Chapter 31
June
I think I fell in love with Silas’s family before I ever fell in love with Silas…and now, I got to be one of them.
Mabel’s was packed—the kind of packed that only happened once a year, when cryptid hunters descended on Willow Grove for the annual Gloaming Festival.
Every table was full; diners wore shirts that read “I Saw Bigfoot” or “Mothman is My Co-Pilot.” Someone sitting at the counter had brought a pair of homemade night-vision goggles and was explaining Bigfoot mating calls to a politely nodding Francine and Birdie.
It was chaos.
The wonderful, strange chaos of home.
I slid into the booth between Silas and Willow, Hazel already gnawing on a biscuit in her mother’s lap like she hadn’t eaten in days. Rhett passed me the coffee pot without even asking, Beau openly staring at a man in a cape who claimed to be a professional chupacabra tracker.
I poured a cup of coffee for myself and Silas, who leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Thank you very much, Reverend Ward,” he murmured.
I smiled, glancing around to see if anyone had caught that. Everyone else was thoroughly distracted by the spectacle.
I just smiled wider. “You’re welcome very much, Mr. Ward.”
Whit slid into the booth beside Silas, clearing his throat like he was sick of the PDA. “Delilah’s parking,” he said. “She had to stop and take a picture of some UFO hunters with tinfoil hats.”
“Dear God,” Silas muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “You survived a tent revival with a rattlesnake-wielding madman. I’m sure you can handle a few cryptid enthusiasts.”
“Speaking of which…have you got something special planned for this week’s service?” Willow asked with a sly smile.
“I was considering a sermon titled The Gloamhorn and the Shepherd: On Being Known and Not Seen,” I said, deadpan as could be.
Silas sputtered on his coffee.
Whit immediately perked up. “Now that’s a service I’d go to,” he said. “You could tie it into like…spiritual camouflage. Hiding from your calling. Avoiding eye contact with destiny.”
“Oh that’s good,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Isaiah in the wilderness, but make it cryptid-core.”
Delilah groaned and dropped into a seat beside Whit. “Please—don’t encourage him.”
Willow looked delighted. “Oh no, keep going. I think this is the most spiritual I’ve felt since the wexorcism.”
“I might even open with a reading from the Gospel of Mothman,” I said. “Lo, he did appear on the bridge, and the people were afraid. But the collapse was not his fault.”
“Always knew the poor Mothman was just tryin’ to help,” Rhett chuckled.
Beau had stopped staring at the chupacabra hunter, laughing softly at the rest of us as he sipped his coffee. As if remembering there was business other than cryptids to take care of, Delilah suddenly nudged Beau, almost knocking his coffee clean out of his hands.
“So,” Delilah said. “Now that Silas and June are officially engaged…I guess you’re next on the chopping block, huh?”
Beau rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?”
“Because Rhett was first, Silas was second…you’re next,” Delilah shrugged. “Then Whit, if anyone would ever take that project on.”
Whit snorted. “Gee, thanks.”
Delilah smirked over the rim of her sweet tea. “I’m just saying. Some brave soul might be out there prayin’ for the strength to civilize you.”
“I’m extremely civilized,” Whit replied. “I floss.”
“Once a week doesn’t count,” Beau muttered.
Silas grinned into his mug. “Honestly, I think we’d have better luck marrying him off to Bigfoot. Less likely to sue for emotional damages.”
“I’ll have you know I’m very emotionally available,” Whit said. “I once cried during a Budweiser commercial. I even made Delilah a friendship bracelet last week.”
Delilah plucked at a beaded string hanging from her wrist. “He did—stopped by the library during arts and crafts day and ended up participating. It says Get Wrecked.”
“In gold letters and everything,” Whit winked. “You’re welcome.”
I exchanged a look with Silas, both of us quietly entertained by the familiar rhythm of it—Delilah pretending to be unimpressed, Whit pretending he didn’t care more than anyone else at the table.
I’d only been part of this family a short time, but I already knew exactly how that story was going to go.
“You know,” Willow said, shifting Hazel to her other knee, “I think Beau’s lady is gonna be wild. Like…lives-in-a-truck, moon-worshipping, roadkill-collecting wild.”
“You say that as if you and June aren’t equally wild,” Rhett teased, reaching out to stop Hazel from diving headfirst into a bowl of grits.
