6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Ella

An aching throb wakes me from my restless slumber, the same pain that set in once I'd gotten back home from prom three years ago. I know where all of this flirting and these almost-kissing moments will lead—the same place they did back then. I peel my eyes open, hoping for another few hours of sleep before my cheerful sister bursts through my door and proclaims it's breakfast time. Rooming with her and my father for winter break was a big mistake, especially since she despises Silas. I still haven't told her about tutoring him, but I'll have to soon unless I want an epic argument with her when she finds out from one of Coldstone Creek's gossips.

A whiff of cinnamon invades my nostrils, my cue to get moving. Abbie is a fantastic cook, but her reason for asking me to stay with her at Dad's for break has more to do with her trying to convince me to transfer to a closer university than wanting to spend time with me. Dad isn't doing well, and she needs help. After Corinna died, he fell apart and he never really got it back together. My sister spent most of her time caring for him so I could go to school, and I love her for it. Still, I've already made the decision to head back home. She deserves the help, especially with Dad's recent diagnosis of early onset dementia.

I roll over and check the time, a bit later than I expect, but still bright and early. I'll have to meet Silas soon, but first I need to figure out a way to explain it to Abbie. The tutoring part, of course, not the part about how my stomach still bottoms out at the mere sight of his face. Stupid stomach.

My bedroom still smells a bit like fast food, probably from the greasy cheeseburger that dribbled on my shirt last night. That cheeseburger, holy cow was it delicious—no pun intended. I can still imagine the flavors of beef and cheese, and whatever the special sauce was, melding together in a masterpiece my father would die for. I try not to notice how stupidly attractive Silas was with it dribbling down his chin, or the way his eyes rolled back in his head with each bite.

I shuffle from my bed as my phone rings, a little jingle that tells me it's Simmy, my dormmate who is back in her home country of England over winter break.

"Hey! I thought you weren't calling until after lunch?" I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

"It is after lunch here, Ella," she says giggling. "So, how was the tutoring thing? You sent me a completely indecipherable message last night, then went dark on me."

"Oh, yeah, about that—"

"Start at the beginning and tell me the whole story! Is he super hot or something?" Simmy's excitement is almost palpable over the line. I want to hop a plane and fly to London where I can regale her with the details of my encounter with my ex-boyfriend.

"Okay, well, I guess I should start with good news. Yes, he's super hot, but that makes the bad news even worse," I say. "It's Silas."

"Silas the guy from prom? The summer fling guy?" she screeches, her tone somewhere in the vicinity of freaking out and worried.

"Yep, and he's the same but completely different." I let his face invade my mind, which is probably a bad idea first thing in the morning. Now I'll never get it out. Those butterflies will run rampant through my stomach all day, and no amount of chasing them will help rid them from my already tormented body.

"Wow, that's sort of crazy. Did he tell you why he left?" she asks, finally calm enough for me to explain everything, as if that's even possible at this point.

"He said he was on a mission trip to Romania and that he thought it was the right thing to do at the time. Honestly, he hasn't really said why not telling me seemed best, but I don't want to ask. It'll make me seem desperate." I shuffle through my closet, searching for something warm and cozy.

"Tell me you are not considering giving the guy a second chance?" she asks, her tone even more stern in her posh British accent.

I can't help sighing. "I don't know what's happening. Right now, I'm tutoring him. We're friends. That's all." Rather than turn the lights on, I decide to let the sunshine in. I hold the phone between my cheek and shoulder and shove the curtains back. There, looking back at me, is Silas with his hand raised as if to knock.

"Ahh!" I scream and drop the phone.

Silas' eyes widen, and his jaw drops. He loses his balance and falls backward, arms flailing as he topples from the lattice he'd climbed to reach my window. Arms and legs whip around, grasping for any hold on the side of the brick house, but he can't right himself before landing flat on his back…almost the same scenario from when he'd visited me the morning after prom.

"Oh, my gosh!" I squeal and forget all about my friend on the telephone as I run downstairs. Abbie raises her arms in the air as I pass, ensuring I don't knock the plate of food from her hands or scald myself with the coffee pot.

She stares after me like I've lost my mind while my father chuckles. "Tell him to ring the doorbell next time!" he shouts behind me as I rush out the door.

Outside, Silas stares up at the sky. Puffy, thick clouds pass before the sun, casting shadows across his face while he pants to catch his breath. I kneel beside him, afraid to touch him until he says he's okay.

"Ow," he groans. "I'm okay."

