Page 23 of The Best Wild Idea
I swallow hard as he turns to go. If Silas would have killed him for failing to deliver a few bags, I wonder what type of fury he’d release on me if I refused the whole trip. Memories of hearing Si ream out his dad’s assistant over funeral details in the days after his father’s death flood my mind.
“Any last-minute advice on how to handle him?” I ask, prodding the loose-lipped assistant. “We were friends a long time ago. Until . . . until we weren’t.” I’m not sure how else to describe what happened between us. After his father died, our friendship just slowly dissolved. More like death by a thousand pinpricks.
“Dealwith him?” he repeats, looking amused. He stares past me for a beat before shifting his eyes back to focus on mine. “Silas is many things. But I can tell that you mean a great deal to him. So, the best way tohandleSilas is to just enjoy yourself. Let him see that all this made you happy. I think that’s the only thing he cares about at the end of the day. He just wants to see people happy.”
“Happy?” I repeat, confused. My happiness on this trip will have absolutely nothing to do with Silas. “The only thing I can imagine making me happy on this trip is the moment I have all four letters safely in my hands and we’re heading back home.”
He smiles at the floor, nodding, like he’s not surprised to hear me say that. Then he turns to go but veers back suddenly.
“Don’t mind me asking, but, when did you last spend time with him?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“For about twenty minutes following a funeral last May.”
“And before that?”
I search my memory, trying to recall the last time I spent any significant time in Silas’ presence.
“I guess it’s been about three years before that. He gave us the building for Grant’s nonprofit, but he and I never really saw eye-to-eye on much of anything else recently.” His smile widens, like he knows something I don’t, which definitely annoys me.
“So not much time at all in the last few years,” he confirms.
“Why?” I’ve never been able to hide what I’m thinking, so I can imagine my annoyance is written all over my face right now.
“Well, I’ve worked with Silas for a few years now, since right after his father passed. I’ve seen him at his worst. But if there’s one bit of advice I could give you, it’s that people change.” Ryan raises his eyes to the ceiling as if trying to find the right words. “Theyevolve.”
Then he opens the door, turning back to give me one last smile.
“Evolve,” I repeat with a snort.Right.
“Safe travels, Ms. Hart. Just let him show you the time of your life.”
Fat chance, I want to say.
Instead, I thank him and close the door, then peek out the window, wondering if I should just camp out right here to wait for the next unexpected delivery. But my street finally looks quiet and dark.
Sinking into the couch, I push my hair back, feeling exhausted. If I had my way, I’d be tucked in bed with my bottle of wine and the box of old photos, having a good cry or snoring by now with my red marker in hand after closing out the last day of this rollercoaster.
Truthfully, a trip like this is probably what I need to kick off my next year. To get away from everything familiar, and live a little as myself again, instead of as the sad near-widow who lost her fiancé.
In fact, I can totally see myself enjoying the mountains of Switzerland, or walking along the ancient rock walls of Italy with a smile on my face, happy to soak up the sun. It sounds cleansing and necessary.
Just not with Silas there watching me do it.
Chapter 8
Silas
Where the hell is she?Patrick and I have been waiting in front of Jules’ house for the last thirty-five minutes and she still hasn’t come out of the front door.
I look over my driver’s shoulder at the clock on the dashboard. The flight crew is supposed to have wheels up in the next ten minutes. There’s no way we’re going to get to the airport and loaded onto the jet in that amount of time.
I study the stillness of her door, wondering if I should just go in there to retrieve her myself.
When we first pulled up, I felt the thrill of adrenaline from the idea of seeing her for the first time in a year. Now, after waiting for what feels like forever, I’m left with a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. She must be in there changing her mind at the last minute. What else would be taking her this long?
“Sir?” Patrick asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. He senses my annoyance. “Would you like me to—?” He points toward the door.
“Yes, please go check on her again,” I answer, impatiently. “Just go ask if she needs any help getting — I don’t know — whatever it is that she might need help with. If I go up there she’ll never come out.”
