Chapter Nineteen — Starlight and Sparks
611 Words
They cleaned up together, the air still warm from the bathwater and the crackling fire. Silas splashed water onto his face from a basin, scrubbing away the last streaks of soot while Anwen dabbed at her robe with a damp cloth, laughing under her breath every time he blinked water out of his eyelashes.
“You missed a spot,” she teased, pointing to his cheek.
Silas wiped it.
“No, the other one.”
He wiped again.
Anwen giggled. “You’re hopeless.”
He groaned. “I’m trying.”
Ink hopped onto the table, glaring at both of them like you two are children.
Silas finished washing up and returned to the stove, determined to get it working before he left. Anwen sat at the table, her damp starlight hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Every time she shifted, the light caught it, silver and soft.
Silas tried not to look.
He failed.
He glanced over just as she tucked a strand behind her ear — and something in his chest tightened. His hand slipped. He jerked the stove lever harder than he meant to.
A loud metallic clang echoed through the room.
Anwen jumped. “Silas!”
He winced. “Sorry. Didn’t expect it to stick like that.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, laughing breathlessly. “You scared me.”
“You scare easily,” he teased.
“You make loud noises!”
“You make distracting noises.”
Her cheeks warmed. “What does that mean?”
Silas froze for half a second — just long enough for her to realize what he’d said. Her face flushed deeper, and she looked away quickly.
Ink tapped her shoulder like he said what he said.
Silas cleared his throat and turned back to the stove, ears pink. “Anyway… it’s fixed now. Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He looked up.
She wasn’t smiling this time. Not teasing. Not shy.
Just… grateful. Warm. Open.
It hit him harder than any soot blast ever could.
Silas wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped back, surveying the stove one last time. “I should head home. My dad’ll worry if I’m not back before dark.”
Anwen nodded, though her smile dimmed just a little. “Of course. You’ve done so much today.”
He shrugged, suddenly awkward. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she said, standing slowly. “You fixed my window. My stove. You stayed with me when I was sick. You—”
She stopped, cheeks warming.
Silas swallowed. “I didn’t mind.”
“I know,” she whispered.
They stood there, close but not touching, the firelight flickering between them. Her damp hair brushed her shoulders, catching the glow like starlight. Silas looked away before he stared too long.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said.
Anwen’s smile returned — soft, real. “I’d like that.”
Ink cawed, as if giving permission.
Silas stepped toward the door, then paused. “Get some rest, okay?”
“I will.”
He hesitated one more heartbeat, then slipped outside into the cool evening air.
Anwen watched the door long after it closed.
Her stomach twisted once — a brief, sharp ache — but she pressed a hand to her side and breathed through it.
It passed.
For now.
She sat back down, fingers brushing the ends of her damp hair, soot still dusting her robe, and smiled to herself.
Silas would be back tomorrow.
And for the first time in a long time, tomorrow felt like something to look forward to.
- Writer
