His eyes flash with heat, and then his mouth is on mine, and I'm lost.
An hour later, thoroughly satisfied and boneless, I watch from the bed as Silas pulls on sweatpants.
"Stay here," he commands. "I'm bringing you breakfast in bed."
"Silas, you don't have to—"
"I want to. Let me take care of you."
He disappears downstairs, and I burrow into the blankets that smell like him, like us, and let myself just feel happy. Purely, simply happy in a way I haven't been since before Dad got sick.
He returns twenty minutes later with a tray laden with pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, and coffee made exactly how I like it.
"How did you know I like blueberries in my pancakes?" I ask, delighted.
"You mentioned it yesterday. Said one of your students asked if teachers eat regular food or just apples and blueberry pancakes."
He remembered. A throwaway comment in the middle of a conversation, and he remembered.
We eat in bed, sharing bites, talking about everything and nothing. He tells me about his childhood, moving around from base to base, never staying anywhere long enough to feel like home. I tell him about growing up in the same small town, knowing every person, every street, feeling both comforted and suffocated by the familiarity.
"Do you ever wish you'd left?" he asks. "Really left, not just for college?"
"Sometimes," I admit. "But then I think about my students, about the veterans I read to on Tuesdays, about Nora and Mabel and everyone who makes Lovesbury feel like community insteadof trap. And I think maybe home isn't a place you escape from. Maybe it's a place you choose, every day."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me. "I've never had that. A place worth choosing."
"Maybe you do now."
His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
Later that morning, we venture outside again. Silas has this look in his eye, mischievous and playful in a way I'm learning means trouble.
"What are you planning?" I ask suspiciously.
"You'll see."
He leads me to a shed behind the cabin and emerges with two sleds.
"There's a hill about half a mile east. Perfect sledding territory."
"You're like a big kid," I tease.
"I never got to be a kid. Military brat, remember? We're making up for lost time."
And we do. We spend the next two hours racing down the hill, wiping out spectacularly, laughing until our sides hurt. At one point, he tackles me into a snowbank, and we end up making snow angels side by side, our breath visible in the cold air.
"I can't remember the last time I did this," I say, staring up at the brilliant blue sky.
"Made snow angels?"
"Played. Just... played. Without worrying about lesson plans or bills or whether I'm doing enough, being enough."
He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. Snow clings to his hair, his eyelashes, making him look almost ethereal despite his size.
"You're more than enough, Iris. You're everything."
The words settle into my chest, warming me from the inside out.
