All That Really Matters

by Nicole Deese

  If you’re sleeping, then I sincerely hope your phone is set to DND and that you wake up rested. In that case: Good morning, Silas! But in the case that you might have your phone set to emergency alerts only and you happen to see my text, then know this is not one. An emergency, I mean. Unless you happen to count a certain celebrity emailing with some very interesting information as an emergency? Then yes, it is one.

  The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

  No. Yes. No.

  I rolled my eyes, laughed.

  My phone rang an instant later.

  “Hey,” I said. “You really weren’t sleeping?”

  “No,” he said, with an amused voice. “Reading.”

  Silas would never be accused of wasting words.

  “Okay . . . well, I just got a pretty insane email.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “From Sophia Richards. You know, the Tubee lady.”

  “Is that actually her title of choice? I’d think a woman of her means would have a more creative marketing team.”

  “Silas. Sophia said, and I quote . . .” I pulled up the email to read directly from her message. “‘I applaud you for sticking to your convictions and considering how the choices you make on your platform might affect the impressionable following you’ve grown.’”

  “How did she know your reasons for not wearing it?”

  I scrunched up my nose, knowing without a doubt that any person with half a business brain would have advised me not to email her after such a professional disaster, and yet . . . “I emailed her.”

  “You emailed her.” For some reason he sounded slightly less shocked than I’d anticipated. “And I suppose Cobalt Group doesn’t know you did this?”

  “If you’re asking if I was granted some sort of permission before I emailed her, no. But I did make it clear that I was reaching out to her just as Molly, not as Makeup Matters with Molly. There’s a difference.”

  He groaned, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a book closing and a mattress shifting under his weight. “I’m not sure a legal team would see it the same way.”

  “Good thing I only care about what my legal team—Silas Whittaker Minus Associates—thinks, then.”

  He chuckled at that, the way I hoped he might. “I’m sure her high-powered entourage of lawyers might know a little more than a guy who passed his bar exam five years ago and then never practiced law.”

  “Yeah, but I doubt any of those hotshot lawyers are as trustworthy as you.” The compliment slipped easily from my mouth.

  “I appreciate that,” he said.

  “Good, because I mean it.”

  The natural pause indicated that this brief but informative exchange of ours was winding down. As it should, seeing as it was nearing midnight, especially when I knew Silas ran several miles at the break of dawn. It wouldn’t be kind to keep him on the phone any longer.

  “Well,” I began, “thanks for letting me interrupt your reading time to—”

  “Glo said you asked her to go on a shopping trip this weekend,” Silas said, steering the conversation in an entirely new direction. “Something about rental furniture for The Event?”

  I smiled at his terminology. No longer was it called the fundraising dinner, but The Event. Silas had come a long way from the early vision I’d cast, but we still had much to sort out. I hadn’t intentionally withheld information from him, but Silas wasn’t the type who would willingly stand under a waterfall of details, either. Not unless he could check each one of them out from every angle. That’s the stage I was at with him now, the let’s look at one piece of party preparation at a time, because everything at once was way too overwhelming for a man who asked if a simple taco bar could replace the multi-course menu I’d carefully selected. To which I had politely and emphatically told him, “Not a chance, pal.” Four hundred thousand dollars wouldn’t come out of a mass taco feed, no matter how fabulous the guacamole tasted.

  “Yeah, I was just hoping to get a second opinion on a few things, and it sounds like Clara and Jake already have plans this weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Glo is taking time off to spend with her niece and nephew. She deserves a break.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  For half a second, I thought I’d understood him wrong. “You’ll go with me . . . to the rental place?”

  “Unless you’d rather go with someone else.”

  Though I couldn’t imagine Silas wanting to spend an entire day selecting table settings and figuring out which of the three themes I would choose for The Event, I suddenly couldn’t imagine going without him, either. “If an entire day of party supply shopping doesn’t scare you off, then I’d be happy to have the company.”

  “I grew up with three older sisters, Molly. I’ve done many a long shopping excursion in my life.”

  “Okay, then, it’s a date.” As the word escaped my mouth my eyes widened, ready to reel it back in, or at the very least, soften the blow by furthering the statement. But Silas didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

  “I can drive if it makes sense for us to ride together?”

  “Sure, that works,” I said. “One of the stores is out in my neck of the woods. How about if you drive us around town for the day, then I’ll buy you dinner for your impeccable patience.”

  He made a hmm sound as if he were considering my proposal carefully.

  “What?” I asked with a laugh. “Believe me, you will need a reward by the time the day is over.”

  “Mind if I trade in my meal ticket for a different reward, then?” A most un-Silas-like request, but an intriguing one for sure.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Driving a Tesla Model X.”

  I laughed as I stood up from the sofa, reaching to switch off the lights in my house one by one, starting at the studio and working my way through the kitchen and down the hallway. “I should have known. No man can resist her allure.”

