Page 53 of Enchanted Village

“I think,” Silas said, lowering his voice, making sure that she was the only one who could hear him. “You could ask for anything you wanted, and you could have it.”

She looked up, finding he had fixed those eyes on her again. And his tone. Had it gone slightly deeper? Darker?

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, keeping her tone light, covering up the want that threatened to slip out. She pushed his hot chocolate toward him, the one with the cinnamon.

But then he reached out as if to take the cup, but instead of the mug, it was her wrist that he caught. She gasped at the touch, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he kept his hand over hers as he leaned forward, meeting her gaze.

“I mean it, Margaret,” he said. “You could have anything. And if that’s true . . . what might you ask for?”

His blue eyes were no longer bright winter sky, but a ruinous storm. The molten edge to them, coupled with the promise on his lips, made her shiver.

“I . . .” she started to say, and his eyes dropped to her lips. It was like he was tracing them with his eyes, stirring desire in her, before he dragged them back up to lock their gazes together once again.

“What do you want, Margaret?” Silas asked her.

You, she thought, the word threatening to tumble out of her lips. Because she knew that now, clearly. Friendship be damned. Distraction be damned. All she saw was him. All she wanted was him.

There was a movement behind them, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Both Silas and Margaret jolted, looking around to see if the boy had noticed whatever it was they were doing. But the silencing charm seemed to be doing its job, as he was staring ahead at his homework, apparently oblivious.

Still, the moment was broken. Silas’s hand slid back from hers. Margaret took a breath, grabbed the cup with the chocolate sprinkles mixed in.

“I want the pub to succeed,” she said quietly, then stepped away quickly to go give Wyatt his hot chocolate.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, both Margaret and Silas acted as if nothing had happened. Silas filled Margaret in on the different ways the shopkeepers could possibly help: Kelly and Thomas could donate spa gift cards for Margaret to raffle off, Norma could build out more floral arrangements, Margaret could incorporate international candy options and powders from the candy shop into the drinks. At some point, the record player had switched to Christmas jazz, which Margaret resented somewhat, but at least it was purely instrumental and therefore not quite as festive. Silas didn’t comment on it, just bobbed his foot along to the tune as Margaret continued his education on the village.

At one point, however, Wyatt popped out of his silencing charm and stood up to stretch.

“Done studying?” Silas asked, and Margaret didn’t miss the hopefulness in his voice. Did he want to resume their interrupted moment? Margaret’s stomach flipped at the thought. She kept going back and forth. On the one hand, she knew there was no turning back on the desire she now felt for Silas. On the other hand . . . acting on it seemed like a very, very bad idea, as it would complicate everything they were working toward.

And yes. There was a small part of her that worried that, if she and Silas crossed that line—would that be enough for him? Would he turn into those men who tired of her and the Toasty Owl?

But he wasn’t like that. She knew he wasn’t.

Right?

“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Think I better head back to school.”

“To pack?” Silas asked.

Wyatt shook his head. “Oh no. I’m, um, I’m staying at school over the holidays.”

Silas considered this. “You’re not going home?”

Wyatt shook his head again. He looked at his shoes. Margaret recognized the awkward moment that this could quickly turn into. Silas, however, didn’t seem to and steamrolled straight ahead.

“Will your parents be coming up here to see you, then?” Silas asked. “Your dad or mom?”

Wyatt avoided looking at Silas as he put his papers into his bag.

“My dad’s working,” he said. “And my mom’s dead.”

Margaret winced. It was not a good affliction to have, being a member of the Dead Mom Club, but membership did have a way of understanding and spotting each other. From Wyatt’s first awkward shuffle on his feet to the way his eyes hit the ground, she’d known something bad had happened. Something that left him with one parent instead of two.

She also recognized the look on Silas’s face, the one that was full of horror and shame. She knew from experience that his mind was going a thousand miles a minute, desperate to find a way to make it so that he had not just brought up his student’s dead mother at Christmas.

“Well, we’ll expect to see more of you while you’re on break, then,” Margaret said, smiling. “If you need a place to be, don’t hesitate to come here. If the door’s locked, just knock. If I’m here, I’ll let you in.”

Wyatt looked exceptionally relieved. “Thanks. And thanks for the hot chocolate. It was . . . really good.”