“There you go. One gallon of Petal Pink room paint.” I smiled down at Sera Davies as I slid the bucket of freshly-mixed paint across the counter to her father. “Can’t wait to hear how it turns out.”

Sera smiled, showing the giant gap where her front teeth used to be. “I’m going to paint elephants on the wall when it's done,” she said. “Purple ones. Because elephants can so be purple if I want.”

John Davies rolled his eyes and rubbed his daughter’s head affectionately. “That’s all we hear these days at home. Mr. Maior says elephants can be purple, Mr. Maior says imagine it first and prove it second…”

I winced and leaned my elbows on the counter. “Uh. Sorry?”

“No way.” John chuckled. “Given a choice between her painting fantastical elephants on the walls, and her watching videos all day like a zombie? I’ll take the elephants every single time. I’m just hoping you do a unit on Why vegetables are our friends! Maybe then she’d eat some.”

I laughed. “You know, that’s not a half bad idea. It’s still-life, but also delicious.”

“There you go!” John grabbed the gallon off the counter and lifted it in a salute. “Later, Ev.”

I nodded and sent Sera a wave as she skipped off. “See you tomorrow, Sera!”

“Well, now. Aren’t you Mr. Popularity?” Grandpa Hen came clomping out of the back room, leaning heavily on the cane that he’d finally consented to use only after I’d pointed out that his one-crutch routine looked like a bunch of abortive pole-vault attempts. “Was that John Davies?”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, doing Dr. Trainor’s deep breathing techniques. I was inside the bubble, gripping tightly to my patience. All the negative forces were outside the bubble, and they couldn’t…

“Hey! Everett!” Grandpa Hen waved his hand literally an inch from my face and my protective bubble popped. “You hear me?”

For the first time, I wondered why the fuck I was imagining a protective bubble. Bubbles were, like, the least protective things in the universe. Next time, I was going to imagine myself in a panic room.

“Yes, I hear you,” I said sweetly. “And yes, that was John Davies. As you know, because you’ve clearly been listening to my entire interaction with him from the back room.”

“Hmph. Only to make sure you…”

“Do things properly,” he and I finished at the same time. “Yes, I know. I’m going to go tidy the front of the store. To the best of my limited abilities.”

Grandpa frowned.

I pushed back from the counter and stalked to the front area near the door where I could pretend to organize shelves of lawn bags and giant bins of rakes for a while. The good thing about Grandpa being on that damn cane was that it was impossible for him to sneak up on me.

And yeah, you knew it had been a bad week when you felt a victorious thrill at the fact that your elderly grandfather with the broken leg wouldn't be able to chase you down.

I started stacking boxes of purple Halloween lights with more force than necessary.

My mood wasn’t Hen’s fault, of course. If anything, he’d been unexpectedly kind for the past few days. Maybe he felt bad that the good guy he'd wanted me to date had turned out to be an asshole. Or maybe he’d gotten cautious after I’d stomped around the apartment Monday, cooking nothing but wholegrain, meatless meals and daring him with my eyes to complain.

Hen hadn’t mentioned Si’s name in my presence once since Sunday, and when Diane had innocently made some remark about Si still searching for the missing camper, Hen had thumped his fist on the table and said if Silas Sloane was half the man people claimed he was, he’d have found John Carpenter by now. Diane had looked at me and I’d shrugged, pretending not to know what had triggered my grandfather’s temper.

It would have been kind of cute, if I had any capacity to recognize cuteness anymore. Instead, I was a rage demon in human form, able to see nothing but injustice. Why the hell was O’Leary so goddamn likable, anyway? Why the hell had Silas lied to me in the woods, when he said I was okay? Why the hell was I letting this hurt me, when I knew what real hurt felt like, and this was nothing compared to that?

I kicked at a display of leaf-blowers, glad that John Davies was gone. No, it’s fine, parental unit! I am totally setting a good example for your children.

I sighed and thunked my forehead against one of the heavy wooden shelves my great-grandfather — or hell, maybe it was his father? Who even remembered anymore? —had built.

It wasn’t logical to be so upset, I knew it. For one thing, I barely knew Si Sloane. And for another, if some tiny rebellious part of my subconscious had been interested in anything beyond attraction with Si, somebody needed to lobotomize me right fucking now, because I knew better. I was done with that shit.

I was the new and improved, risk-averse Everett Maior. I was, I was, I was.

“Ev?”

I stood up so quickly I nearly whacked my head on the shelf above me. O’Leary, New York, the place where my dignity came to die. “Hey! Yeah?”

