Page 47 of Can’t Say No

She smiles at my charm, like always. “I was asking if you could whip us up a late-night snack when we get back to the cabin. Maybe a round of bedtime waffles? I saw a griddle in the pantry.”

There goes my run.

“And maybe Delaney can help you?”

And there goes my sanity.

I smile even wider. “Sure thing, Mrs. Crane.”

She leans toward our row of seats as the bus roars to life. “I really hate to admit this, but you two do make quite the couple. Maybe you can convince this one to stick around a little longer.” She pats Delaney’s arm with an affection I’ve never seen before. “I’ve grown rather fond of her.”

With that, she returns to her seat a few rows up and leaves us in a moment of stunned silence.

“Did she just admit to liking me?” Delaney asks with a bewildered laugh.

“Damn, Delaney, I think you’ve won her over.” I pause. Crane’s comment lit a spark in that little kindling of dangerous hope. I know I’m tiptoeing down a slippery slope, but I can’t stop myself.

“Would you ever consider it? Staying?”

All hope is lost with just one look. Her eyes wide, mouth open, and my heart just a little bit more broken. “Connor. What the hell would I do in Ridgecrest?’

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe you finish out the school year, take a step back from the spotlight, reset.”

Her brows pinch together, like my words are so absurd that she can hardly understand them. “Stepping away now would be the death knell for my career, especially since everything’s been so rocky all year. I don’t need to quietly reset, I need to keep making headlines.” She shimmies her phone out of her pocket. “Speaking of which, we need to send Matty some pictures to post.”

Delaney angles her body towards her outstretched hand, leaning into me.

It’s pure torture.

I drape an arm across her chest and her free hand loops around my wrist. And because I’m a masochist, I plant a kiss on the top of her head.

Really, I’m the one breaking my own heart at this point.

Abruptly, she scoots back into her seat and flips the phone around to analyze the picture on the screen. “Oooo, it’s cute. Everyone will love this one. Did you take any good aesthetic pics of the park?”

I chuckle, “Lanie, no. I took exactly three pictures all day, and they were all of a weird bug bite on my leg that I sent to my doctor friend to make sure it wasn’t infected.”

“Eww, okay, okay, got it. I’ll go ask the girls if I can steal some of their pictures.” She hops into the aisle and I’m struck by how light and happy she is. Delaney would deny it to her last breath, but she really is a natural with the kids. She’s been glowing the whole trip. She’s kind, yet firm with the students, and playful enough to have earned their trust. It’s a far cry from world tours, but I could see her as a young, cool Mrs. Crane, directing the choir and planning trips like this.

The high pitched peal of laughter breaks through my thoughts and I turn to see Delaney standing in the aisle at the back of the bus. The kids have roped her into what looks like a game of charades and she’s either a chimney sweep or a hang glider. The look of unadulterated joy is almost too much. She has to feel it; she has to sense that staying in Ridgecrest even for just a few extra months would give her more purpose than the crazy hamster wheel of fame she’s stuck on.

We make eye contact and I melt under her warm gaze. I smile back, her joy infectious. She turns back to the kids, her mannerisms now looking more animalistic.

What the hell is she supposed to be?

Leaning out into the aisle, I take a video. It’s grainy and dimly lit; nothing worth sending to Matty to post.

I think I’ll keep it forever.

The jovial mood Delaney created on the bus spilled out into the chalet for late-night waffles and even Mrs. Crane was cracking a smile as everyone danced and laughed around the kitchen. Our bus driver, usually so quiet, held court at the head of the long dining table and had the students working through goofy riddles while they waited for their waffles.

Again, I was hit with longing. This could happen every year; Delaney could stay and take over the choir, and we could do this forever.

I let myself have a moment to try that forever on: My Saturday morning ritual of coffee on the deck, but with her at my side. Driving together to work and stopping for treats after a particularly hard day. Evening runs in the orchard, and I’d always let her beat me home.

The bubble pops at that pesky word, home. Because, for better or for worse, I’ll always be tied to Ridgecrest in a way that Delaney never has been.

I can’t leave, and, as happy as she might be goofing off with the kids, I know she won’t stay.