Still Love You

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  From the Author

  Still Love You

  By Allie Everhart

  Still Love You

  By Allie Everhart

  Copyright © 2017 Allie Everhart

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by Okay Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.

  The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Willow

  I cannot believe Silas is standing in my dorm room. Driving me home. Back to Berkeley. Where he is now living...and working for my dad! How could my dad hire him? Out of all the people he could've chosen, he had to pick Silas?

  What is Silas even doing here? He's supposed to be traveling the world, hiking up mountains, doing volunteer work.

  "Willow?" He's standing in front of me now. The door is closed and it's just the two of us. His full lips—the ones I know so well because they've touched every single part of my body—slowly slide up into a smile. "Are you going to say something? Maybe a hello?"

  I swallow, my eyes diverting back to his. "Oh, um, yes. Hello. Sorry. I'm just surprised to see you here."

  "I thought your parents told you I was moving back."

  "Yeah. They did. I just didn't believe them."

  His eyes remain on mine. "Why wouldn't you believe them?"

  I glance away from him. "Because you have a history of not following through on things."

  I shouldn't have said that. He just got here and I don't want to start fighting with him before we even get in the car.

  Silas and I used to fight about a lot of things. The fights were intense but short-lived, always ending in a passionate kiss, followed by clothes being ripped off and our bodies colliding. Just the thought of that has me sweating even more in this sweltering hot room.

  "They turned the air off," I say, fanning myself. "That's why my room is so hot. I guess they thought we didn't need it since everyone's moving out today."

  Spring semester at Camsburg College just ended and half of the girls on my floor have already left for the summer. I was saying goodbye to my friend, Lilly, who lives next door, when Silas appeared. Months ago, my parents told me Silas might be moving back to Berkeley and working on their farm, but I never thought it would actually happen. Silas is a free spirit. He changes his mind all the time. He said he'd be in Europe for two weeks, but ended up being there for two years. I assumed he'd never come back.

  My parents were supposed to pick me up today but instead they sent Silas. I'm sure this was all some ploy to get me to be friends with him again, or more than friends. My parents always liked Silas and wanted us to be together. But all good things must come to an end. And they did, the day he left.

  "I don't think it's hot in here," he says, "but I spent the past couple years working outside all day in some of the hottest regions on Earth, so this is nothing."

  I haven't talked to Silas in two years. When he left, he told me he was going backpacking in Europe, but apparently he only did that for a couple weeks, then spent the rest of the time doing volunteer work. I only know that because my parents told me. They're good friends with Silas' parents.

  "So you've been volunteering?" I ask, still fanning myself.

  "Yeah. Building houses. Bridges. Planting crops. Mostly physical labor."

  I can tell. God, he looks good. All muscle. He was always lean, with defined shoulder and ab muscles that come from surfing. But now? His shoulders are wider, his arms bigger. He looks older, more like a man than the teen boy I remember. His jawline is sharper, more defined, and covered with a thin layer of stubble.

  It's feeling even hotter in here. Did they turn on the heat? Or why is it so hot? And why am I the only one sweating? Silas isn't sweating. He seems perfectly comfortable. And he's wearing jeans! Jeans are heavy and hot. I'm wearing a short red cotton sundress with cutouts in the back. I should feel cool. But instead, I'm on fire. Maybe it's early menopause. Maybe this is a hot flash. At 19? Probably not.

  I need to face facts. I'm burning up inside because the man I was in love with—the man who turns my insides into hot molten lava—is standing before me, looking even better than I remember.

  "Should we get going?" he asks. "The truck is parked right outside."

  "Your mom got a truck?" I ask, shocked that his mom would drive something that uses that much gas.

  "No, it's mine. It's not brand new. It's a couple years old. Anyway, it's still cool from the air conditioning. I'll get it running again and you could wait out there while I load up your stuff."

  "You used the air conditioning?" I ask, shocked again. Silas comes from a family of hippies, as do I. Both our families believe in embracing what nature gives us, which means if it's hot outside, you suck it up. They're always trying to conserve energy, and since air conditioning uses gas, a natural resource that's dwindling in supply, they refuse to use it.

  I'm all for conserving energy, but I don't like sweating and feeling like I'm going to pass out, so I have no problem running the air conditioning.

  "I know you don't like the heat," Silas says, "so I made sure to cool down the truck before I got here."

  "Thanks." I smile.

  His gaze pauses on my lips. Silas always liked my smile. He said it was what made him want to be friends with me when we met on the first day of second grade.

  "No problem," he says.

  We both keep staring at each other. It makes sense that I would stare at him. He's changed a lot since I saw him last. But me? I look pretty much the same.

