Page 68 of And Now, Back to You

Her smile tugs a little wider. “Still. I shouldn’t have done it. And I owe you an apology for—”

“You don’t,” I interrupt, slowly closing my laptop screen.

Delilah’s head tips to the side.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” I clarify. “You figured out a way to knock me out of my own head. I’m grateful, Delilah.”

I’m also flustered, slightly smitten, and probably fucked, but I plan to keep that to myself.

She watches me from the other side of the table, looking for the lie. “All right.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

I nod. “Yeah, great.”

She stands, brushing her hands against the front of her skirt. “I’m going to get another scone.”

I survey the table. “We have seven scones.”

“Technically, we have three and a half scones, if you add all the pieces together. And not one of them is blueberry. So I’m going to get one of those.” She collects some of the empty plates and used napkins. “Do you want more tea?”

“No, I’m fi—”

“I’m gonna get you some more tea.”

She twirls off to the other side of the lobby where Lottie operates a small café and bakery. I watch as she walks right up to the counter, waving to the young attendant behind the desk reading a book. He immediately sets it to the side to talk to her, a furious blush working up and over his cheeks as he nods with enthusiasm.

I turn back in my seat, sending off the pictures of the snow to my sisters and staring at the selfie of me and Delilah. She’s beaming at the camera. I’m looking right at her.

I darken my phone with a tap of my thumb and flip it upside down on the table.

Delilah and I make a good team. I am also begrudgingly attracted to her. I’m not interested in denying either of those things.

If I tried, I’m fairly certain she’d call me on my bullshit. I don’t know what that means for the both of us, but I’m trying something new. I’m open to the possibilities instead of trying to map out my options.

“Is that Delilah Stewart?”

I glance up. An older man is standing at the edge of our table. Faded Levi’s, tan boots, a well-loved leather cap clutched between weathered hands. He could be either sixty or two hundred and six. It’s hard to tell. The lodge has mostly been deserted whenever we’ve been in the common spaces, and this is the first time I’ve seen someone who isn’t a hotel employee.

“Uh.” I glance over my shoulder at Delilah, still chatting away with the charmed café attendant. “Yeah. That’s her.”

He lets out a deep, rattling breath.

“Is there something you need?” I ask, my voice sharp. I shift sideways, angling my body between him and Delilah.

“Oh, no. No, I don’t need anything. I just—” He sighs as he gazes across the room, twisting his hat in his fists. “I’m a—I’m a big fan of Ms. Stewart’s work.”

My hesitation eases. I recognize that look on his face. It’s the same dopey look I have in the picture Delilah took five minutes ago. He’s another member of the Delilah Stewart fan club.

I grin, my shoulders relaxing. “Oh yeah?”

He nods. “Saw that segment she did on the Trash Wheel coupl’a weeks ago. She’s pretty funny.” He clears his throat and looks down at me. He clocks my smile and immediately scowls. “What are you laughing about?”

“I’m not laughing.” I tilt my head in the direction of the café. “You should go say hi.”

As confident as Delilah is, I don’t think she gets to see enough of this part. How much people love her for everything she already is. I’ve seen the spiderweb cracks that splinter across Delilah’s expression when she faces one of the roadblocks Keith tosses up. How badly she wants to be taken seriously. She says she doesn’t want to be a joke, but I don’t think she understands that to the viewers, she’s never been one.