"It wasn't something we talked about much. After we lost her..." He shakes his head. "Bill couldn't bear to remember those days. And I respected that."
"What was she like?" The question comes unbidden, hungry for any scrap of information about my mom.
Elias studies me for a long moment, then says softly, "You have her eyes. Same shade of green. Same way of looking at a person like you can see straight through them."
The comparison makes my heart swell. All my life, I've heard how much I take after Dad, his stubbornness, his drive, his way of seeing the world. But this connection to my mother, from someone who knew her, is precious beyond words.
"She was fierce," Elias continues. "Brilliant. Never took no for an answer. Bill fell for her the moment they met, though it took him months to work up the courage to ask her out."
"Sounds familiar," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Elias goes very still. "Riley?—"
"I'm not sorry." I hold his gaze. "For what I said earlier. For what I feel."
"You should be." His voice roughens. "I'm twice your age. I was friends with your parents. I've known you since you were a child."
"But I'm not a child anymore." I move closer, bolstered by the fact that he doesn't back away. "And I'm tired of pretending I don't see how you look at me when you think I won't notice."
His jaw tightens. "It doesn't matter what I feel. It's not right."
"Why? Because of some arbitrary number? Because of what other people might think?" I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my palm. "Or because you're afraid?"
"I'm not afraid." But he doesn't move my hand.
"Aren't you?" I challenge softly. "Afraid of wanting something for yourself for once? Afraid of dishonoring Dad's memory? Afraid I'll wake up one morning and regret choosing a man twice my age?"
Each word hits its mark, I can see it in the way his expression shifts, the conflict in his eyes. He's standing on the same precipice I am, wanting to jump but terrified of the fall.
"I should go to bed," I say, not moving an inch. "It's late, and you need rest."
"You should," he agrees, equally motionless.
We stay frozen like that, his heart pounding beneath my palm, my own pulse racing in my veins. The air between us thickens, charged with everything we've said and all we've left unspoken.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Elias covers my hand with his own. The touch sends electricity through me, amplified when his other hand rises to cup my cheek.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs, even as his thumb traces my cheekbone.
"Probably," I breathe, leaning into his touch. "Do you care?"
His eyes never leave mine as he answers, voice like gravel: "Less than I should."
The confession lingers for one heartbeat, two, three, and then he's pulling away, rising from the couch in a fluid motion.
"Goodnight, Riley." The words are final, decisive, despite the storm I can see brewing behind his eyes.
As he disappears down the hallway, I'm left with the ghost of his touch on my skin and the certainty that, sooner or later, one of us is going to break.
And when we do, there will be no going back.
5
ELIAS
Sleep eludes me, my body a live wire of tension as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. The events of the day replay in my mind, Cooper's threats, Riley's touch, the dangerous moment on the couch when I nearly gave in to what we both want. I can still feel her hand on my chest, the soft skin of her cheek beneath my palm. Can still see the challenge in her eyes, daring me to admit the truth we both know.
I throw off the covers and sit up, running a hand through my hair. The digital clock reads 3:17 AM. Outside, an owl calls into the darkness, the sound echoing through the silent forest.
