He rolls his eyes, stepping closer to lift himself up on his toes and kiss me. I close my eyes, leaning in, wrapping my hand around his head to intensify the kiss. Our lips always align so perfectly, and I get so lost in his warmth I forget where we are until loud honking breaks us apart.
“We gotta pick better places to make out.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Probably need to do that for other things we do too. I think we’re getting a little better.”
“Either that or just lucky.”
“Could be both.” He circles the car, waiting for me to open the doors. When I do, we both slide in and he looks at his phone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, with a little hesitation in his voice. “It’s only my mom seeing if I’m still coming over. I told her I’ll be there later today.”
“To your house, then? Or do you want to stop and grab food first?”
“We can grab food and eat at my house. I don’t think me being gone will lead to Stacey being home more.”
“She’s on the schedule to work today and no one’s called me to tell me she didn’t make it in,” I say reassuringly.
A muscle jumps in his throat. “Really? Then I guess my plan works out then. Worst case scenario, I can hide you in the laundry room again,” he lifts his eyes to mine and raises a brow, and that pulls a laugh from me.
I stop by the first place we reach after leaving the theater parking lot, ordering us burgers and fries to go. Silas sneaks a few fries into his mouth before we reach his neighborhood, and I park down the street again to be on the safe side.
“You sure about me going inside?”
“Yeah.” He licks his lips, reaching for the door handle. “I’m sure. Better than you waiting out here freaking out my neighbors. They might start to think we have a neighborhood stalker soon.”
I wave him off, flicking my eyes. “I guess I do fit the look with my dark clothes and ominous personality.”
Shaking his head and laughing, he steps out onto the sidewalk with the food in his hands and I follow him to his house, holding everything while he unlocks the door. All lights are off when we step inside, the air a little warm and the living room empty. Silas flips a switch and we walk to the connecting kitchen. Setting down the food, he looks around, pausing on the heart-shaped post-it notes on the fridge.
Letting out a long breath, he separates the paper on top from the rest, his eyes roaming over the tiny words. “She wants me to stay.”
“What?” I take two steps closer to him, not wanting to invade too much of his space.
He looks at me with heavy eyes, crumpling the note in his fist. “She said if I come by the house again to consider staying, that she’ll drop everything if I message her, and that she’s here and not going anywhere.”
“Are you going to?” My words cut at my throat on the way out.
His lips turn inward and he shakes his head, turning toward the counter and walking back to where the food is. “No. She had all this time to leave me a note like this. To choose me first. Why now, when she’s worried about losing me to someone else? Why did she ever let it get to this? We can’t just go back to how we were. Not after all we’ve destroyed.”
“I can understand that. I know it’s not an easy choice to make.”
“I worry if we keep trying to make something work that’s beyond repair, then we’ll lose each other all together. I don’t want that. I still see her as my best friend.”
I stand behind him, squeezing his shoulder, knowing he needs more of a sympathetic ear than someone to offer him advice. Not that I have any. I was never the guy people ran to when they had an issue they couldn’t work out alone, and there was a reason for that. I’m not good with this sort of stuff. I have a hard enough time figuring out solutions to my own problems as it is.
“Let’s eat.” He finally speaks again, rummaging in the paper bags. He sets out my food first and then what remains of his.
Neither of us stop watching the door as we eat, waiting for Stacey to barge in at any minute the way she did last time. She never does. Not while he’s packing a bag or searching the cabinets for his meds. I browse his bookshelf and movie selection while I wait, the huge shelf of VHS tapes catching my interest.
A smile breaks across my face and I pull out each one. There must be at least a hundred here. There’s a mixture of horror and thrillers from the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s. After placingScreamandJanuary Manback in their rightful places, I circle around the living room. As I’m about to walk toward the large woven basket full of colorful skeins of yarn, fast-approaching footsteps have me coming to a halt.
“Ready to go?” Silas lifts his bag higher on his shoulder.
“You crochet?”
“Yeah. Mainly lopsided sweaters and uneven scarves. I did, however, make some bomb-ass potholders and dishcloths.”