  Our eyes meet again. I've always loved Silas' eyes. In fact, I'm jealous of them. They're this rich turquoise blue that doesn't even look real. If I saw them in a photo, I'd think they were doctored to look that color. But no, his eyes are actually that color, surrounded by thick black lashes, which I am also envious of.

  I need to stop this. I can't be around him all summer and act like this. I admit there's still something between us. A spark. An energy. An undeniable attraction. But I need to ignore it. We both do.

  Silas is the past. It's over between us. We've both moved on.

  "So your truck is out that way?" I point to my right.

  "The other way. I parked by the side entrance." He turns and walks over to th
e boxes. "Is there anything breakable in these?"

  "No. It's mostly just books and clothes."

  "This won't take me long. Do you want to wait in the truck?"

  "No. I can help." I'm not the type of girl who sits around and waits for a guy to do things for me. And Silas knows that. He was just being nice, knowing I don't do well in the heat. When it's really hot, like it is today, I don't feel good. Once, I even threw up from the heat, right in front of Silas. It was third grade after we'd been running around all day, but still, I'm sure he doesn't want to witness that again.

  I take a box from the stack. Silas lifts up three all at once as if they weigh nothing, even though the ones he picked up are full of heavy textbooks.

  "Follow me." He casually walks out to the hall. As I follow behind him, I'm so distracted by how good his ass looks in those jeans that I almost trip and drop the box.

  "You okay?" He turns back.

  "Yeah. I'm fine."

  "You want me to take that?" He nods toward my box.

  I adjust my hold on it. "No. I got it."

  We go outside and he stops at a shiny black pick-up. It's a really nice truck, with an extended cab and leather interior.

  "How'd you get the money for this?"

  "I didn't buy it," he says as he sets the boxes in the truck bed. "One of the guys I met overseas gave it to me. He was working at a free medical clinic and we got to be friends. When I told him I was moving back here and working on your dad's farm, he offered me his truck. He's a surgeon from Napa. Said he never used the truck and asked if I wanted it."

  Silas holds the door open as we go back inside the dorm.

  "He just gave it to you? You're not just borrowing it?"

  "It's mine. The paperwork's in my name. The guy has a lot of money. He said he didn't want the hassle of having to sell it and he liked that it'd be used on the farm. He's a big supporter of organic farming."

  This shouldn't surprise me. Silas makes friends easily. He has a way of winning people over. He's a great salesman. When he used to work the jewelry booth for his mom at the farmers' market, they always sold out of everything when Silas was there.

  I think it's his smile. He has a perfect smile. An easy relaxed smile that draws you in. Not to mention those soft lips and naturally straight white teeth. I had to suffer with braces to get my teeth this straight.

  He goes in my room and picks up four boxes. At this rate, we'll be done in ten minutes.

  It ends up taking twenty, but only because I had to search my room three times to make sure I got everything. I always worry I'll leave something behind.

  Silas watched me during all three searches, leaning against the door with his arms crossed and a slight grin on his face. He finds my somewhat obsessive behaviors to be cute. Most guys find it annoying.

  We return to the truck and he opens my door. The truck is high off the ground, making it difficult to get in while wearing a dress.

  "Need some help?" he asks as I stand there trying to figure out the best way to do this. My dad has a truck but we only use it on the farm and I don't wear dresses when I'm at the farm.

  "I can do it." I go to lift my leg up but find that I can't with this dress on. It's really short and if I lift my leg up that high I'll probably rip the fabric along with exposing myself. Why did I wear this dress? I know why. I wore it because it's unusually hot out today and the dress is lightweight and cool and I thought I'd be riding in the back of my parents' Prius, not a huge pickup truck.

  I stand with my hands on my hips, biting my lip as I assess what to do. But before I can make a decision, two large hands reach around my waist and lift me straight up and into the truck, setting me on the seat.

  "Silas!" I turn and see his face right in front of me.

  He smiles that easy-going smile. "I couldn't wait all day for you to get in the truck." He reaches up and grabs the seatbelt and pulls it down around me, his hand grazing my hip as he clicks it in place. "Safety first." He smiles again, then shuts the door.

  I watch him go around the front of the truck. Something about him is different. He seems bolder. More assertive. The old Silas would just offer to help me in the truck, not pick me up and put me there. And the old Silas wouldn't have openly run his eyes over my body when he saw me in this dress. He would've snuck a peek when I wasn't looking.

  He's 20 now so maybe he's changing. Growing up. Maybe it's not just his body that's more manly but also his personality. He's been on his own the past two years, traveling the world, which I'm sure has matured him.

  "Why are you wearing a dress?" he asks as he pulls out onto the road that leads away from campus. "Doesn't seem like something you'd wear on moving day."

