Page 31 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Her “Oh my God” lingers as she cranks the door shut. If I’m not mistaken, that was a why-does-he-have-to-be-so-endearing oh my God.

ELEVEN

For those of you who took a bathroom break, Delilah Moon and I are now friends. My grueling run last night helped burn off some of yesterday’s anxiety. I’m feeling a tad more optimistic. Still, I didn’t sleep great. I spent half the night reliving Delilah’s confession about drinking and partying and losing control. I have the distinct impression she shielded me from the brunt of what she suffered. Most people who yelled at me yesterday mentioned Delilah in a stilted way. Like they wanted to say something they couldn’t. My best guess is they know about her broken engagement and they blame me for haphazardly sending her on that path.

Not only is Windfall’s rumor mill top notch—they also protect their own.

When I walk into Sugar and Sips this morning, Mrs. Jackson is in front of me in line. She clucks her tongue at my appearance, then gives me her back. I don’t take it personally. All this hate means Delilah protected me. Even when she didn’t believe my unbelievable WITSEC story, she didn’t confirm anyone’s wild guesses about my past. So yeah. Half the town still has bets on whether I’m a spy or hacker or alien abductee. The other half is Team Delilah and despises me for hurting her. But Delilah no longer hates me.

She’s behind the counter this morning, loading more muffins into her display case. When she notices me, she pauses. I’m pretty sure her focus darts to my abdomen and the six-pack she can’t see. Then she’s working, organizing her fancy baked goods, wiping the counter, stepping out of the way when the two baristas hurry to grab supplies.

Mrs. Jackson takes her turn at the counter and says loudly, “Melody showed me your wedding invitations, Delilah. They’re absolutely beautiful.”

Delilah freezes. Her eyes slide to me, then back to Mrs. Jackson. “She did a great job, didn’t she?”

“Gorgeous. I can’t wait for the big day. You deserve all the happiness.” Mrs. Jackson tilts her chin, making sure I hear that last line.

I hear it, all right. That’s why I’m in this town, intent on proving how happy I can make Delilah Moon.

A shorter woman I don’t know, with dark skin and an impressive collection of facial piercings, pops out through the swinging kitchen doors. “Wait until you see the cake I’m baking for the wedding.” Her pointed gaze falls on me when she emphasizes the wedding. “It’ll be epic.”

If I knew I’d be getting an impromptu Masterpiece Theatre production of Delilah’s Getting (Fake) Married with my coffee and pastry, I’d have brought extra cash for tips.

The pierced baker disappears as the front door chimes. I tense, wondering if today will be a repeat of yesterday’s game show from hell.

Maggie saunters in, struts past me with a sneer, then makes a show of handing Delilah a small box. “I picked up your resized engagement ring,” she says, raising her voice as she speaks. “It should fit now, so you can give that temporary one back.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.” Delilah smiles sweetly at Maggie and accepts the box.

I am seriously impressed. Not only do I love this town for being all mama bear, protecting Delilah from the imagined predator that is me, but she must have taken acting classes since her congested Australian performance in Oliver! If I didn’t sit behind her on the plane and hear what a dick her fiancé was, I’d believe this little vignette.

“Put the new ring on,” I say, playing along. I’ve always wanted to take improv classes. “Let us all see it.”

Delilah narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t hesitate. No joke. Is the Academy watching this performance?

She removes the oversize inlaid ring from her finger and gives it to Maggie, who is positively gleeful. Then she extricates the new square-cut diamond from the box. It’s small and pretty. Different again from the real ring she wore on the plane and the absolute wrong engagement ring for Delilah. If I ever get to buy her an engagement ring, there will be tiny sapphires lining the band—the color of her eyes—and the central diamond will be pear cut, elegant and unique for this one-of-a-kind woman. Not round like the ring the self-centered jerk bought her.

The moment this new ring is on her finger, everyone in the shop oohs and aahs and showers her with compliments. Each over-the-top “It’s gorgeous” and “It fits perfectly” and “You’re so lucky to have such a great guy” is punctuated by a hard look at me.

I try not to laugh.

When Mrs. Jackson moves to collect her coffee down the counter, Maggie shoves her freckled face in my way. “You need to leave here and never come back.”

I could tell her it’s not her choice. Delilah’s the only person who can ask me to leave, and she said I could stay, but this improv thing’s been really fun. I’ve been bitten by the acting bug.

I cock my head. “Oh, I think that’s my phone ringing. It’s the same ringtone as the song playing, and I didn’t notice it.”

Maggie curls her lip. “The ringtone on your phone is a coffeehouse version of Carly Rae Jepsen’s ‘Call Me Maybe’?”

“It’s a fantastic version.” I pull my phone from my bag and make a show of answering it. “Hey, Lennon. You’ll never guess who I’m with.” I smile at Maggie. “You should say hi to Lennon.”

I hold out the phone. Maggie mimics Delilah’s the-killer’s-in-my-house face and abruptly marches away. I guess my acting skills have gotten better since Oliver! too. Must be all the lying I’ve done the past ten years.

“Exciting morning,” I tell Delilah when it’s my turn at the counter. She’s at the cash register now, freeing up her baristas to do barista things.

She holds up her hand and admires her sparkly diamond. “It really has been. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have a large coffee, one of those strawberry-and-cream muffins, and an appointment with you tomorrow at four o’clock.”