Chapter 16 #2
It doesn’t feel strange or foreign, like I’m kissing a stranger I just met.
No, it feels a little like coming home, like every moment we’ve had up until this point has brought us to this kiss.
And it’s one I won’t ever forget. Nothing about Silvie is forgettable.
She makes every moment feel special and fun.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, our breaths tangled, my thumb brushing slowly along her jaw.
“Now you know,” I say, my voice lower than I expect.
Her eyes are bright, lips flushed, breath unsteady in the best way.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”
And I know, right then, that pretending this is fake is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Nothing feels fake about this at all. And I’m ready to risk it all for her.
I knock on Birdie’s door the evening of our date. Which is a fake date, because this is a fake relationship, even though I’m nervous as hell after that kiss. Damn. That kiss was everything. There wasn’t anything fake about that kiss.
Silvie opens the door and pauses, a grin telling me she’s been informed of the plan.
“So,” she says. “Apparently, I’m moving in with you.”
I laugh, slightly caught off guard. “Yeah, Wilby has a way of making things happen when he wants to.”
“I’ve never moved in with someone on the first date,” she adds. “Feels bold.”
“I’ve never lived with a woman other than my mother, so there’s that,” I say with a small chuckle. “It’ll be a first for me.”
Her humor morphs into concern. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Cal?” she says, searching my face.
There’s a lot I’m not okay with about this—galas and her mom and New York—but what I am okay with is her. If that stuff comes along with it, so be it. As long as she benefits in the end, it’ll be worth all the headache.
Silvie deserves good things and I want to help deliver them to her.
“Yeah,” I say with a smile. “Of course, happy to help. Plus, we’re not that far away. Still close to Birdie and now Wilby. Makes sense.”
She studies my face for a second and says, “Okay, let me get my things.”
After we grab all her things, which isn’t much, we head to my place.
She steps in slowly, taking it all in. It’s not much different from Birdie’s house, just not as cozy.
Silvie sweeps her gaze over the worn but comfy couch.
The way everything has a place. She runs her fingers along the back of a chair and glances out the window at the darkening sky. A storm’s coming in.
“This place feels like you,” she says.
“Is that good or bad?” I ask.
I’m shocked at how much her approval means to me.
“It’s comfortable,” she says. “Like you know who you are, and it fits your vibe. Solid, steady, sturdy, and home.”
Interesting.
“I only have one bed. I’ll be taking the couch,” I inform her.
She frowns and looks at me like she doesn’t like that plan.
I show her the guest room with wall-to-wall bookshelves and my desk in the center. She examines all of my books, running her fingertips over the spines, reading the titles.
She stops short when she sees the framed photos on the wall of me in high school and during college. Surf shots. When I was a lot younger, leaner and had longer hair. A few newspaper clippings are tucked into the frame corners, headlines faded but still readable.
She turns slowly and grins. “Well, it turns out you do have a few secrets.”
I lean against the door frame, arms crossed. “Not really. I surfed and did some competitions to pay for school.”
She points at one photo. “You look... intense.”
“I was,” I say. “I needed that prize money. I surfed pretty hard for several years.”
“I didn’t realize you competed,” she says, stepping closer. “Like seriously competed.”
I shrug a shoulder. “It was a long time ago.”
“Cal,” she says, reading one of the clippings. “Regional finals, sponsorship offers.” Her eyes flick back to me. “You were a big deal.”
I hesitate. “Didn’t know it mattered.”
She studies my face, hers softer now. “Of course it’s a big deal. I want to know everything about you.”
Her words soften parts of me I didn’t even know were hard. I like that she wants to know things about me. The feeling is mutual.
“It feels like another life,” I say softly. “It was a means to something that I thought I wanted. Then it wasn’t.”
She nods as if she understands.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I live a different life now.”
She’s quiet for a second. Then she smiles, gentle and real. “That’s kind of a big secret, Cal.”
I laugh under my breath. “Wait until you hear the rest of them.”
She arches a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Come on,” I say. “I’m cooking you dinner. Then we’re going to sit and watch the storm roll in and tell each other all our secrets.”
Only there’s some I won’t be telling her.
She grins. “I can’t wait. Apparently, you’ve got layers.”
She has no idea.
So much laughter.
My jaw hurts. Not from the savory steaks I grilled. No, from all the laughs I’ve had with Silvie. She’s fun. While I cooked, she insisted on helping, and she was sort of clumsy, unsure of where anything was located. It made for a humorous affair.
Thunder rattles all the windows in the bungalow. There’s an eagerness in Silvie’s eyes that has me abandoning kitchen cleanup after dinner to take her onto the porch. We sit side by side on my porch swing, close enough our thighs touch.
“I’ll learn my way around your house soon,” she says, turning slightly to smile at me. “I love the smell of a storm.”
I inhale the ozone scent, but her sweetness quickly overtakes it.
When she shivers, I slide my arm over the back of the porch swing and pull her to my side.
We sit quietly as the wind whistles and the thunder rumbles.
Each time I push the swing forward, she kicks her bare feet out toward the edge of the porch, letting the raindrops speckle the tops of them.
What was supposed to be a “secrets confessional” turns into a charged, intimate moment between us while we enjoy the sounds of the storm. Silvie, having had enough of getting her feet wet, turns more toward me, and hooks her legs over my thigh.
Nothing about this feels fake.
My heart stammers in my chest as I toy with a silky strand of her hair.
“Cal,” she whispers, barely carrying over the sound of the storm.
“Hmm.”
“I have a secret.”
I turn to smell her hair. God, she smells good. “Yeah? Tell me.”
“I really like this. You.”
“Silvie?”
“Yes?”
“I have a secret too,” I murmur.
She giggles, already reading my mind. “Oh, do you now? What is it?”
“I like this. And I really like you, too.”
The most difficult thing about this entire fake marriage with Silvie is that I’m going to have to not fall in love with her.
She’s not making it easy.