My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
"It's Silas. Jonah gave me your number. Hope that's okay."
My heart does a somersault. He texted me. He actually texted me.
I type back:"It's okay. Hi."
Three dots appear immediately. A second later:"Hi. Just wanted to make sure Friday still works."
"It works."
"Good."
I wait for more, but the three dots disappear. Is that it? Is the conversation over?
Then:"Sleep well, Iris."
I stare at my phone, a ridiculous smile spreading across my face. He told me to sleep well. Like he's thinking about me. Like he cares whether I sleep well or not.
"You too,"I type back.
I wait, but no response comes. I set my phone on the nightstand and climb into bed, but sleep is the last thing on my mind.
All I can think about is Friday. All I can think about is him.
Chapter 3 – Silas
Friday takes three lifetimes to arrive. I'm not a man who obsesses, twenty-one years in the military taught me discipline, focus, compartmentalization. I can go days without sleep, weeks in hostile territory, months deployed without breaking stride. But a few days waiting to see Iris Whitfield again? That nearly breaks me.
I catch myself checking my phone too often, rereading the brief text exchange from Saturday night.Sleep well, Iris. Christ, what kind of message was that? I should've said more. Should've called instead of texted. Should've—
"You're doing it again," Jonah says from across the garage.
I look up from the carburetor I've been staring at for the past ten minutes without actually seeing. "Doing what?"
"That thing where you're physically here but mentally somewhere else. Or more specifically, with someone else." He grins. "How's Iris?"
"I haven't seen her since Saturday."
"But you've been thinking about her."
I don't dignify that with a response. Mostly because he's right.
I have been thinking about her. Constantly. The way she looked at me on that stage, like she could see past the armor to something worth saving. The softness in her voice when she said I deserved someone who cared. The fierce determination when she bid on me.
And those eyes. Blue enough to drown in.
"You're obsessed," Jonah observes cheerfully. "It's actually kind of fascinating. I've never seen you like this."
"Like what?"
"Interested. Invested. Dare I say... smitten?"
I throw a shop towel at him. He catches it, still grinning.
"I'm picking her up at six," I say, turning back to the carburetor.
"I know. You've mentioned it. Multiple times. Daily, in fact."
