We walked in silence to the car.
Change. Reactants blooming to life. I could feel them.
When we pulled up to Books and Beds by the Sea, I was overcome with a sense of homesickness that I’d never really felt before. This house had been the only one I’d ever truly called home. When Jersey and I had lived here with Mandy and Leena, they’d just started renovating it into the bed and breakfast it was now.
On the outside, the white Victorian looked posh and perfect with its bright-blue shutters and curling trim. But on the inside, it looked like Mandy and Leena. Its nineteenth-century antecedents—panels, crown molding, and chandeliers—were mixed with brightly colored patterns that blurred into solids, reflecting Leena’s artistic side, while the books piled onto almost every available space were all Mandy.
Coming into the entryway, I was hit with the same memory that always haunted me.
I bounded down the mahogany stairs, anxious to meet the man Mandy and Leena called their second son, even when he was no relation to them. Big, blond, and muscled, Truck wore his military status on him like a coat even when he wasn’t in uniform. As he hugged Leena with a wide smile and kind eyes, my gaze was drawn to the even taller, dark-haired guy standing behind him. He had on a white T-shirt with a black leather jacket and simmered with a broodiness that screamed tortured soul.
This unexpected guest raised his eyes and found me on the stairs. He did a double take before slowly taking in every part of me in a way no man ever had—or at least, none that I’d noticed. He landed on my small breasts in the sparkly tank I’d inherited from Jada and stalled. The look made my hormone-driven body melt.
Truck elbowed him in the gut, growling out a warning, “Dawson.”
Dawson’s eyes jerked back to my face, eyes widening, before saying, “You have purple eyes.”
It was ridiculous and should have made me laugh. Instead, I felt like my body was slowly burning into ash faster than I could even calculate the formula.
There was only one truth in that moment: I wanted him for my very own.
Laughter from the kitchen brought me away from the memory. A laugh that I knew but couldn’t believe was there. I followed my feet to the kitchen where Silas’s lanky frame was leaned up against the giant island. The memory of the dark-haired man I’d just been thinking about, leaning in that exact space, hit me hard in the chest. Back then, my feet had danced around Dawson, taunting him with the last pint of Ben and Jerry’s, trying desperately to get him to touch me, wanting that flash of energy to coast over me that came every time he did. He’d had his arms crossed, trying hard to keep the smile from his broody lips.
Today, my feet danced up to Silas as well, but they weren’t happy, teasing steps. They were stomps of anger and frustration.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, and the room went silent—even little Nell, who’d been explaining to Leena what exactly she was drawing.
The smile he’d had slipped. “I was worried about you.”
It was true. You could hear the concern in his voice, just like Jersey’s had been full of it at the cemetery. Twisting my ID bracelet around my wrist, I took in a deep breath, calming myself down. I went to the back door, opened it, and motioned for him to come with me.
The back deck was small, but the yard beyond it was as gloriously manicured as the front. Mandy’s second love was gardening, and it showed in the barrels of herbs and flowers and the little arbors with benches scattered throughout the winding shrubbery.
I found a seat at one, and Silas joined me.
“I should have told you I was coming,” he started.
“You shouldn’t have come at all,” I told him, trying not to feel bad when he winced.
“My dad said if I truly loved you?wanted you?that I should come and make a grand gesture,” he said with a wry smile.
“Your dad…” I said, amazed. But then Jersey’s words outside the mausoleum came back to me. “Si…seriously, what doyoureally want? From us? From this? Not what you think your family wants, but what doyouwant?”
He frowned. “They’re the same thing. I want to build a life with you.”
I shook my head. “No. You want someone who will be your sidekick. Someone who will want all the same things you do and work toward them at your side.”
“Sure. That’s what partners?life partnersandscience partners?do for each other.”
His parents were coauthors of almost every scientific study they did. Their byline was a joint one. You rarely saw one without the other on paper or in life. I couldn’t imagine my science being tied that closely to someone else’s. And I certainly had no interest in making theStar Trek-like medical scanners Silas wanted to create.
“Silas, neither of us even want to work on the same things,” I told him. “I get excited when you talk about your project because I’m excited for you. I’m excited about the science behind it. But if I had to work on scanners for the rest of my days, I’d probably want to give up science altogether,” I told him.
He scrubbed his chin. He rarely had stubble on it. He was one of those guys whose beard grew slowly, and even then, he still shaved every day without fail to keep it off. Unbidden, more thoughts of Dawson, the last time I’d seen him, filled me. It had been at Christmas, and I’d woken up to soft laughter—Nell’s tiny jingle and his deep barrel one as they tried to be quiet. And when I’d come out of the guest bedroom at Truck and Jersey’s place, it was to find Dawson in sweats and a T-shirt tickling our niece. Thick brown stubble had coated his cheeks and his chin, and Nell had complained about it.
Whereas I’d thought it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
I’d hated my reaction to him at the same time I’d loved seeing them together.
