“What’s wrong, Silas?” I ask, settling onto the bed, preparing for some serious conversation.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Another sigh. “I’ve got a lot of work, and working from home feels like hell.” His voice shifts, sounding like a kid who lost his favorite toy.
“Do you need me for something?” I know it’s my break, but that hasn’t stopped him from reaching out at least a thousand times over the past few days. Always with some excuse:
Did you send that email?
I need Mr. Lee’s number.
I can’t find the email. Where is it?
“Yes,” he says simply, offering no details. “What are you doing right now?”
I glance at the neatly folded clothes spread across my bed. I won’t tell him what I am doing—not because it’s a big secret, but ... Okay, maybe it’s a little embarrassing.
“You are doing somethingLauren style, aren’t you?” There’s a grin in his voice. I can hear it.
“Define Lauren style,” I challenge.
“Meticulous. Obsessive. Organized. And visually perfect.”
I burst out laughing so hard I hold my stomach. “Maybe.”
“Knew it. Are you done?”
I like that Silas doesn’t pry or judge how I spend my time. He just rolls with it. “I’ve got a few more things left to do.”
“How long do you need?”
“Forty-five minutes, maybe?”
“Alright. I’ll pick you up in forty-five.”
“Wait—where are we going?”
I'm standing on the street, waiting for Silas. For a number of reasons—none of them easy to swallow—I'm a bundle of nerves. First, I have no idea where we're going, and that always makes me anxious. Second, I’m about to see Silas afterthatweekend together, where things surfaced that I wasn’t quite ready to interpret. And third ... well, Silas. Did I mention him? Ah, who knows why he’s even coming. Is it work? Something personal? Does his chest hurt again?
“Why are you all tangled up?” I hear his deep voice shout from the car. The window’s rolled down, and he's leaning across the passenger seat, waving at me like a fool.
I slip into the car, and when our eyes meet, he’s got that look. He’s wearing a black NYC cap, a matching hoodie, and sweatpants—total incognito mode. Meanwhile, I’m just in jeans and a jacket, like we’re gearing up for two completely different days.
“I wasn’t tangled up, I was just ...”
He raises an eyebrow, challenging me to keep lying.
“Okay, fine,I wastangled up,” I admit, making air quotes. “Where are we going?”
“You tell me,” he says, starting the car and diving into the chaos of Manhattan’s traffic.
Taxis swarm around us, cyclists zigzag between cars, and the skyscrapers loom so high it feels like they might swallow us whole. “Hmm, depends on your mood.”
“I’m in a good mood right now,” he says casually.
“And before? You weren’t?”