I relax, stifling a chuckle. "Why'd you climb the lattice? Don't you remember what happened the last time? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I remember, which is why I wore better shoes. I didn't expect you to open the curtains, so that happened. I was about to knock," he says. He rolls his head to face me, forcing a flurry of flutters through my chest. How can I be so mad at him but still so wrapped around his finger? If he reaches up for me in this moment, I won't be able to stop myself from kissing him. I'm so mad about it, that I frown.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. He glances at my choice of bedtime attire—an oversized tee with a giant ice cream cone printed on it, paired with comfy sweatpants—and smiles. "I was out and about, thought I'd come bother you."

"It's Saturday, Silas. And I'm hungry."

He rolls fully onto his side. "I think I broke my spleen," he grumbles, then pushes himself upright to sit beside me.

"You don't break your spleen. You rupture or tear it. Do you need to go to the hospital, Silas? That was a two-story fall." I glance up at my window and remember Simmy is on the phone, probably worried since I screamed then dropped her without a second thought. It's a good thing she's used to my spastic behavior. I'll call her back, but first I have to satisfy my curiosity. Why on earth is Silas Thomas sitting in my front yard on a Saturday morning? I already suspect the answer, which only makes apprehension grow into an almost uncontrollable monster. He's sucking me in again, and he's good at it.

"Nah, I'm good. No hospital trips needed this time. I've taken worse spills than that. Anyway, wanna go break into our old school, help me hack the guidance counselor's computer, and make some people's lives miserable?"

"No," I say and shake my head. "Why would I want to do that? It's mean."

He smirks, his face scrunched on one side with narrowed eyes, analyzing me. "I was kidding. Do you really think I'd still do a stupid thing like that and wind up in jail?"

I shrug and cross my arms. "Your level of sanity is always up for question. I gotta go back in and eat with my father and sister." I stand and brush the dead grass off my sweats, fiddle with my messy hair a bit, unsure what to do or say while he stares at me the way he does. Silas is the sort of guy who makes it impossible to end a conversation. Awkwardness hangs in the air, catching all the words in an invisible bubble above us. Nothing with him ever truly feels complete, done, over. There is always more to say, and you can bet he'll say it.

"I mean, I could use some breakfast. I'm a growing boy and all." He stands beside me and mimics my actions, brushing dry grass from his sweater and hair.

"Well, why didn't you eat at your house before traipsing all the way here to bug me?" I try to seem standoffish, but I'm failing. There's an invisible string between us, and it would take a meat cleaver to cut it. Even now, my stupid feet incline me towards him, into his bubble of self-assured insanity.

"Of course I ate already, but between there and here I got hungry again." He grins again, knowing he's got me on the hook.

Ah, the dang dimples. Silas is good at manipulation. Maybe that's the wrong word for what he does. Rather, he knows his looks can get him about anything he wants, so he spackles on his smile, flashes a few dimples, adds a couple of well-placed eyelash flutters, and he's got what he wants. I grit my teeth, knowing very well that is the definition of manipulation. The problem for Silas is, those things don't really matter to me. The guy is probably the most attractive human being to ever set foot on earth, but he is also a load of trouble that spells disaster everywhere he goes. At least, that's how it had been in high school, but now I'm not sure.

I'm also a liar, because that grin has me weak in the knees.

"Please?" he asks, his hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels like a kid. The still annoyed part of me wants to shove him and tell him to act like a grown up, but the swoony girl inside remembers how much of a man he is when he's on the farm. Instead of fussing, I sigh.

I motion toward the house, accepting that he will not leave until fed. In a way, I don't really want him to go, which perfectly spells that trouble I'm afraid of. I'm already in deeper than I need to be.

I pull open the screen door and step inside, letting Silas in behind me. He lets the door slam like always, making Abbie jump. She glances over her shoulder, takes one look at Silas, and scowls like an angry old lady.

"What are you doing here?" Abbie asks, catching my father's attention. I'm not sure if Dad will remember Silas, honestly, but his furrowed brow says he is processing a familiar face. He seemed to recognize him only minutes ago, but things change fast with his recall.

Silas dips his head. "Having breakfast with my friend. What are you doing here?"

"I live here. You can head back out the way you came." Abbie crosses the kitchen and swats at Silas, who raises his arms to defend himself against her weaponized spatula. "Shoo, don't let the door hit you—"

"Abigail," I scold. "Can you please stop? He's the guy I'm tutoring, and I haven't had a chance to tell you."

