Page 36 of Even Beneath the Stars

"I definitely never gave him a reason to resent me tothisextent."

"Wow… It sounds really bad," Caroline says, her mouth pulling into a soft frown and her eyes flicking between mine like she’s trying to read all the parts I’m not saying out loud. Because Caroline Heinz is seriously the sweetest. She leans back on the other side of the counter, letting Silas place the cinnamon buns on the display dishes.

"Yeah, my life kind of sucks donkey balls right now." I sigh extra dramatically this time. More for Silas' benefit than Caroline's.

"You ever licked a donkey's balls?" is all he comes back with, though, quirking an eyebrow at me. When I don't answer, he finishes, "Maybe they're delightful."

"More delightful than my week has been, I'm sure."

"Still," he says in mock seriousness. "Not cool of you to take it out on the innocent donkeys of the world."

"It was flat out the worst week ever."

"Again with the bold claims." Silas leans beside Caroline, taking a bite of cinnamon bun with one hand and pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket with the other. "Siri," he calls, "what are three things that are worse than a week looking after a billionaire's spoiled five-year-old and his dreamy teenage brother who's also a total douche-canoe and has a raging hate-on for me?"

Caroline's smile bubbles into a laugh, and I can't help joining in.

"You're such a crinkly cornflake," I tell him. "Why can't you just feel bad for me and leave it at that?"

"I might." He grins, lifting his phone and waving it. "We'll see what Siri says and that'll determine how bad I feel for you."

I groan through a laugh as he starts reading. "Three ways your week could be worse than a week looking after a billionaire's spoiled five-year-old and his dreamy teenage brother who's also a total douche-canoe and has a raging hate-on for you." His eyes flash to me then to Caroline, whose mouth is hanging open in disbelief.

She's way less shy and intimidated than she was before she started dating Seb, but still doesn't know what to make of Silas' blunt, cynical, and hard-edge personality. To be fair, I'm not sure anyone but Jackie really knows what to make of Silas' unique brand of personality.

"One." He lifts a finger in the air, eyes still trained on Siri's no doubt insightful responses. "Getting stranded at the very top of a rollercoaster with a chatty stranger who won’t stop oversharing. Mainly about the intricate details of her family’s annual holiday fruitcake recipe."

I try not to bust a gut, while Silas takes this all totally seriously, deliberating. Comparing the rollercoaster scenario to mine.

"Oh, come on!" I nudge him. "A stupid fruitcake recipe isnowherenear as bad as Finn going all badass and graffitiing en entire bathroomwall. Or being woken up last night by Xavier and his stupid friends racing down the hall on skateboards at midnight toGold on the Ceilingby the Black Keys."

"Oh no!" Caroline looks genuinely stricken. "Was Seb one of them? Please tell me he wasn't one of the guys skateboarding down—" She pauses. Sighs. "He was totally one of them, wasn't he?"

"Yuuup." I lean in towards Silas to take a bite out of his cinnamon bun, then turn back to Caroline. "But to his credit, your boy landed a pretty mean Shuvit."

Caroline buries her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Seb is so far down on my shit-list right now."

"Ladies. You're getting distracted here." Silas holds up his phone. "The fruitcake lady on the rollercoaster, remember?"

"The oldest fruitcake was made in eighteen-seventy-eight and is still preserved and edible," Caroline pipes in with one of the random facts she can't help spurting on occasion—especially when she's anxious. "It's kept as a family heirloom in Michigan."

Silas pivots. "Okay, possibly mildly interesting, but not relevant to what we're trying to determine here," he tells her. "Also, weird as fuck."

"Sorry."

"You're forgiven." His lips quirk into the hint of a grin. Then he turns to me. "I'll give you this one. The fruitcake lady sounds kind of awesome."

"Yes!" I fist-pump, getting into this whole thing despite myself. For being the broodiest, most bad-ass guy I know, Silas has the uncanny ability to make me smile when all I want to do is cry.

"Two," he continues, lifting two fingers this time. "Getting roped into a reality TV show competition for something you’re terrible at. Like ballroom dancing, extreme wilderness survival, or assembling IKEA furniture under pressure."

"I'm awesome at assembling IKEA furniture."

"What about ballroom dancing?"

"I feel like I could hold my own. And I worked at a summer camp with preschoolers—which is basically wilderness survival."

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