Page 21 of Joy
“No,” I huffed. “Silas Bright, then? Cute name,” I muttered. “Did you really offer to let me stay, or did George ask you?”
“I offered.”
I reached out to let his dog smell my hand. “Thanks,” I said, eventually looking back up. “I appreciate it.”
Silas straightened and took a step to the side. “Coming?”
I walked to the door, the dog running ahead and slipping in first. I went inside, and Silas shut the door behind us. “So I guess you live alone.”
“This would be awkward if I didn’t,” he said.
I laughed. “To say the least.” I walked into the main room and set my bag down beside the couch.
At the back there was a big, sliding-glass door with the blinds drawn. The living room blended in with what looked like a dining room that was pretty unused. To the left were a bathroom and a closed door I suspected was a bedroom. There was a fireplace too, which I’m sure was great in the winter. The house was brightly lit and warm in color. It was neatly furnished and seemed to suit Silas, not that I was close enough with him to judge his interior decorating accordingly.
“Nice place.”
“Hungry?”
“Hmm?” I turned around.
Silas…. Goddamn it, how was a guy who wore ratty jeans and frayed flannel shirts so appealing? I had never been so into mountain men before! I wondered how he viewedmeexactly? We couldn’t be more polar opposite if we tried.
“I’m finishing dinner.” He moved by me and went through the dining room before vanishing into another open doorway.
I followed and entered a small kitchen. There was a table in the corner already set for two people. I smirked at that. The fridge had a few photos of Silas and George, a woman who I presumed was his sister-in-law, and his niece, Ellen, who I had met. There were a lot of pictures of him and Ellen actually.
“Your niece is adorable.”
“She’s wonderful,” Silas murmured, stirring something in a pot on the stove.
“She was dressed as Princess Batman when I met her.”
“Sounds about right.”
I turned around, eyeing the rest of the kitchen before my gaze fell onto a calendar. I tilted my head, studying a rugged-looking guy advertising the month.
Silas’s type?
How the fuck did I compete with that? “Like guys with rough hands?” I asked as I joined him at the stove.
Silas cleared his throat and shrugged. “I’m not particular.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I am.” I caught Silas’s brief look. “They’re usually tattooed and pierced and end up being major assholes.”
“Oh.”
I nudged his arm, and it was like trying to move granite. “Except… there’s this one country guy I sort of dig.”
“Sort of?”
I grinned. “Yeah. I mean, I just met the guy. I thought he was a jerk at first.”
“You thought I was a jerk?” Silas echoed, stopping his stirring and turning his attention to me. He seemed sincerely concerned by that statement.