Ash Martin watched me with concerned eyes that probably saw way too much. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” It was completely normal for a grown man to rest his head on a shelf that had likely held nails and fertilizer in the not-so-recent past. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah. Well, kinda.” He jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans to grab his phone, then cleaned the screen on the front of his red plaid flannel shirt. If ever there was a man who could pull of lumbersexual it might be Ash Martin. “You see this?”

He thrust the phone out and I took it, scanning the image on the screen. It was a canvas backdrop, like the kind mall photographers used, painted with a dizzying array of autumn things. Acorns and leaves, pumpkins and cornucopia, all plopped down with lots of enthusiasm and zero design.

“Yeah.” I looked back up at him. “What about it?”

“What do I need to make one?”

I frowned. “Do you… really need one?” Did anyone really need one?

“Well, the Pumpkin Festival is coming. I don’t know if anyone’s mentioned it to you?”

I remembered my first conversation with Silas. Why did everything fucking remind me of Silas?

“Yeah,” I said shortly. “I’ve heard about it. There are pie eating contests?”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked more harried than I’d ever seen him. “And baking contests. And pumpkin growing competitions, and flower arrangement… competitions. I don’t really know how that works,” he confided, “but my mom used to be really into it. And uh, there are cider donuts and hay rides and costume contests.”

“Wow. That’s… a lot.”

“You have no idea. And we have loads of town celebrations here — Cal says if something stands still for ten minutes, they’ll celebrate it — Pumpkin Festival might be the biggest.” He paused. “That one or the Light Parade at the end of December.” He glanced at my face and laughed out loud. “Oh my God, your expression right now!”

I could only imagine it was some cross between fascination and horror. “There’s a Light Parade?”

He smiled. “It’s non-denominational.”

“Of course it is.”

“Anyway, they take pictures of the winners to put on the town website…”

“There’s a town website?" I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand. "That’s so… twenty-first century.”

“I know, right?” Ash grinned like I was joking. I wasn’t sure I had been. “But it turns out they’ve been storing the backdrops in the church basement, and it flooded over the summer, so I need to find new ones.”

“You, personally?”

Ash flushed slightly. “My mother and sister-in-law are on the planning committee. I’ve been told that Karen cannot be upset right now in her delicate condition.”

I rolled my eyes. “I see.”

“Yeah. So I figured since you’re the art teacher, you’d know what I need? I’m guessing I need some rolls of paper stuff, some stencils. Paint, obviously,” he counted off on his fingers. “Oh, brushes for the paint would be good. Um…”

I ran a hand over my mouth. Ash looked so lost, poor guy. I was pretty sure I would deeply regret what I was going to say next, but what was a little more regret?

“I can paint you something,” I told him. “I think.” I looked down at the picture again. “I mean maybe not exactly this.”

“Oh, for real? I hate to ask, but…”

“You didn’t ask, I offered.” I handed him back his phone. “You need canvas, really, not paper. And it would probably take me half the time.” Or less. This kind of painting, like the kind I did with the kids at school, took almost no effort whatsoever.

“Cal and I will owe you big. We’ll pay you in cupcakes.” He grinned. “Anytime you like.”

I snickered. “Now that is what I love to hear. Throw in some coffee and I'm in.”

“Done!” Ash said, heading for the door. He pointed at me. “Okay, planning meeting tonight at Goode’s, 6 PM. Cal and I will save a seat for ya.”

“Wait, I have to go to a planning meeting?” I shook my head, panicked. “No, no, no. Paint a background, you said.”

“Yeah, but uh… people are gonna ask me who’s doing the work, and they’re probably going to have opinions.” Ash’s smile turned sheepish.

The regret found me more swiftly than I’d anticipated.

“It’ll be better this way. I promise! They’ll all talk to you at the meeting, and they won’t accost you on the street. Plus, there’ll be free food.”

I let out an undignified whimper and Ash chuckled.

“Just think of the baked goods, Ev.”

* * *

Sadly, promised baked goods could only get a person so far.

“I really think it would be adorable if we put puppies on the backdrop.” Ash’s mom stood next to her chair, wringing her hands together in a manner that reminded me exactly of my own mother. “Puppies playing in leaves, maybe?”

“Thanks for your input, Margo,” Paul Fine said. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, and his blue eyes were patient. As the head of the town council, he was attempting to run tonight's meeting, which was a little like herding cats… blindfolded.

