Page 63 of Even After Sunset

“It’s not really old… It’s just made to look old. So, maybe it’s not, you know…” He trails off, shrugging and doing it again: diminishing his thoughtful gesture and reminding me that this isn’t easy for him. He is vulnerable and uncomfortable, disarmed like this in front of me.

“Who cares? It’s still beautiful.”

“It was hand-painted in Italy.”

I turn to face him. “Really?”

“Yeah. So I was thinking that, uh… That you’d maybe like it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and averts his gaze. His tongue glides along his lower lip and he takes a breath. Then his eyes meet mine again; stormy but uncertain and more silver now than grey.

“Because of how I messed things up in Hull,” he says. “With the stolen chocolate bars and stuff.”

And to think he almost had me fooled into thinking he didn’t care anymore.

“I do like it.” I smile at him. “I mean, I love it. I can’t believe you thought to look this up.“

“It’s not a big deal.”

But most of the uncertainty has burned off. There’s even the hint of a grin.

I walk slowly around the carousel, leaning in to admire the intricate pink and teal detailing.

“I can’t believe there’s this stunning, hand painted Italian carousel in amall.” I practically whisper.

“Yeah. Weird, right?”

“And you know how much I love weird attractions…”

He gives me a full grin this time.

“You don’t say.”

We’ve done a full three-sixty now, and I approach the attendant standing by the low entry gate.

“Two, please,” I tell her.

The elderly woman smiles and holds out an iPad for me to tap my extended debit card.

“Just one,” Silas cuts in, shoving a bill at her. “I’m just a bystander.”

The woman turns her gaze on him and her lips thin into a straight line.

“You’re coming on,” I insist. I don’t try to pay though, because I know his five dollars will cover the two tickets. And more importantly, this was his surprise. It would be hurtful if I insisted on paying.

The lady is still eyeing Silas through her wide glasses.

“I don’t want any funny business,” she tells him, like he’s some bad news kid she’s had to deal with a dozen times in the past. And I want to lay into her formaking assumptions about him based solely on his looks. Even though I get it: he does look like trouble.

Heistrouble.

But also… So much more than that.

Silas fixes her with a challenging stare, grazing his teeth along his lower lip. He doesn’t say a word, but I’m pretty sure the woman gets the gist of what he’s holding back from saying.

I tug lightly at the sleeve of his T-shirt and he follows me onto the round platform. I take my time choosing, but finally settle on a beautiful white horse with a wide saddle and a pink and golden bridle. I raise my converse-clad foot onto the wooden peg to hoist myself up. But then Silas’ hands are suddenly at my waist and he lifts me easily as I swing one leg over the horse. And I can’t deny it now: the undeniable flutter of butterflies in my stomach, that feels wrong because it’s Silas who let them loose. But also, I think that might just make it so much better.

I sit back in the saddle and he lowers one hand to his pocket, gripping the horse’s pole lightly with the other. His bicep is at eye level now so I can’tnotnotice how sculpted it is.

I try to convince him to choose a horse for himself, but he digs his heels in firmly on this one.

---