingly well, the way Nora called three times demanding details about the weekend.
I tell her about the vintage Mustang that came into the shop, about how Jonah wouldn't stop grinning at me all day, about how every hour felt like ten because I was counting down until I could see her again.
"You really meant it," she says softly. "About wanting to see me every day."
"I never say things I don't mean."
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I'm glad. Because I feel the same way. This weekend... it changed everything for me, Silas. You changed everything."
"You changed everything for me too. Before you, I was just... existing. Going through the motions. But you make me want to actually live again."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "We're quite a pair, aren't we? Both of us just going through the motions until we found each other."
"Best pair I can imagine."
After dinner, I don't take her straight home. Instead, I drive to a lookout point above town, where the lights of Lovesbury spread out below us like scattered stars.
We stand at the edge, my arms around her from behind, and she leans back against my chest.
"I could get used to this," she murmurs.
"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
She turns in my arms, tilting her face up to mine. "Promise?"
"Promise. You're stuck with me now, Iris Whitfield."
"Best prize I ever won," she says, and then she's kissing me, and the lights of the town fade away until there's nothing but her.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, she stays close, her hands on my chest.
"Come home with me," she whispers. "Stay tonight."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. I don't want this day to end. I don't want to be apart from you."
"Neither do I."
We end up back at her place, and it feels different from the cabin, more real, more permanent. This is her space, her life, and she's inviting me into it.
We don't rush. We make tea and curl up on her couch, talking about everything and nothing.
She shows me photos of her dad, tells me stories about growing up in this house.
I tell her about a restless childhood shaped by constant moves, never quite finding where I fit until the military became my anchor.
"And now?" she asks. "Do you fit here? In Lovesbury?"
I look around her cozy living room, at the photos on the walls, the books stacked everywhere, the comfortable worn furniture. Then I look at her, curled against my side, her hand resting over my heart.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I think I finally do."
"Good. Because I really like having you here."
We fall asleep on the couch, tangled together, and when I wake at dawn, she's still in my arms. For the first time in over a year, I don't have nightmares. I just have peace.
Tuesday morning, I wake her with coffee, made exactly how she likes it, and kiss her goodbye with a promise to pick her up after school.
"You don't have to—" she starts.
"I want to. Get used to it, sunshine. I'm going to be here. Every day. For as long as you'll have me."
She pulls me down for another kiss. "Forever, then. I'll have you forever."
The word should scare me. Forever is a big commitment, especially after less than a week. But it doesn't scare me at all. It feels right.
"Forever works for me."