“Some of us are allergic to dogs, Margo," Ms. Dorian said, peering over the top of her glasses from the other side of the room. After this meeting, I could understand why Si called the librarian Dragon Dorian. The woman smelled like stale coffee and hadn't shut up in forty-five minutes, mostly because she kept talking over everyone else.

I propped my elbow on the dining counter and rested my cheek in my hand. It amused me that the town's largest dining establishment had completely closed down at dinner time for this planning session, and that it almost didn't matter because so much of O'Leary was packed into the room already.

“You do know that the dogs won't be real, right Lisa?” a woman seated in one of the booths said dryly. “I’m sure Everett is a talented artist, but even he can't make dogs so real they trigger your allergies.” I decided I loved this woman on the spot, and I turned my head to smile at her.

She was brunette and slim, with kind eyes and a conservative yellow twinset. But unlike a couple of the other ladies in the room, I got the feeling she wore the twinset because she liked it, not because she thought she should.

I enjoyed that.

“Who's that?” I murmured to my sidekick, who'd insisted on perching next to me with his cane laid on the counter like a sword.

“You don't know?”

I turned and gave him a look that said, If I knew, would I ask?

“Carol Sloane,” Grandpa said. “Silas's mama.”

Huh. Well that was interesting. Looking at her again, I could see the resemblance. The same coloring, the same smile, the same eyes. It was sad how well I could recognize those things. I remembered the things Si had said about his mother grieving for his brother, and wondered if maybe that put-together twinset was a kind of armor.

“I think we’re wasting Ev’s time,” Cal said, throwing me an apologetic glance. “I mean, we don't need to reinvent the wheel just because the old ones were ruined. And Ev is doing us a favor. Just recreate the old one.”

"I say we take this opportunity to get something new. Something that's really reflective of the town," one of the other councilwomen said.

Reflective of O'Leary? I imagined presenting them with a collage of jerkface hot guys, delicious baked goods, and my grandfather’s damn cane. I had to cough to cover my laugh.

My grandfather shifted beside me and Paul's eyes lit up. “Yes, Henry?”

“I think maybe you just gotta trust the artist. Let him do his thing.”

I spun in my chair and raised an eyebrow, sure I'd misheard.

Grandpa Hen shrugged. “No one goes over to your place and tells you and Quinn how to run your theater, Paul. Nobody's telling Julian how to doctor his cats and whatsits. Nobody's telling Diane how to make the best pie in all of O'Leary.” Grandpa took this opportunity to shoot a dirty look at Shane Goode, the recipe thief. “’Specially after she gets her title back at this year's festival.”

“Henry!” Diane protested from the back of the room. She blushed to the roots of her red hair, but she couldn't hide her smile.

“I think Hen’s right,” Julian said. He gave me a friendly grin. “Ev's the artist, so let him figure it out.”

“You're saying you trust me to do this?” I asked my grandfather. “Me? The man who can't be trusted to sell Jamie a handsaw without you watching over my shoulder?”

He raised one eyebrow right back at me, like I was being particularly stupid. “Saws are my business, Everett. To my everlasting disappointment, they're not yours. You picked art, and you're good at it.” He shrugged. “So, go be good at it.”

I turned back around, but I didn't pay much attention to the conversation after that.

His words stung a little. To his everlasting disappointment. But the sting gave them the ring of truth. And he thought I was a good artist? How would he even know?

“Well, I’m convinced,” Paul said. “Everett, do whatever you like and knock our socks off!”

I forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Alright!” Paul clapped his hands. “Thirty-minute recess! Jamie and Shane have the food out and I’m famished!”

“Hen!” Jamie Burke came over as soon as the crowd had made a dash for the food tables. O’Learians took their buffets seriously. “How are you?”

“Well as can be,” Hen said, nodding. “How about you?”

Jamie shrugged and his red hair fell over his forehead. “Good. Good.” He glanced at me.

“Jamie, have you met my grandson, Everett?” Hen said wryly. “Everett, this is Jamie Burke.”

“Not officially. Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Same.” Jamie grinned. “You hungry?”

I glanced over at the throng of people crowding the food. “Not that hungry. But I’d love a soda.”

Jamie's eyes brightened in a way that was either O'Learian over-friendliness or possibly some kind of romantic interest, an idea that only made me feel unbearably weary. “Come on, I’ll take you out back.”

I glanced at Grandpa Hen, who shrugged like it was all the same with him whether I stayed or went. Typical. I jumped down off my stool.

“So how are you liking O’Leary?” Jamie asked as he led me through the crowd.

“Oh. Uh.” I blinked. “It’s fine.”

