All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

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 telling 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