Chapter 17 #2
Outside, the sky has darkened to pewter. Snow begins falling, fat flakes drifting down in lazy spirals.
"Ferry's probably still running," I say, pulling out my phone to check the schedule, but I frown when I get no signal. "Or not. I can't get reception."
Silas tries his phone. "Same. The storm's moving in faster than predicted."
“Mr. Huxley?” A woman rushes out from the rec center. "I’m so sorry. The ferries stopped ten minutes ago. A storm warning just came through on the radio. You're stuck until the morning at least."
My stomach drops. "There's got to be somewhere we can stay."
"There’s a bed-and-breakfast two streets over." She points. "Mrs. Zhao usually has rooms. Want me to call?"
"Please," Silas says.
She disappears inside. Returns a few minutes later. "You're in luck. The last room is available. She'll hold it for you."
We thank her and head into the now-heavy snowfall. The walk takes ten minutes, long enough for snow to accumulate on our shoulders and hair. Silas walks close, using his larger frame to block the worst of the wind. His jacket stays open, angled to shield me from gusts of fresh snow.
I pull out my phone to check for messages but there's still no signal. Everything important got left in the car we took from the ferry dock anyway, except the small backpack I brought for the day.
The bed-and-breakfast appears through the storm like something from a painting.
Yellow light spills from windows onto a wraparound porch.
We make a mad dash from the street to the front door, with Silas taking the brunt of what has now become a full-fledged snowstorm.
Inside the inn, I shake off my jacket, laughing.
“I can’t believe we were just caught in that,” I say. Silas runs a hand over his hair, sending a pile of snow onto the floor.
A woman in an oatmeal-colored sweater greets us with practiced warmth that widens slightly when she recognizes Silas. "You must be our stranded guests. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the Honeymoon Suite. It's the only room that isn’t occupied at the moment."
"Sounds fine," Silas says, shaking off some residual slush from his jacket. "We'll take anything."
"Sounds perfect." She hands over a brass key. "Breakfast at eight, unless the power goes out. Then it's coffee if the generator cooperates."
We climb narrow stairs to the top floor.
The room waits behind a white door with a ceramic plaque.
Inside, a fireplace flickers in a tiled hearth.
The bed dominates the space, built for newlyweds who can't keep their hands off each other.
Quilts in red and cream, mismatched nightstands, a window seat overlooking dark water.
And outside, the beautiful backyard scene is quickly overtaken by piles and drifts of fast-accumulating snow. Silas sets my backpack, which he insisted on carrying, down carefully. "I'll take the floor."
“What? Are you crazy?” I cut my eyes at him. "You aren’t sleeping on the floor, Silas."
"I've slept on worse."
"That risks your shoulder." I peel off my gloves, trying to sound professional instead of breathless. My fingers tingle as I flex them. "I'm not signing off on that."
He has the nerve to say, "You're not my boss."
He peels off his coat and tousles his chin-length blond hair, which is somewhere between damp and soaking. His white Henley clings to his muscular chest, wet from melted snow. With his blue-gray eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and broad shoulders, he looks like he just stepped off a runway in Milan.
I tell myself not to gape even as I can't help but look my fill. Silas seems to sense my heavy gaze. He looks up, flushing slightly.
"I think I get a say about things that could affect your shoulder." I stretch, thinking the room's too small for the two of us. "I can sleep on the floor."
His jaw tightens. "You're not sleeping on the floor while I take the bed. You don't need to do that here, Scout."
"Do what?" I put my hand on my hip.
"Take care of everybody. I know what you're doing. I'm not about to let you sacrifice your own comfort just to make sure I don't have a crummy night's sleep."
My cheeks heat and I drop my gaze. He's got me there. "Can we share the bed, then?"
He works his jaw, eyes dark in the firelight. The tension between us thickens until I can barely breathe through it. He looks at the bed, then at me, then away. "That's fine."
"Fine," I echo. "That's what we'll do."
Silas stares at me for a second. At his tight swallow, I realize he's watching a drop of water as it glides down my neck to my collarbone.
Does he somehow find me attractive right now?