“Wow. Unqualified endorsement, huh? I can’t wait to see the backdrop you paint.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Me neither. Considering I have no supplies and haven't painted anything outside of the classroom in a long while. Puppies playing in leaves would probably be better than asking me to come up with something representative of the town.”

He hesitated, almost shyly. “You know, if you need any help with…”

“Jamie?” Carol Sloane popped out of the crowd, all sunshine-yellow.

“Oh, hey, Ms. Sloane. Do you know Everett?”

“Hi,” I said, giving her my best smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” She looked me up and down impassively. “I hear you know my son.”

“Uh.” Si had not been wrong about the rumor mill in this town. More than one person had casually-but-not-casually brought up Si or hiking in conversation, and when Grandpa wasn’t there to kill the topic dead, I’d done my best to smile through it. “I do. A little bit.” Enough to know he has complicated feelings about you.

She nodded. “Has he invited you to the memorial service?”

I looked at Jamie for a clue, but he was looking at me expectantly, just like she was. “No, he hasn’t mentioned it at all.”

She frowned. “Oh. It's a few weeks away, but I thought he would have invited all his friends.”

My stomach churned. “We're more like acquaintances than friends,” I told her. “We’re not close.” Not really even friends at all.

She looked strangely disappointed.

“Well, I’d like it if you’d come,” she said. “It’s a little get-together to remember his brother, Mathias.” She put a hand on Jamie’s arm. “And Molly, of course. Three weeks from Sunday. I'll get you the details once we iron them out.”

I nodded. "I’ll definitely try to be there.” There was no way in hell I would be there.

She smiled, almost like she understood what I wasn’t saying. “You know, I wish Silas would bring more friends by the house.” Her gaze, deep blue and a little sad, met mine. “The quiet days are the worst this time of year. Can’t help but notice what’s not there.”

Jamie squeezed her hand.

I gave her a ghost of a smile and hesitated. I had absolutely no standing to say anything on Si’s behalf, especially now, but… “You know, maybe instead of, um, noticing what’s not there, you could do some of the things Mathias liked to do? Like, uh… I heard he liked hiking? Or art?”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, studying me, and I thought, Here comes the part where she squashes me like a bug. But instead she said, “I think that’s a really inspired idea, Ev.” She smiled and frowned at the same time, the same look Silas had given me more than once, like I’d pleased and confused her all at once.

“Thanks.”

The bell over the front door chimed and a blast of refreshingly chilly air blew in. Carolyn’s expression cleared. “Oh, look! Silas is here!” She raised her arm and waved to get his attention. “Silas!”

No, but really though. All the baked goods in the world were not enough to justify my presence here.

I turned my head and saw Silas walk in along with Daniel Michaelson, the man we’d met in the woods a few days before. Daniel looked like he would rather be literally anywhere else and I felt a total kinship with the man.

Silas looked every bit as good as he ever had, which was to say twice as good as any mortal had a right to look. It was lowering that even though I was pissed at him, so pissed I could imagine walking over, throwing him against the wall, and smacking his smiling face, I was equally turned on just by his presence. I wanted very badly to push him up against the wall for an entirely different purpose.

To my shock, Si clapped Daniel on the back and pointed in our direction, leading him over. I hadn’t thought Si liked Daniel.

“Hey, Mom,” Si said, bending down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Jamie. Ev.”

I lifted my chin to acknowledge Si's greeting, but said nothing.

It was ridiculous how badly I wanted to smile at him, to pretend that I wasn't mortified and hurt and rejected. The connection between us was still there, at least on my side. Electric currents zinged between us and I was hyper-aware of every move he made, even though I really didn't want to be.

I gave Daniel my friendliest smile. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh. Yeah. Si, um, saw me at the grocery store and, uh… said I should come.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly and only made fleeting eye contact with me. I could feel the discomfort coming off him in waves, far different than he’d seemed when we met him out in the woods.

“He was buying a frozen dinner, so I told him he could come here for free food and leave right away.” Silas shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Carolyn laughed. “That’s what most people are here for. Help yourself, Daniel.”

“Oh. Uh. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Shit! She-Ra!” someone yelled. “Get back here!”

I turned just in time to see a tiny ball of fluff launch itself at Daniel’s leg and climb him like a tree.

“What the hell is that?” Jamie demanded, taking a step back, but Daniel laughed and caught the creature in his big hands.

“It’s a cat,” Julian Ross said. “A kitten, actually. She’s been sleeping in my pocket.”