Abigail stops fussing and swatting, but her glare pins Silas where he stands. What he did to me isn't the only reason my sister despises Silas. His actions were only the frosting on the cake. It all started with the homecoming parade float when Silas and I were in eleventh grade and my sister was a senior. Two words—giant fire. As head cheerleader, Abigail worked hard designing and organizing the building of the float only to watch it go up in flames when Silas accidentally lit it on fire with a blow torch. Why anyone would give the boy a blow torch was beyond me, but he had one, and he nearly burned down the entire school.

My sister pulls out her usual chair and flops, then stuffs a blueberry muffin into her mouth to control the flow of words. Silas stifles his smirk, ensuring Abbie doesn't see, but the glimmer in his eyes isn't lost on me. He smiles and pulls out a chair for me, sits beside me, then stares at the spread Abbie has prepared like he's never seen food before.

"So," Dad says, "How was prom? Tell me everything." So much for Dad being in a good place this morning. Whatever grasp he had seems to be slipping.

I glance at Silas who narrows his eyes and looks back at me. I only touched on my father's problem, unwilling to elaborate since I'm not sure how far I can trust Silas yet. I'm also not sure how much of my life I want to share.

"Um, it was fine. Are you hungry, Dad?" I ask.

He pushes his plate forward so I fill it with fruit and a muffin while Abbie keeps up her one-sided staring contest with Silas. Once Dad's plate is filled up, I glance back at Silas and whisper, "It's the dementia. Sometimes he loses track of time, but he probably recognizes you. He can't quite place you or where we are on the timeline."

Silas frowns and mouths, "I'm sorry. Would it be better if I go? I didn't mean to cause a problem."

"No, it's okay. I'll go change and we can…Wait, what did you come here for?" I ask, still unsure why he'd shown up on my doorstep on a day we are not scheduled for tutoring. My stomach rumbles, and not because I'm hungry. Once again, I'm asking something I already know the answer to.

"I wondered if you'd go get coffee with me? I should tell you everything about Romania, and it might help you hate me a little less?"

"I don't hate you." The words fall out of my mouth so fast they must be true, but there's still an angry little monster inside that scrapes at my insides, whispering that I do hate him. I don't. I truly don't, but I also don't fully trust him. "I don't know."

"Okay, I understand. I need you to understand it was never you. It wasn't anything you did, okay?"

Abbie's eyes narrow but she says nothing. I bite my lip and consider his offer. I had planned on helping Abbie around the house today, but my mind will only be focused on Silas and what he has to say. Since I'm going to transfer back home, I'm sure I'll see more of him, so it's not a bad idea to get this settled. Our town is too small for rivalries and feuds.

"Let me change and we'll go to Sweet and Salty," I say.

Abbie tosses a piece of toast at me. It hits my plate, bounces, and catches me in the corner of the eye. How she managed to make burned bread into a dangerous projectile is beyond me, but it hurts, so I squeal and press my hand on my injured eye.

"Abigail," Dad scolds, still half in his haze. "Don't throw food at your sister. You're supposed to be setting an example, young lady."

"I'm fine," I say, "but I have jelly in my eye."

"Here, I'll help you," Silas says as he shoves his chair back. It screeches along the linoleum, a sound we both know my sister despises. Silas makes a big deal about pulling my chair out, then pushing them both back under the table, making that same noise three additional times. How can one man be so childish one minute and uber masculine the next? I bite back a chuckle and head to the downstairs bathroom to flush my eye out.

I step inside, not expecting Silas to actually aid me, but he follows me in and shuts the door. He's downright comfortable in my home, which I find odd if not intrusive, especially after three years have gone by without him in it.

"Here, come here." Silas urges me to bend over, then turns on the faucet and carefully splashes water into my injured eye. The coolness helps ease the sting caused by my sister's flying breakfast. Silas hands me a towel, and I dry my face to better inspect my eye. It's a bit red but seems fine otherwise.

I try not to look at Silas, too worried I won't be able to speak if I get sucked into those pretty eyes. Ugh… I know I'm one good dimple-flash away from becoming one of those girls who goes running back to the guy that broke her heart like glutton for punishment. Unfortunately, we are already staring at each other in the mirror, and I'm getting sucked into his steady gaze. His golden eyes are lighter than his brother's, which I always found odd. I asked about it once and received a whole lesson on genetics. Evidently it is rare, but not impossible for twins to have different eye colors. Where Lev's are darker brown, Silas' are a warm honey that draw me in like a bee missing her hive.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, not blinking while he searches my face.

"I don't know, really. I think about things," I admit, draping the towel over the towel rack.

