Page 21 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“I cannot believe you’re here.”

I look up, surprised it took Maggie Edelstein this long to turn up. Almost one whole hour. Windfall’s rumor mill must have a kink in it. “I’m here,” I agree.

“You need to leave,” she says, her voice as loud as ever.

All the patrons glance our way, and Delilah’s cute blue sneakers peek out from behind the swinging doors at the back. She’s for sure eavesdropping. With our first conversation successfully conquered, I’m less stressed about her witnessing this town hating on me.

“Delilah already said I could stay,” I tell Maggie. “And I have no urge to vacate this seat. The back support on these chairs is exceptional.”

“Well, I didn’t say you could stay. You shouldn’t be here or anywhere near this town.”

I smile up at Maggie’s face, amazed at how red she still is. Red hair, red freckles, red-tinged fair skin the shade of I-am-a-vengeful-woman-who-will-mess-you-up. Her straight hair is shorter, hitting her shoulders, but she’s as fiery as ever. “Are you mayor of Windfall?” I ask. “Did you pass a law banning me from my former hometown?”

“Are you delusional? Do you know the wreckage you left in your wake? Do you know what you did to that amazing woman? Do you know—” She slams her mouth shut, looking ready to launch her fist into my nose.

For the first time since I sat down, apprehension lurches in my gut. Did I ruin Delilah after all? Steal the fire from the girl who yelled at me to get off her land? And here I am, forcing her to face that pain all over again.

Maggie yells at me once more, marches away, pauses, then marches back. This time her reddening face has a different quality to it I can’t pinpoint. “Is Lennon coming back too?”

“Why do you care what Lennon’s doing?” As far as I know, Maggie and Lennon didn’t hang out when we were teens. He rolled with the hippie crowd back then. She was one of the popular girls who walked through school like she owned it. Maybe Maggie is why he didn’t want to return to Windfall, even though he loves and misses it.

“I don’t care about Lennon,” she says haltingly. “It was just a question.” She makes a huffy noise and resumes her angry stomp to the swinging doors at the back.

I have no brain space to think about Maggie and Lennon. The smells of coffee and cinnamon turn rancid. Heat crawls up my neck. Hearing how badly Delilah actually suffered after I left catches in my throat like a string of rusty barbs.

Maybe I should go. Leave the past in the past. Finally move on with my life, even if that life doesn’t contain Delilah. But, like Lennon said, we were more than a couple before I left. We were each other’s unconditional support. I’m 99 percent sure she broke up with her fiancé. Even if my list doesn’t lead to us rekindling our romance, I want to be Delilah’s best friend again. Support her during this tough time. Make her laugh and forget her worries like I used to. I just hope this choice to stay doesn’t make the next ten years of my life harder than the last.

EIGHT

Day two in Windfall starts off low key. I’ve settled into my apartment, which came furnished and decorated with an alarming amount of pink. The fabric headboard on the bed is covered in light-pink and fuchsia flowers. The plastic shower curtain in the bathroom is an explosion of pink butterflies, and the walls are painted a softer dusty mauve. Even the sofa is a brighter magenta, which matches the kitchen counters and cabinets. I’ve progressed from a beige life to one draped in shades of Pepto-Bismol, but the location means I’m a short walk from Delilah’s shop.

Unlike yesterday’s head-down, no-eye-contact rush through town, today I stop and soak in this quaint haven I’ve missed. Plump pumpkins and fall flowers burst from antique wooden pushcarts, punctuating the seating areas on the wide cobblestone sidewalks. Even though the annual Scarecrow Scavenger Hunt isn’t held until mid-October, elaborately dressed and sewed scarecrows are already affixed to the old-fashioned lampposts.

A man’s walking his something-doodle beside the bench where I scratched in the words I love Delilah Mars who is from Uranus. We won’t discuss how mad she was about that. Two women with strollers are talking and laughing by the mermaid fountain Jake used to piss in when he was drunk. The large oak in the center of the square’s grassy park hasn’t changed. Neither has Windfall’s breathtaking beauty and picture-book charm. It’s one of those towns that fills social media with tags like #NoFilter #CutestTownEver #LoveLoveLove #ParadiseFound.

But some upsetting things are different.

Haddie’s Diner should be on the corner of this block. My ninth-best day happened there, tasting Delilah and peach ice cream when we shared our first kiss. A few other stores are unrecognizable as well. More than a few, actually. Dad had his hand in some of those missing shops, used them to launder cartel money. Maybe his irrevocable actions affected those small business owners. Maybe the books he was fudging fell apart when we disappeared. I’m uneducated on the minutiae of money laundering, aside from the fact that it ruins lives. His actions might have destroyed other local families too.

Shaking off that unpleasantness, I let the town’s fall decor mellow me as I walk toward my favorite coffee shop. When I enter, Delilah’s nowhere to be seen yet. But her private eye, Sandra, is at a table. She scrutinizes me, as do a few other patrons. I don’t dip my head and try to hide my face. I order my coffee and pastry and set up camp. It’s only a matter of time before Delilah breezes through here to talk to customers and her staff. I plan to wait her out and actually work today.

Since my writing partner, Sathya, is still MIA, I don’t have panels to illustrate. Instead of watching more animal clips so pointy-nosed Sandra can narc on me, I pull out my sketchbook and my favorite Blackwing Palomino pencils, then relax as I focus on the page.

I often draw animal-inspired characters because animals are predictable and loyal and are generally better than people. Working with Sathya on Gates of Ember pushed my skills further, forcing me to expand beyond my turtle men and snow leopard women—the early sketches she saw when my local comic book store hosted a mini art show. I hadn’t planned to enter my work for that exhibition. Cal was the one who saw the ad for the event and pushed me to draw and submit. The rest is history, as they say. Sathya and I started meeting, sharing ideas, planting seeds for Gates of Ember—the series she’d write and I’d illustrate.

I haven’t worked on anything but Gates in years. These days, most of my work is digitally based. For some reason today, I have the urge to draw.

My pencil moves over the page, long legs taking shape, then sensual shoulders, the rounded curves of a woman’s breasts, majestic wings, a gloriously ornate winged headpiece. I spend time on the feathers, sketching each barb flowing from its central rachis, tightly layered in some sections, sparse in others, adding texture, soft or coarse, depending on their positions. By the time I’ve drawn hypnotizing eyes and a full mouth, I realize what I’ve done.

This is Delilah as my albatross. My forever mate. Symbolism that shuttles me back to the number one day of my Top Ten Best Days.

Oddly, my best day started with a fight. While Desmond isn’t what I’d call a male role model these days, back then, he had the confidence and lady moves I lacked. If I wanted manly cologne for my planned romantic night of nights with Delilah, I was stealing it from him.

Except I got caught.

“Get out of my stuff.” Desmond was home from college, a weekend visit to see Sadie. He flicked my ear. “No cologne can mask your smell of desperation.”

“Fuck you.”