Page 1 of Still Love You

CHAPTER ONE

Willow

I cannot believe Silas is standing in my dorm room. Driving me home. Back to Berkeley. Where he is now living...and working for my dad! How could my dad hire him? Out of all the people he could've chosen, he had to pick Silas?

What is Silas even doing here? He's supposed to be traveling the world, hiking up mountains, doing volunteer work.

"Willow?" He's standing in front of me now. The door is closed and it's just the two of us. His full lips—the ones I know so well because they've touched every single part of my body—slowly slide up into a smile. "Are you going to say something? Maybe a hello?"

I swallow, my eyes diverting back to his. "Oh, um, yes. Hello. Sorry. I'm just surprised to see you here."

"I thought your parents told you I was moving back."

"Yeah. They did. I just didn't believe them."

His eyes remain on mine. "Why wouldn't you believe them?"

I glance away from him. "Because you have a history of not following through on things."

I shouldn't have said that. He just got here and I don't want to start fighting with him before we even get in the car.

Silas and I used to fight about a lot of things. The fights were intense but short-lived, always ending in a passionate kiss, followed by clothes being ripped off and our bodies colliding. Just the thought of that has me sweating even more in this sweltering hot room.

"They turned the air off," I say, fanning myself. "That's why my room is so hot. I guess they thought we didn't need it since everyone's moving out today."

Spring semester at Camsburg College just ended and half of the girls on my floor have already left for the summer. I was saying goodbye to my friend, Lilly, who lives next door, when Silas appeared. Months ago, my parents told me Silas might be moving back to Berkeley and working on their farm, but I never thought it would actually happen. Silas is a free spirit. He changes his mind all the time. He said he'd be in Europe for two weeks, but ended up being there for two years. I assumed he'd never come back.

My parents were supposed to pick me up today but instead they sent Silas. I'm sure this was all some ploy to get me to be friends with him again, or more than friends. My parents always liked Silas and wanted us to be together. But all good things must come to an end. And they did, the day he left.

"I don't think it's hot in here," he says, "but I spent the past couple years working outside all day in some of the hottest regions on Earth, so this is nothing."

I haven't talked to Silas in two years. When he left, he told me he was going backpacking in Europe, but apparently he only did that for a couple weeks, then spent the rest of the time doing volunteer work. I only know that because my parents told me. They're good friends with Silas' parents. 

"So you've been volunteering?" I ask, still fanning myself.

"Yeah. Building houses. Bridges. Planting crops. Mostly physical labor."

I can tell. God, he looks good. All muscle. He was always lean, with defined shoulder and ab muscles that come from surfing. But now? His shoulders are wider, his arms bigger. He looks older, more like a man than the teen boy I remember. His jawline is sharper, more defined, and covered with a thin layer of stubble.

It's feeling even hotter in here. Did they turn on the heat? Or why is it so hot? And why am I the only one sweating? Silas isn't sweating. He seems perfectly comfortable. And he's wearing jeans! Jeans are heavy and hot. I'm wearing a short red cotton sundress with cutouts in the back. I should feel cool. But instead, I'm on fire. Maybe it's early menopause. Maybe this is a hot flash. At 19? Probably not.

I need to face facts. I'm burning up inside because the man I was in love with—the man who turns my insides into hot molten lava—is standing before me, looking even better than I remember.

"Should we get going?" he asks. "The truck is parked right outside."

"Your mom got a truck?" I ask, shocked that his mom would drive something that uses that much gas.

"No, it's mine. It's not brand new. It's a couple years old. Anyway, it's still cool from the air conditioning. I'll get it running again and you could wait out there while I load up your stuff."

"You used the air conditioning?" I ask, shocked again. Silas comes from a family of hippies, as do I. Both our families believe in embracing what nature gives us, which means if it's hot outside, you suck it up. They're always trying to conserve energy, and since air conditioning uses gas, a natural resource that's dwindling in supply, they refuse to use it.

I'm all for conserving energy, but I don't like sweating and feeling like I'm going to pass out, so I have no problem running the air conditioning. 

"I know you don't like the heat," Silas says, "so I made sure to cool down the truck before I got here."

"Thanks." I smile.

His gaze pauses on my lips. Silas always liked my smile. He said it was what made him want to be friends with me when we met on the first day of second grade.

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