"Such as?" He leans on the edge of the sink, totally put together after only a few hours of sleep. I, on the other hand, still don't feel human. I need coffee. I need to call my friend back. And more than anything, I need to understand why I am suddenly the center of his attention again as if he'd never run off in the first place. If I am what he wanted back then, and he still wants me now, what happened in the years between?

I sigh and close my eyes, breaking our connection. "What are you really doing here, Silas?"

He brushes his fingers over my arm, sliding them down to my hand. He rests his on top of mine until I open my eyes. I can't say for sure what I see in his eyes, but it's something like disappointment or desperation . He looks away almost immediately, focuses on his own shoes, and bites his bottom lip. His entire presence has changed. His shoulders stiffen and his jaw works hard, probably working to keep in all the words I really, really need to hear.

"Silas?" I whisper. "Whatever it is, please tell me the truth."

He snaps out of it and flashes another toothy smile. "I told you, I want to talk. Now, go get dressed. I have a lot of explaining to do, Cinderella."

"Don't call me that," I say, my nerves bristling. My cheeks heat from anger rather than embarrassment or nervousness. "I don't like it."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." He squeezes my hand before letting it go.

"It's the name my mother chose. I hate it."

Silas' features soften, and he relaxes fully. "I apologize, Ella. It won't happen again."

He's not the first person to call me by my given name despite my insistence that no one do it. Mrs. Kilmer, the mayor's wife, can't help herself. She constantly refers to me as Cinderella, then shakes her head and apologizes. I can't be too mad at the elderly woman, but it is frustrating. I don't want to think about my mother or the things she did.

"Okay, clothes on, teeth brushed, shoes tied. We have a café to raid."

I have no choice in the matter, not if I want to get him out of my house—which I do, because if I don't, Abbie will either dismember him and feed him to the neighbor's dog, or I'll end up kissing him in this bathroom.

"All right. Gimme a few minutes," I say and lead him out. I motion toward the den library where Abbie rarely goes, and he gets the point. By the time I'm headed to the stairs, he's already browsing our shelves.

I showered last night because farming is messy work, but I hop in again anyway to have a moment to gather my thoughts. Hopefully, Abbie won't murder Silas while he waits. Of course, my mind drifts back to the farm and having fast food burgers with him last night. Then it shifts to finding him hanging off of my trellis earlier. This leads to a trip down memory lane. Back to the day after prom, the day the events of the entire summer were set in motion.

THREE YEARS EARLIER

"I can't believe you climbed the side of my house and fell down," I said, laughing.

"It was not my finest moment, but I wanted to see you," he said.

Silas held my hand as we strolled down the sidewalk toward downtown Coldstone Creek where his family's café was located on Main Street. The heavy aroma of coffee attacked us both at the same time, so he pointed toward Sweet and Salty.

"Want some?" he asked. "I could go for a cup."

"Yes, but I'm not easily distracted, Silas. Why do you keep calling me Ells instead of Ella? And why did you come to my house this morning?"

He opened the door and snickered. "I noticed. Ells because I want my own nickname for you, and I came to see you because…" He paused, seeming anxious as he shifted the weight between his feet. "Can I tell you a secret, Ells?"

I nodded, enthralled, hanging on the edge of my seat. Secrets. I had a lot of those, mostly involving my careless mother, but Silas' secret seemed like a priceless treasure filled with adventure, and I wanted in on it. Whether it was from boredom or a sudden need to be important, I couldn't say, but I suddenly found myself wrapped up in the mystery that was Silas Thomas. I tried to tell myself it was a bad idea, that following the boy down whatever rabbit hole he'd found would only end badly, but I didn't care. I wanted to go-the spark bit me and caught fire.

"Ells…I…" Silas bit his lower lip and swallowed hard, a lump that seemed to be the only thing keeping the floodgate of his mind closed. "I don't have anyone else to turn to, and I really need someone, okay? If you don't want to be that person, it's completely fine. I get it. It's not easy to be friends with someone like me, to take on the burden of being their sounding board and everything that goes with that, but if you could…I mean, if you could…"

"Silas, it's okay." I heard his plea, his cry for help. I'd heard it before, from someone else, but I didn't respond, and I paid dearly for that mistake. I wouldn't do that again. This time, I would listen. "I can be your friend, Silas."

"Really? Just like that? No questions asked?"

I nodded and smiled. "Yes, Silas, just like that. And there will be loads of questions, but for now, let's have some coffee."

I sat with Silas and had coffee. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was what he needed, for whatever reason, and in that moment of silence with him, I learned something about myself I'd never known. I had the power to just be in a moment without analyzing it, without judging it, without ruining it with words. Just be.