Page 31 of The Sweetest Connection

Chapter Eighteen

Teagan

“Hi, James,” I said, sidling up to the customer service counter after my last shift at the shop.

James startled and glanced away with a mumbled hello. What is up with him? He’d been flirting with me for months and was a friendly guy, and now it was like I’d tripped him in the parking lot or something. “Silas,” he called over his shoulder to my friend, who had his back to the counter working on something. We’d been busy all day and hadn’t had a chance to really see each other, but he looked tired up close, with faint dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, tapping at something on the keyboard. “You’re a free woman. Ready to go?”

I nodded, still eyeing the heaviness in his eyes. “You don’t have to help me pack. You look like you need some rest.”

He waved me off and snatched his messenger bag from the counter before saying goodbye to James and the petite woman with a high ponytail who’d shown up to replace him. “I’m okay. Who else is going to force you to finish packing?”

We weaved through the crowds toward the exit. Ahead of us, two people held hands, their twin tan complexions and floral shirts giving the impression that they were coming home from vacation together, and I shoved my hand in my pocket because I wanted to be holding someone’s hand, and that someone was Silas, whose hand was spoken for.

Silas must have seen my examination and lowered his voice. “We’re not following random travelers to see if they lost a love letter.”

I laughed. “Even I’m not that much of a romantic.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he said, his elbow nudging my arm as we moved through the crowds until we could veer toward employee parking.

***

It wasn’t as cold when we walked into my apartment, but the relative warmth was balanced by the visible chaos of my life turned upside down. “Teag,” Silas said, dragging out my name. “What the hell?”

I took in the mess. “Well, I was packing for the trip and then deciding what I needed to box up and take to my mom’s before the subletter arrived, then I decided to organize some things, and, well...” I motioned around.

Silas dropped his bag next to the door and pushed up his sleeves on his forearms, revealing the fine auburn hairs on his arms. “Where do we start?”

“With wine,” I said. “I need to finish a bottle before I go.”

“I mean... I won’t fight you. Is there food to go with the wine?” Silas walked into my kitchen and opened the fridge. I admired how his back muscles looked under his shirt after he’d peeled away the sweater-vest. “You have... eggs, cold cuts, sliced cheese, and whipped cream.”

“Omelet sundaes?” we said at the same time, and I laughed, looking for my corkscrew. “I love us,” I added.

He pulled the egg carton and the cheese from my fridge but left the whipped cream to me.

I watched him work and poured glasses for us. “Who is going to cook for me in France?”

He snort-laughed. “No one. You’re going to have to fend for yourself. I’d pay to see it.”

I grabbed the whipped cream can and hopped onto the counter to the left of the stove, watching him work. “Want to be impetuous and chuck it all to come with me?”

“So I can make you eggs and Kraft Singles in a new time zone? I’m good.” He whisked the eggs with a fork, searching my counter for seasoning, and I handed him the salt and pepper shakers. “I wasn’t in love with France the first time.”

“I’ll never understand that.” I admired the soft red stubble covering his familiar jaw and how his movements were so quick and precise in my kitchen.

“By the way, I ran into Ada today.”

I gulped. “I ran into Sam.”

“Kismet,” Silas said with a smile. “Ada said they weren’t together but she was hopeful. She’s been single since she and her husband divorced. I know I got on you about saying people were cute, but she was really... I don’t know. Sweet about it.”

I opened the Kraft Singles for him, peeling back the plastic and spraying a little whipped cream on my finger before licking it off. “Ugh.”

Silas’s eyes dropped to my lips for a split second. He usually teased me for eating whipped cream from the can, but he didn’t comment. “Ugh? I thought you’d be thrilled. You love this stuff.”

“I do,” I said, licking another fingerful. “But I talked to Sam, too.”

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