Page 34 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

34. Show Delilah I’m still a compassionate animal lover.

42. Prove to Delilah I’m here to stay.

Dogs thrive on routine and stability. Owning a pet will prove I plan to stick around, and, more to the point, I love dogs and want a furry companion. My parents weren’t big into us having pets, but I loved going to Big Joe’s farm and picking out a puppy for Delilah as a surprise for her.

Her father had died the month prior to that day, and I hated seeing her so sad. They had also lost their barn dog recently. I thought having a puppy around would be lively and fun and help distract her and her mom from their pain. Joe suggested I take one of the big robust puppies yapping and nibbling and acting like adorable pests. But there was a runt, with black-and-white patches on her face, feeble and sad, and I thought, you need Delilah as much as she needs you.

The solar eclipse grin on Delilah’s face when I handed her Pickle—Delilah ate pickles like they were a cure for cancer—could have powered a rocket.

I don’t know if she still has Pickle or if she still eats lots of pickles. More blanks about Delilah’s life I need to fill in, but that memory has me reconsidering my list. Most of the items have been focused on me and my desperate need to win her back. As badly as I want us back together, resuscitating her solar eclipse grin is even more important. I mentally change number thirty-four from “Show Delilah I’m still a compassionate animal lover” to “Lift Delilah’s spirits by playing with adorable dogs.”

Needing to pass the time, I take my sketchbook to Sugar and Sips. Everyone here is firmly on Team Delilah. They still hate me, except scrawny Leif, who nods at me when he bustles out from the kitchen with a tray of M&M’S-topped cookies. They look warm and gooey and smell like chocolate crack.

I order a coffee and one of those mouthwatering cookies, then take my usual seat. Narc Sandra isn’t behind me. She must have found some other innocent victim to investigate.

As I sip my coffee, a pretty Chinese woman enters. I don’t recognize her, but she nods to a barista. A moment later, Delilah hurries out with a smile and hug for the newcomer. “Ally. So glad you could make it.”

Delilah leads her to the free table near me. Delilah glances at me and nods, the corners of her lips lifting slightly. Pleased she acknowledged me, I wave and mouth, Hi.

She blushes, then she’s intent on Ally, her hands clasped on the table. “Last year’s bake sale was great, but I have an idea to make this year’s hospice fundraiser bigger.”

“I’m all ears.” Ally deposits her purse on the table. “We can use all the donations we can get.”

“What do you think of a balloon pop?”

“I’ll tell you once I know what a balloon pop is.”

Balloon pops are a mystery to me too. I squint at the duo, wondering if this is another of Delilah’s impromptu acting vignettes, but she’s focused on her friend, not paying attention to me, and Ally isn’t launching exaggerated looks my way.

“I read about it online,” Delilah says. “We ask local businesses to donate prizes and write them on papers, then stuff them into balloons. For the event, we fill a room with the balloons and sell needles to pop them for the prizes. It would be fun for kids and adults.”

“Oh, I like that.” Ally nods as she talks, while I eavesdrop like the Delilah-fixated man I am. “We could use the high school gymnasium and still do the bake sale after.”

“The bake sale is a must,” Delilah says. “Mr. Shavez told me he’ll boycott my café if he can’t buy my chocolate strawberry truffles.”

Ally laughs. “Mr. Shavez gave Diane at the garden store the same threat, demanding they get his favorite mulch back in stock. But I have to agree with him on this. The fact that you only make those truffles for the fundraiser is criminal.”

“It’s about driving up demand and price,” Delilah says brightly, then scrunches her nose. “So you think the balloon pop is a good idea?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” I say, piping in. Their heads whip my way. “I’d spend money on that.”

Delilah’s brow knits, like she thinks I’m messing with her. What I am is impressed. Her ideas are smart and fun, and she obviously loves helping her community. “If your strawberry chocolate truffles are as good as everything else you make, I’d also pay a week’s salary for them.” I take a bite of my M&M’S cookie and moan.

Delilah’s attention drops to my mouth.

Ally tilts her head, appraising me. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

“No, he’s not,” Delilah says, but there’s no fire in her voice. “That’s Edgar. He’s . . . a friend.”

“Edgar Bower?” I may not know Ally, but she’s apparently heard of me. She clasps Delilah’s hand on the table. “I can’t thank you enough for all your work. We have lots of time to organize, so let’s talk about it more next month. And I cannot wait for your wedding.” She cuts me a pointed stare.

I almost give her a standing ovation as she leaves.

“It’s lovely everyone’s so excited for your wedding,” I tell Delilah. This thespian town is hell bent on pulling the wool over my eyes.

She gets up and lines her chair under the table. “It’s nice to feel supported,” she says, focused on her fake ring. I expect her to hurry off, but she lingers. Her attention flits to me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”