  “I will pretend not to be offended by that comment if it means I get to drive a Tesla for a day.”

  “Deal. She’s all yours on Saturday.”

  “Then feel free to add a few more stores and errands to your list.”

  I imagined the curve of his mouth and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. It was a look I’d seen him wear far more often in these last few weeks than in the early interactions we’d shared. Or perhaps I’d just noticed it more often because I had a clearer vantage point of his office across the hall from mine at Fir Crest Manor. In either case, his relaxed demeanor with the residents had caught my attention more than once—especially his merciful and tolerant responses to their obvious shortcomings. Even when he’d had to address bigger issues with higher-level consequences, Silas’s reprimands were a blend of authority and grace. Never shame. Never anger.

  “Do you have to wake up early for your run in the morning?” I asked, turning on the tap water and rinsing my electric toothbrush before loading it up with toothpaste.

  “It might need to be an evening run at this point.”

  “Sorry,” I said, talking around my toothbrush head. “But hey, a change in routine can be good, right? Muscle memory and all that?”

  “Are you brushing your teeth right now?” he asked, as if it was the wildest concept in all the world.

  “Yeah? Don’t you brush your teeth before you go to bed?”

  “Of course, I just never considered it a social activity I’d include on a phone call.”

  “You should really reconsider. It saves time.”

  “In the same way your half twist bun saves time?”

  I nearly choked on a minty gasp. I quickly rinsed out my mouth, tapped my toothbrush on the side of the sink, and patted my lips dry on a towel. “Silas Whittaker. How do you know about my half twist bun trick? And don’t even try to say one of my mentees told you.”

  I waited for him to break his sudden muteness and speak the words into a complete sentence, because as far as I was concerned, Silas was not capable of tel
ling a lie. “I watched your video on timesaver beauty hacks.”

  My mouth smacked open in triumph at the thought of Silas engaging in a social media video for entertainment purposes. And then another thought hit me. That video had been smack-dab in the middle of a three-part series. “Wait . . . how many?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How many videos have you viewed, Silas?”

  “I don’t see why that’s a relevant question.”

  I laughed. “You so should have been a lawyer.”

  At his own chuckle, I laughed even harder. “More than five?”

  “I’m not doing this.”

  “Ten?”

  “Molly.”

  The rising heat creeping up my neck reached my cheeks. Had Silas social media stalked me? I simply could not envision it. He had been so adamant, so against it all—the posting, the promoting, the product endorsements for personal gain. Yet again, Silas hadn’t been nearly as uncompromising as he’d been when we’d first met. He’d actually agreed to my idea of doing a livestream for donations during The Event as long as it met his security criteria for the house and residents.

  “Silas Whittaker . . . have you seen all of them?” A whispered accusation.

  “I wouldn’t say all, no.” He cleared his throat. “But quite a few.”

  I tried to purse my lips together, tried to keep the sound in, but it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be stopped. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Are you . . . upset?”

  “Upset?” Was he serious? A laugh burst from my throat. “Of course not. Those videos are my job. My literal, actual job. It’s what I do. Why would I be upset that you watched them? If anything, I’m shocked that you’d stoop so low as to break your personal convictions on my disgraceful career path.”

  “I’ve never said your career is disgraceful. In fact, I think you’re quite entertaining at what you do. I’d planned on watching one video, and the next thing I knew I ended up down a rabbit hole of Molly’s Fashion Do’s and Don’ts.”

  I lifted the covers off my bed and slipped between the cool sheets, a bit light-headed over the idea that Silas had watched not only my bobby pin techniques but so much more. “I’m sure it was all pertinent information to your life, too.”

  “You’re gifted,” he said. “It’s easy to understand what your Mimi saw in you all those years ago. What she said about God having uniquely shaped gifts for each one of His uniquely shaped people. She was right about you.”

  His recall of what I’d told him weeks ago sent a tingle skipping down my spine. “That means a lot, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I heard him stifle a yawn.

  “Okay, it’s time. I’ve kept you up way too late. You might not even have energy for an evening run tomorrow at this point.”

  “I will. I’ll just have to work a bit harder for it. But hard work never killed anybody.”

  I groaned. “But bad motivational quotes about hard work do, I can assure you of that.”

  “What?”

  I laughed, pulling my face away from the phone and calculating the few hours between now and when Rosalyn would be texting out her quote. “Believe me, you don’t want to know. Sleep well, Silas.”

  “You too. Good night.”

  As I plugged my phone in on my nightstand, my mouth curved into a grin I couldn’t wipe away. Because somehow I’d managed to make Silas a cyber stalker. What had the world come to?

  23

  Molly

  Wren

  Do you think we could make a stop on the way to the Coles’ house after mentor group today? I need to pick up a birthday gift for Nate. Oh, and Silas said yes about the Star Wars sleepover tonight. Thank you!