Page 8 of S'more of Silas
"God," I whisper, stepping to the edge carefully.
Silas comes up behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence even before his hand finds mine. Our fingers thread together naturally, like we've been doing this for years instead of a couple of days.
"I know," he says quietly. "I used to come up here a lot. Any time I needed a reminder…” His voice trails off.
"A reminder of what?"
"That beautiful things still exist in the world. That there’s something worth..." He trails off, jaw working. "Something worth being here for."
My chest tightens. I turn to look at him, but he's staring out at the valley, his profile sharp against the darkening sky.
"Silas," I say softly.
He squeezes my hand. "Look," he says, pointing upward with his free hand.
I follow his gaze. Against the velvet sky, the first stars are appearing. And there, unmistakable, five bright stars form a crooked W.
"Cassiopeia," he says, and his voice has gone quiet, almost reverent.
My throat closes. "You know it?"
"Hard to miss once you know what to look for." He's looking at me now instead of the sky. "Bright. Unmistakable. Constant, no matter what season it is. Always there, even when everything else changes."
Heat pricks behind my eyes, threatens to spill over. My parents named me after that constellation—my mother loved astronomy, spent hours teaching me the constellations when I was little. They hoped I'd reach for the stars, she always said. Bebrilliant.
But no one's ever made me feel like I actuallyamthat light. Like I shine rather than just reflect.
Until now. Until Silas Whitaker, standing on Lookout Rock, pointing out my constellation and telling me I'm constant.
"You shine, Cass," he says, and there's nothing practiced about the words, nothing smooth. Just raw honesty. "Brighter than any star.”
The words undo something in me. I turn into him, rising on my toes, and kiss him slow and deep under the watchful stars. He kisses me back like we have all the time in the world, his hands cradling my face like I'm something precious.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest. His arms come around me, solid and warm, and we standthere as the sky darkens and more stars appear, one by one by one.
"Thank you," I whisper against his shirt.
"For what?"
"For showing me this. For..." I swallow hard. "For seeing me."
His arms tighten around me. "Always, Cass. Always."
For once, I don't feel like the girl in Orion's shadow—the kid sister, the quirky author, the dreamy one who never quite fits. With Silas, I feel like the protagonist of my own story. The heroine who gets the adventure, who takes the risk, who finds something real.
And I don't want this chapter to end.
Chapter 6
Silas
OrionSinclairisbiggerin person than I expected. And I expected big—the man played in the NFL before an injury ended his career. But expecting something and experiencing it are different things.
At 6’ 2”, I’m not used to feeling short.
He corners me outside the festival grounds three days after I took Cassie to Lookout Rock. Away from the noise and the crowd, away from witnesses. His jaw is tight, shoulders squared like he's about to step onto a field, and there's warning written all over his face.
"You and my sister," he says without preamble, his voice calm but with steel underneath.