“You carry kittens in your pocket?” I said. Daphne would barely tolerate the cat carrier, let alone the indignity of a small, dark cave.

“Not generally, just this one.” Julian blushed. “She likes Daniel.”

“She smells the woods on me,” Daniel said, smiling down at the floof in his hands.

“She smells your dog on you,” Julian countered. “She-Ra has a crush on Honoria, Daniel’s dog.”

“Well, that’s just great, and I hope they’re really, really happy together, but get her out of my restaurant,” Jamie said, exasperated. “There’s like, a billion health code violations happening right now!”

Julian bit his lip. “Sorry, Jamie.” He tried to take the cat from Daniel, but she protested. Vocally.

It was so amusing, my eyes lifted involuntarily to Silas's face, and I found him watching me.

I looked away.

“It’s fine. I’ll take her outside.” Daniel seemed relieved to go.

“I’ll go with you,” Julian said, and he didn’t seem reluctant either. Wasn’t that interesting?

Oh, my God, I thought, recognizing that I was speculating about two perfectly innocent people. I’ve become an O’Learian. I am the problem.

“So, Silas, I was telling Everett about the memorial service,” Carolyn said into the silence after Julian and Daniel departed. "I invited him to come."

Si stiffened like he’d been struck, and wow, that was my cue to leave.

I coughed. “Jamie? Could we get that drink?” I motioned toward my throat and gasped, “Parched.”

“Sure,” Jamie said easily enough, putting a hand on my back. “Come this way.”

He led me through the busy kitchen, where he got me a can of soda, then out the back door into the cold night. The air smelled like wood smoke and it was dark enough that I could see the stars, the only light coming from the door Jamie had left propped open.

He leaned against the building and watched me drink.

“Better?” he asked, concerned.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He nodded, then tilted his head speculatively. “So… you and Si, huh?”

I clutched the can more tightly in my hand. “Pardon?”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“The gossip in this place is unreal,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s no me and Si. We literally said two words to each other in there.” Si had said one word, if you wanted to be technical, and I hadn’t said any.

“Uh, Everett? I realize that we just met, okay? But I’m gonna say this as your very newest, very best friend: you didn’t see the look Si gave me when I put my hand on your back.” Jamie laughed like this was hilarious. “Good thing my red hair makes me impervious to flame.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. I’m gay. Si knows it, and I was going to ask you out earlier, which I’m guessing he realized and did not like.”

“You’re imagining things. Seeing what you want to see. You know,” I said, stepping further into the alley as I warmed up to my rant, “confirmation bias is a fucking epidemic in this town. You all make assumptions about people and events based on… I don’t even know what. Some shit that happened a decade ago? A pie recipe that got stolen? The way your kid’s birth announcement is gonna be listed in the newspaper? The fact that two people have never been together, so obviously they never will be together? You assume that things are always going to be the way they are because that’s the way they’ve always been, but people change. They grow and they love and they grieve and they… they heal.” I swallowed. “Some people do.”

Jamie blinked. “Of course they do, Ev.”

I stabbed a finger towards him. “You should evaluate things based on facts, not… history and assumption.”

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed easily.

I inhaled, realizing how ridiculous I must have sounded. “I’m not insane, either.”

“Should I evaluate that based on facts, or history and assumption?” he teased.

I glared at him as best I could through the darkness, and he laughed. “Nah, I’m kidding. I know you’re not.”

I leaned on the building next to Jamie. It was companionable. Not remotely as nice as being with Si, though, which really sucked.

And as I stared up at the sky, I realized I couldn’t really blame Si for saying the things he’d said. It was no more or less than the truth, as much as it hurt. Two weeks of total avoidance, followed by a round of messy, unscripted, unprotected, slightly hysterical oral sex, capped off with a bout of inexplicable tears, wasn't really the best way to make a good impression.

I was a giant human wrecking ball, swinging from hot to cold and back again. I wouldn’t volunteer to take on this level of crazy, either, especially if I were a hot, single, commitment-cautious guy like Silas.

“My husband died sixteen months ago. His name was Adrian,” I found myself saying.

“That I did not know,” Jamie said, all humor gone from his voice. “I’m sorry.”

I waved a hand at this and Jamie chuckled softly.

“Yeah, I know. Feels like one of those meaningless things you hear over and over. The words don't take away any of what you’re feeling. But it’s still true, and now I get why people say it.”

“Because it’s a socially acceptable platitude?”

“Because it means connection. Losing people, it’s like the great equalizer.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked up at the sky. “You, me, Si. Hell, even Henry. He lost the love of his life when your grandmother died.”