I'm drenched, the snow melting and wetting gaps at the front of my shirt and the back of my coat.
My hair's likely frightful. And yet, the way Silas looks right now, hungry and longing, makes a bright bloom of want pool low in my belly.
He clears his throat. "I'm going to try to hunt down some dinner." He escapes before I can respond, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
Left alone, I hang our coats to dry, prop boots by the fire, and arrange gloves on the grate. The room warms slowly while a nasty gust of wind rattles the windows. I'm too aware of the bed. I can't stop thinking of how Silas looked at me when he realized we'd be stuck here together.
My body's humming with nervous energy, so I drop to the floor between the bed and the fireplace. I move through a few gentle stretches, nothing intense, just warrior pose and triangle pose to ground myself. Deep breaths, centering my thoughts. But even yoga can't quiet my racing pulse.
He returns with a tray balanced in his good hand. Two bowls of soup, crusty bread. "Mrs. Zhao's apologizing with food. I told her you accept."
"That was thoughtful." I'm surprised by how normal my voice sounds. “I have a few sets of Havoc-branded sweatpants in my backpack.”
“Oh, that’s amazing. I thought I was going to have to sleep in my jeans.”
“You could’ve just worn your skivvies.”
He arches a brow. “Assuming that I’m wearing any.”
“What? Oh!” I get tongue-tied when I picture him going commando.
“Kidding.” He sets the tray on the trunk at the bed's foot, then settles on the mattress edge like he's testing its stability. We eat quietly, but it's not awkward. It's the silence of two people hyperaware of each other, measuring every movement.
Okay, it's a little awkward. But it's still progress.
"How's the shoulder?" I ask.
He rolls it carefully. "Better than this morning. Worse than I want."
"Oh, Si. You should rest it tonight."
He stiffens. "What'd you call me?"
"Si?" My brain sputters and my cheeks heat. "Sorry, it's been such a long day. I'm only working with two brain cells and right now, they're in overdrive."
"I don't... mind." His voice is low and rough.
The fire shifts, sending shadows dancing across his face. He's watching me with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
"You don't?"
"Scout." It's a sigh as much as it is him calling my name. He's looking past me into the storm, gathering words. "You did good today."
I shrug a shoulder. "That's my job."
"I know. Still."
Praise from him is rare enough to treasure. "You were good with the kids. You warmed right up to them."
"Don't spread it around." His mouth almost smiles. "I have a reputation."
"It'll survive."
He stands, giving the bed a look like it personally offends him. "Mrs. Zhao says the storm might turn to freezing rain. We could lose power."
"So a normal Tuesday."
He makes a noise that could be interpreted as a laugh. I look at the bed because someone has to address it. "We'll keep to our sides. You won't hurt your shoulder, I won't kick. We'll manage."
He studies me like I've suggested something dangerous. "You get the window side. If something happens, I'm closer to the door."
"Always thinking in contingencies."
"You don't?"
"Not really. I think about what would make people happy." I slide him a shy smile. "Coming to Vashon was a good idea, by the way. Even though we're stuck."
He jerks his head in what might be taken for agreement. I clear my throat and dig out a set of sweats for him, then take mine into the small bathroom and quickly change clothes. When I get out, he’s stripped off his Henley, leaving him in a white t-shirt and a pair of too-tight gray sweatpants.
I swallow and jerk my gaze away. He’s not interested in having me stare.
"Lights off in ten?" I ask.
"Make it five. I'm beat."
I check locks and screens, then slide under my half of the quilt. The mattress dips when he joins me. We're careful not to touch, but I'm aware of every inch between us. His body heat radiates across the small space. His breathing sounds far too loud in the quiet.
The fire settles with a soft snap and a buffet of wind braces the windows. He shifts. I feel the mattress move, feel him testing the space between us without crossing it.
"Good work today," I whisper into the darkness.
A soft grunt leaves him. "You too, sunshine."
I close my eyes and try not to think about how easy it'd be to roll toward him, to close this careful distance between us. I clench my eyes and try not to think about his massive hands, the brooding curve of his mouth, and the way he looked at me in the firelight.