Because that’s what Silas Hart does to me, apparently. He kisses the sense right out of me.
By the time he made it back to that roof, I was pushing past him - shaking my head and offering no words as I ran down the steps from the roof and then all the way back home.
And now I’m back to where I was. Bitter, confused, angry.
Ready to fall into his arms.
Or hit him.
Or kiss him.
I don’t actually know.
The sound comes again a moment later, a small clacking sound against the pane.
I frown, stepping out of bed and moving to the dark window. Hesitantly, I open it and glance down.
Of course.
It’s Silas. Silas standing there with a smug look on his face and a handful of pebbles in his hand.
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss.
Jesus this is just like high school. This is exactly what he used to do.
He grins up at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re going to wake my dad.”
He grins. “Never did before,” he whispers. “And I think we were way louder back then.”
I blush bright red.
Back then, when Silas would literally scale the drainpipe to the porch roof under my other window so he could sneak inside.
He’s right, we were way louder, however hushed we tried to be,
“Go away!” I hiss.
He makes a face.
“Come down.”
“No, Si-”
“Shhh!” he shushes me with an exaggerate gesture. “You’re going wake your pa-”
“Oh shut up,” I mutter. “Hang on I need to get dressed.”
“You’ll have zero complaints here if you don’t.”
I can feel the rush again, thinking of the roof of O’Donnell’s from the other night. I duck back into my room, and I can feel my heart beating as I check my hair in the mirror, opting to let it down as I slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
I frown, peeling the t-shirt off in favor of a much sexier tank top. And part of me feels ridiculous trying to preen like this for Silas, but you know what they say about old habits.
A minute later, I’m closing the kitchen door quietly behind me as I tiptoe barefoot around the side of the house.
“Hey.”
He looks up at me and grins. “You’re still good at that, you know.”
“At what?”
“Making sneaking out look good.”
My cheeks redden in the darkness.
“C’mon.”
“Where are we going exactly?”
“A drive.”
I raise a brow, and he grins almost sheepishly.
Yeah, we both know what that used to mean.
“I literally just mean a drive,” he says with a small chuckle. “I think I actually missed this town.”
I furrow my brow. “I’m barefoot.”
“Look, I’m not taking you on a date or anything.” He winks at me. “Come on, Slimy.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“Parked around the corner.”
I smirk. “Guess I’m not the only one who remembers how to sneak out of the Hammond castle.”
The truck is familiar when I climb in, the same vintage-y leather smell, the same cracked radio, the same choking engine sound as he cranks it on. We drive though the neighborhoods, saying nothing as the street lights wash over us and the houses slip past.
Silas takes us into town, driving down Main Street, which is actually empty and devoid of tourists this time of night. We turn down Commercial Street by the pier, past the empty tourist shops, the whale-watching stand shuttered for the evening.
We follow the street down until it starts to leave the downtown area, the buildings thinner as it gives way to trees and then tall grass as we pull around to the shore road. After another minute, Silas starts to pull over and off the road into a parking lot.
I frown. “Where are we-”
But then I get it, knowing exactly where we are.
Willow Sands - the tourist-choked beach by day, and apparently totally empty at night.
I actually haven’t been here in years.
We step out of the car, breathing in the warm, salty Atlantic summer air blowing off the ocean up the beach. Silas grabs a six-pack and a handful of blankets from the back of the truck before we head down the trail through the tall grass down to the dark beach.
It’s like clockwork.
It’s like habit, coming back here.
We find a spot by one of the old driftwood logs that doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since high school. Silas tosses the blankets down before we settle onto them, cross-legged and leaning back against the wood.
He hands me a beer.
“Kinda crazy how nothing’s changed, isn’t it?”
I shoot him a look, and he raises a single brow.