I turned my head to peer at him. Selfishly enough, I’d never considered that.

“Saying you’re sorry is like shorthand,” he mused. “Like saying, ‘I’ve been there too, and I know it sucks, but you’re not the only person who’s been in this awful place. You’re not alone.’” He turned his head, and I could just make out the curve of his smile in the light. “So, when I say I’m sorry about your husband, Ev, that's what I'm saying.”

Because I was made of nothing but anger and saltwater these days, tears pricked the back of my eyes. “Thanks.” I huffed out something that was half-chuckle and half-sob. “I’m sorry about your sister, too.”

He nodded, accepting this. “So, what happened with you and Si?”

“Not a damn thing.” Not a damn thing I wanted to discuss, anyway.

“You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little.”

“Fine.” He grinned. “Just, if there was anything that happened, maybe you could try to be patient with Si? After Matty died, he kinda dived into being Officer Sloane — calm, competent, Mr. No-Emotions, No-Drama. And any time he feels threatened, he reacts by retreating into that persona even more. The more emotion he feels, the less he shows.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not the issue here.” Si was showing plenty of emotion. “But you’re a pretty smart guy, Jamie. Thank you.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. I’m, like, the Socrates of O’Leary.” He chuckled. “Except, you know, when I get drunk off my ass and humiliate myself in front of my former best friend at his bar on the regular.”

“What’s that about?” I demanded.

“Eh. That’s a story for another day.” Jamie sighed. “You should come to the memorial for Matty and Molly, whatever Carolyn ends up doing. I’d like you to be there. As a friend.”

“I’ll think about it.” But I already knew I would never intrude on something like that.

“Ready to go back inside?”

I let my head fall back against the cold wall. “Do we have to?”

“Depends. How many pumpkin portraits would you like them to sign you up to paint while you’re out here?”

I groaned and pushed off the wall. “Fine, let’s go.”

“Want me to put my arm around you and make Si jealous?”

I laughed out loud. It was cleansing. “You are barking up the wrong tree, friend. I’ve got a little too much baggage for Si. And I…” I took a deep breath. “Adrian’s death hit me hard. I’m not out looking for a relationship right now.”

“I get it. Probably not good for me to antagonize the police officer when I’m on the fast track to being a habitual offender, anyway.” He dipped his hands in his pockets and stood aside so I could walk in before him.

“You know, if you want to talk about that…”

Jamie shook his head and repeated my words from earlier. “Not even a little.”

I snickered as I followed him into the restaurant.

Si was deep in conversation with his mom when we went back inside, and yes, I noticed. But I noticed the way his eyes cut to me, and then to Jamie.

Silas didn't want me, but he was attracted enough to care that maybe Jamie and I had been getting friendly in the alley. Figured. But I felt calmer after talking to Jamie; more centered, less angry

I walked back to the stool next to my grandfather.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“As ever. How long do you think we need to stick around?”

“We can’t duck out before dessert, Everett!” Grandpa Hen was aghast. “That would be rude.”

I sighed. “Right.” I pulled my cracked cell phone from my pocket so I could play a game.

“Ev?” Si’s voice in my ear made me shiver, but I gripped my phone tighter.

“Get going, Silas,” Hen said in a low voice. “Ev doesn’t need to talk to you.”

I smiled slightly. It was nice to be on this side of my grandfather’s temper for once.

“It’s fine,” I said. “What did you need, Si?” I didn’t turn around.

“I need to talk. Please. Just five minutes. Here or wherever.”

For an apology, no doubt. Silas hadn’t meant for me to overhear him talking about me. Probably thought he’d tarnished his halo a little. Mostly because he had.

“I’m sorry,” he said when I didn’t respond. And that did make me turn around. Was he really going to do this here? “I was a total asshole, and I just…”

I widened my eyes in disbelief. There were at least three people who were avidly listening while pretending not to listen, and one — my grandfather — who wasn’t giving us even the pretense of privacy, but Si didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Silas, now’s not the time,” I cautioned.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “When would be a better one?”

I opened my mouth to answer when the door to the diner slammed open so hard it hit the wall. Every conversation stopped and we all turned to see Karen Mitchener-Martin walk in, wide-eyed and wind-blown, with one hand braced on her baby bump.

“I was just with Mitch and Darius Turner down at the station,” she announced, with a quaver in her voice for maximum dramatic effect. “Elliot Marks, one of Dare's men, is missing just like the camper! There's a murderer in this town!”