  "All my other clothes were packed. I found this in the back of my drawer. I forgot I had it."

  "I like it." He flashes a smile my way. "You should wear it again sometime."

  Why is he being so flirty? He knows we're not getting back together. Maybe this is just the new Silas. Maybe he flirts all the time, with all girls, not just me. I wonder how many girls he's been with since we broke up. He never had a hard time getting girls. Those eyes and that smile were enough to attract them without him even having to try.

  And then that hair. He's got the best hair. I'm jealous of his hair. It's dark brown and wavy yet somehow never frizzes, not even on a rainy day. He doesn't even use any product in it. It's just naturally soft, shiny, and annoyingly sexy. It's long for a guy, hanging just below his jawline.

  With that hair, that smile, those eyes and those rock-hard muscles? I'm sure he's been with tons of girls the past couple years.

  As for me, I've been with six guys, including Silas. I'm only 19 so some might say that's a lot, but I don't agree. If I were a guy, people would think six is low. I don't know why girls have to be limited to a certain number, or be called sluts for going above that number. I'm a modern woman and refuse to be held to those standards.

  My liberal, hippie parents never tried to keep me from having sex. Well, my dad didn't want me to do it, but he knew it would happen. He just hoped it would be with a guy who cared about me, which he told me during one of the many embarrassing conversations my parents had with me about sex. They've always been very open about the topic. They even left condoms in my room when I was fifteen. I didn't use them until I was sixteen. With Silas. He was my first. They say you'll always remember your first time. It's true. I'll never forget that night. And I've never forgotten Silas. But Lord knows I've tried. I've spent the last two years trying to forget about him, and now here I am, sitting right next to him.

  "How's college?" he asks.

  We've been driving in silence for the past half hour. Silas isn't much of a talker. I guess that's not really true. It's just that compared to me, who talks a lot, it seems like Silas doesn't talk much. But I've been unusually quiet since he showed up because I've been too shocked to speak. I still can't believe he's here.

  "It's great," I say. "I like the campus. I like my classes. The professors are good."

  I'd normally talk for hours about each one of those things, but right now my mind isn't on school. It's on Silas and how I'm going to survive the summer with him being around me every day.

  "That's it?" He glances over at me. "I thought that one question would keep you talking until we got home."

  "I guess I'm just tired." I shiver from the cold air blowing on me.

  Silas notices and turns it off. "So what else is new? I haven't talked to you forever."

  "It's only been two years," I say softly, now regretting it's been so long. It's my fault we haven't talked. Silas called me every day after he left, but I wouldn't answer. I couldn't. It was too hard to hear his voice. Eventually, his calls dwindled to once a week, and I still wouldn't answer. Then it got down to just one call a month, and again, I didn't answer.

  "Two years is a long time." His gaze is on the road ahead of us, his hand wrapped around the steering wheel, his thumb lightly tapping it. "Friends shouldn't go two year
s without talking."

  Silas and I were more than friends. So much more. Which is why I couldn't answer his calls.

  I pull my seatbelt out enough for me to turn toward him. "Silas, I'm sorry for not returning your calls."

  He shrugs his shoulder. "Forget it. It's the past."

  "It's not the past. You called just a few weeks ago and...I should've answered."

  "So why didn't you?" His thumb continues to tap the steering wheel as his eyes briefly check the side mirror.

  "I um..." This is hard to explain. And I don't want to. Telling him why I didn't answer his calls would mean telling him the truth, and I can't do that. It would only lead to us both getting hurt. Again. "I just didn't think it was a good idea...since we're not together anymore."

  It's partially true. I knew talking to him would be way too hard, at least for me. I was trying to move on. Trying to get over him. But even without answering his calls, I'm still not over him.

  The truth—the real reason I didn't talk to him—is that I still love him. It's been two years since we broke up, but I still love Silas.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Silas

  It's been two years. Two years since I've seen her. Two years since I've talked to her. Two years since we had our last kiss. And despite all the days and hours in between that I tried to get over her, the truth is...I still love Willow.

  But I can't tell her that. This summer will be hard enough. Living down the street from her. Working for her dad. Seeing her every day. Telling her how I feel would just complicate things even more. Besides, Willow doesn't want that. Us. She made that crystal clear the day she gave me back the engagement ring.

  I asked her to marry me the day after I graduated from high school. She's a year younger than me so had just finished her junior year. Our parents are both liberal hippies so had no problem with us getting engaged at such a young age. They knew how in love we were, and to this day, Willow's mom is convinced that Willow and I are soul mates. I think so too. And I know, deep down, even Willow thinks that. But according to her, soul mates can't always be together.