I’m weak because he’s smiling apologetically, dimples indented on each cheek, and the sunlight is shining on him like a halo. I’m struggling to remember what I was saying.
My journal, right.
“I swear I didn’t look through it. Just the page it was on.”
“It’s fine.” I hand him the shirt and the extra toothbrush. “It’s not a diary, just a journal I fill with random stuff and my recipes.”
He takes the shirt and toothbrush but doesn’t pull his hand away. “Random stuff?” he balks. “Did you really draw that?”
“Yeah.” I feel stupidly shy at the awed look on his face. “It’s not my best work.”
“Not your best work? That drawing looks so realistic.” He towers over me, and his smile is luminous. “And it made me hungry.”
I chuckle, brushing my bangs away. “Thanks.” Compliments and praise sometimes make me awkward. Accepting them feels strange, especially when it’s nothing that should be talked about.Why am I overthinking what he said? I distance myself from him. “Anyway, the bathroom is over there.”
His eyebrows scrunch and he looks like he wants to say something, but then he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s got his shirt on and it’s buttoned up, and his hair is damp and finger-combed back.
“You smell really good.”
“What?” I ask, bemused.
“I mean, my shirt. It—whatever you had on last night smells really good. My walk of shame won’t be so bad now.”
I roll my eyes, grinning. “You leaving isnota walk of shame.”
“Kind of feels like it…” The tease in his voice makes me feel jittery inside.
We stall in the middle of the living room, unable to look away or speak either. I want to say something, like maybe ask if he wants to stay, but I did enough begging last night. He may have been nice, but it’s still embarrassing.
“I guess I should go.”
“Yeah…”Stayclings to the tip of my tongue, but I don’t expel it.
He walks to the front door and slips on his shoes. “Thanks again for coming to the auction and going along with the fake dating bit, and everything else.” He peeks at his covered arm then at mine. “I promise not to tell my wife.”
I give him a warning stare, pointing my finger at him. “You better not. Jenny will hunt you down. Remember that.”
He grins. “I’ll never forget.” It sounds like there’s another meaning behind those words, but I don’t dwell on it. “Bye, Anna.”
“Bye, Sylas.” I smile at him one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him.
13
SYLAS
Saturday, December 14
“You look like shit”is how Thea greets me when I slump down on the chair in front of her.
My sister and I stay busy, so we hardly have time for each other these days. Once a month, we make an effort to grab a meal and catch up, which is exactly what we’ve come to do at In A Jam.
I shove my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose and give her an indolent wave. “Morning.”
“Morning?” I hear the amusement in her voice, but I avoid eye contact. “It’s three in the afternoon. Did you just wake up?”
Slouching back on my chair, I pick up my menu and browse through the items.
After I left Anna’s, I went home, showered, and laid in bed, hoping I’d fall asleep, but every few minutes, flashbacks of last night emerged. Every time I attempted to shut the memories down, another would pop up.
