Page 69

“Hey, Silas?”

“Yes?”

“That is exactly my point.”

With that, for the first time, I was the one to end the call.

For once, though, I didn’t check the comments. I didn’t want to know what anyone had to say. I felt a little guilty for exposing him like that.

He was unusually staid for the rest of the show. Enough so that I needed to shut off the radio, or I was going to call back in to apologize.

I distracted myself for the next few hours. Lord knew there was always a ton of work to be done, especially when I’d been so distracted by the extra marketing I’d been focusing on.

Eventually, I made my way out of the station, feeling a surge of disappointment not to find Silas waiting around?

It wasn’t his job to walk me home.

And with how hard the rain was pelting down, who could blame him for not wanting to wait around.

I popped open my umbrella and started in the direction of my apartment. Only to freeze at the sight of a man leaning against the building, his head ducked, the water cascading down his face.

“Silas?” I called. I stepped closer. “Silas?”

His head jerked up, gaze far away for a moment before clearing.

“Maggie.”

Ugh.

Why did my stomach have to do that flutter thing when he said my name?

That was the very thing I judged a romance book (both reading and writing) by. If I got the little belly flutters, I knew it was a good one. No flutter meant it was time for a new book or a rewrite.

When it came to real life, I’d only felt the flutter a handful of times. And not, I hate to admit, with Brad, my most recent ex. Or even the guy before him. Or the one before him.

In fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt it except toward a couple of strangers.

“What are you doing standing out here in the rain?”

“Waiting for you,” he admitted.

“With no umbrella?”

“It wasn’t raining when I came out,” he told me. “I hadn’t noticed it started.”

Hadn’t noticed? He was soaked through.

“Well, here,” I said, shifting to his side so he could get under the umbrella with me.

“Allow me.” He reached for the handle, his hand covering mine. His skin was cold. But it sent a fire shooting up my arm. It was sharp and intense enough to have me sucking in my breath as my gaze shot to his. I found him already watching me, something guarded in his gaze.

For just the shortest second, I could have sworn his eyes flicked to my lips, but the movement was so fast that I couldn’t be sure if it was a trick of my mind (or wishful thinking) or not.

“I don’t believe holding the umbrella is a task that requires both our participation.”

“I had it first.”

“And yet, I must insist I take over.”