Page 22 of Even in the Dark

I can’t decide if it’s worse or better that he isn’t even subtle about the fact that his text is a booty call. I guess better… if I was the kind of girlfriend who was into fooling around with him. You know, like a normal girlfriend.

Scarlett

Can't. homework. And already have plans ltr

Which isn’t a lie. I do have homework. And I might as well get it done and out of the way now. Because… I’ve been thinking, maybe I will go to Jackie’s house later. Just for a bit.

I go to a coffee shop to get my homework done, since that’s where I’m usually most productive. I park near the historic town center, then take the longer way to the Jumpin’ Bean Café, down a couple of the winding cobblestone streets I’ve always loved. They’re a bitch to navigate in heeled boots, but I’ve never let a challenge stop me from doing anything before.

When I get to the Jumpin' Bean, it’s packed. All fourteen tables taken, and the couch and chairs, too. I debate grabbing a drink and waiting around until someone leaves, but waiting around is one of my least favorite things to do, right behind making small-talk and listening to Sadie’s Broadway musical soundtracks in the car.

I head back the way I came, then slow down as I pass Board and Brews—the board game café that opened up a few months ago. It’s basically a coffee shop for nerds, right? Probably an even better homework spot than the Jumpin’ Bean.

I regret the decision as soon as I step inside, though. Silas Carmichael is standing behind the counter, ringing in a customer. Silas is Jackie’s boyfriend. Also, the guy who crashed my End Of Junior Year party before the summer with two of his friends, and smashed my father’s sixty-five-thousand dollar Chihuly glass sculpture.

Silas looks up as he hands the customer her receipt, and our gazes lock. I can tell he recognizes me because his jaw clenches and he nods, forcing enough of a smile that the dimple in his chin pops. I do the same. Sans the dimple.

My steps don’t slow, but I do let my eyes stray to the scattered tables around the cozy space as I approach the counter. Unfortunately, there are plenty of free tables.

“Hey,” Silas does that chin thrust guy greeting once I’m in front of him. “You meeting someone to play a board game or looking for a solo table?”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak without slurring his words, because it’s the first time I’ve seen Silas Carmichael sober. Which should tell you enough to get an idea of the kind of guy he is. He used to live in Allerston Lake—a nearby town that’s essentially Sandy Haven’s uglier, poorer, clinically depressed cousin. But he moved to Sandy Haven a couple of months ago with some foster family that clearly has an exceptionally lowbar in terms of who they’re willing to take into their home. And that’s not just me passing snarky judgments—Silas has a legit grocery list of criminal arrests. He was in juvenile hall for over two years and recently got out of a month-long stint in rehab. Honestly, the guy’s got a backstory that hovers in a realm somewhere just beneath the same level of messed-up as Dylan Braun’s. No serial killers, but there was a triple homicide: Silas’ parents and Jackie’s mother. In fact, Jackie and Silas hadn’t seen each other since that tragedy when they were both ten, until this past summer. Jackie found him passed out in her camper on the first night of her soul-searching solo road trip across New England… just hours after he’d crashed my End Of Junior Year party.

As far as I understand it, Jackie somehow coerced Silas into joining her on her road trip. God knows why. Then fast forward a few months, and now they’re dating. The delinquent bad boy and the most wholesome, bubbly, rule-following gal at SH Prep. Her only flaw, as far as I can tell, is the guy standing in front of me right now, leveling me with his slate-gray eyes. He’s got a jawline that could cut glass and eyelashes to rival a giraffe’s—and a stare that would send an entire biker gang fleeing in the opposite direction.

“So?” he repeats. “Here to play board games or just a solo table?”

“Just a solo table,” I tell him.

“Sure thing.” He grabs a menu from the stack on the counter and walks around to lead me over to a smaller table in the corner. “We’re out of brownies.” He slaps the menu on the smooth wood. “I’ll come back in a few to take your order.”

So eloquent. He and Dylan could practically be twinsies. Fraternal, obviously.

I’m already re-thinking my decision to drop by Jackie’s house later. I forgot about Silas, who will almost definitely be there.

After pulling my computer out of my backpack, I get set up to work on my history essay. Silas swaggers back a few minutes later. “Know what you’re getting?”

“I’ll have an ice coffee and the vegetarian nachos.”

“Sounds good.” He reaches for the menu.

“With extra olives.”

“Extra olives,” he repeats, in a tone like he’s humoring me.

“And extra cheese, but only if it’s regular cheddar or mozzarella.”

He pulls back. “What the hell else kind of cheese would it be?”

“Seriously?” I balk.

“No. This is my joking face.”

Clearly, he’s not the kind of guy who’s just a jerk when he’s drunk.

“It could be Colby, or Monterey Carter, or Queso Blanco,” I inform him. “Or Oaxaca, or Cotija, or Gouda, or—”

“It’s mozzarella.”

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