Willow raised her eyebrows. “I don’t collect bones.”
I was about to interject and defend myself as well, but an extremely loud growl of frustration distracted each of us—even Hazel, who looked out the window with wide eyes, mouth gaping.
There was a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl outside looking desperately into the smoking engine of her car, her phone clutched in her hand like she was looking for a Youtube tutorial on how to get the fuck out of Willow Grove.
And on her bumper?
A sticker that said:
I WORSHIPPED THE MOON TODAY! THAT’S WHY THE SEA HASN’T CONSUMED US!
Beau didn’t seem to notice the sticker; he was already standing up, making Whit and Delilah move so he could help out.
“Y’all,” Delilah started, but Beau was already halfway to the door, playing mechanic.
Not knowing he might just be strolling right into fate.
“Do we think he’s going to help her fix the car or propose marriage on the spot?” Willow asked, sipping her coffee.
“Both,” Whit said, “in that order.”
Hazel banged her tiny fist against the table in solidarity.
We let Beau have his moment.
Or more accurately, we all leaned into the booth and pretended we weren’t watching him charm the girl with the moon-worship bumper sticker while she visibly questioned whether accepting help in Willow Grove would result in a blood pact or a marriage license.
Delilah stole Beau’s abandoned biscuit and dragged it through the last of Whit’s gravy.
“So,” she said, “before we start planning Beau’s wedding…when’s yours, June? I mean—you’ve got the ring, you’ve got the church…”
I exchanged a look with Silas.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t smirk.
He just lifted my hand off the table and kissed my knuckles, slow and soft.
Which was somehow worse.
Whit narrowed his eyes. “Oh no. What did you do?”
Rhett straightened in his seat. “Wait—did you two—?”
“We didn’t elope,” I said quickly, even though that wasn’t entirely true.
“We got married,” Silas said, deadpan. “Just…not with all the fanfare. Figured there was enough hubbub with the church openin’ and the drama with the Remnant fellowship…just wanted to do it as fast as possible.”
I saw the gears turn in Rhett’s head, saw it click into place—Silas needed it to happen fast because he hadn’t had the chance to marry Amelia.
When everything had gone down with Abel, Silas had told me he wanted to be married as quickly as possible—and I’d agreed. And that…it was good, because it was ours.
I liked having something that was ours. With a family like this…privacy was hard to come by.
“Okay, but—y’all really didn’t want even a little party?” Delilah asked, like she was personally offended.
“We’ll throw one,” I said. “Eventually. You can be in charge. But the actual wedding? That was ours.”
Silas kept his hand in mine, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist like he needed the reassurance as much as I did. “Didn’t want a big fuss,” he added. “Just wanted to be hers.”
That shut Delilah up—at least long enough for Whit to lean across the table and ask, “So…you’re really married?”
I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers. “Legal and binding, baby.”
“I hate how smug that sounded,” Whit muttered.
“I don’t,” Silas said, with a half-smile that went straight to my chest.
Willow laughed and set Hazel upright in her lap. “I love this,” she said. “It’s so you. No fanfare. No nonsense. Just vows and a signature and the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes.”
“Well, it’s no wexorcism,” Rhett chuckled, “but I guess it’s pretty romantic.”
Willow snorted, and Hazel echoed it with a delighted shriek, banging her tiny fists on the table again.
Across from me, Delilah narrowed her eyes at my ring like she was already planning a Pinterest board in her head.
Whit sighed dramatically, muttered something about being surrounded by domestic cultists, and stole back his gravy.
Outside, Beau was still crouched by the girl’s car, one hand braced on the bumper, the other pointing something out under the hood. She looked unimpressed. He looked like he’d found religion.
“God help him,” Rhett said under his breath.
I leaned into Silas, my hand still in his. He looked down at me, eyes soft in that way that never failed to make my heart skip a beat.
“Feels real now,” he murmured.
“It is real,” I said, squeezing his fingers.
And just like that, it didn’t matter that we hadn’t had a big ceremony. Didn’t matter that there hadn’t been cake or dancing or a bouquet toss. What mattered was this—us, here, together. Family by choice, by love, by name.
Somewhere behind the counter, Mabel rang a bell and yelled, “Two specials and a side of fries!” over the chatter of the crowd.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds were breaking. And for once, it felt like everything had settled just the way it was meant to.
I was home. In love.
Holy.