Page 44 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

I turn my head toward her, not bothering to move from my prone position. “I feel violated. He didn’t even buy me dinner first.”

Another laugh. This one brings the shoulder shakes. When she recovers, her wide smile brightens the wattage in the room. “He looks like he wants to swallow you whole.”

“Must be the cologne. Everyone goes nuts for Eternity.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Child,” she mutters.

I maneuver back to sitting, hugging and rubbing Caramel as he pants his hot breath on my face. “He needs a shot of mouthwash, but this brute is definitely a contender.”

I twist to ask Delilah’s opinion, even though I don’t need it. Candy Cane is the only dog for me. Instead of finding her on the couch, she’s pulled some impressive ninja move and is now facing me, cross-legged on the floor.

“He’s definitely a contender.” She gives him a fierce rub, scrunching her nose, waiting for the assault. Caramel doesn’t disappoint. His big tongue licks the length of her face, and there’s that wattage again, big and bright, filling the room and my chest.

“Shall I bring in another?” Mrs. Chan asks.

Delilah and I share an excited glance and nod simultaneously. The second Mrs. Chan leads Caramel out, I wipe my face. “That was awful.”

Delilah shudders. “Why do people even like dogs?”

Seriously. I need to find out where she takes her acting classes. “Do you still have Pickle?”

“No.” She runs her finger along the seam of her jeans. “Lost her a couple years ago. She had cancer.”

I think back to sitting behind Delilah on the plane, hearing her desolate I’m used to losing people in my life. Pickle was a people. Delilah lost her father, then me, then her dog, that bastard Life doling out loss unfairly. “Delilah, I’m so sorry.”

“It was tough. She was a great dog.”

Heeding Avett’s warning not to push Delilah implies she’s not ready for a sympathy hug from me, but Delilah and I did exist in our own bubble during high school—the aura Avett mentioned—always aware of each other’s moods, offering tender touches if one of us seemed off. I can’t hug her the way I want, but I extend my hand, palm up, hoping our simple connection eases her now like it once did.

She doesn’t move at first, and I have to be honest, if she leaves me hanging, it will be a blow. I don’t want to push Delilah for too much too soon, but she pressed her hand to my curving back when standing up for me with Avett. I need to offer her the same support.

Her fingers twitch, a small spasm, like she can’t decide if she wants to curl her hand into a fist or stretch it out and reach for me. I’m braced for her inevitable brush-off, when she slowly extends her fingers and fits her hand into mine.

I black out. Or I’ve just closed my eyes. All my senses zero in on the softness of her skin, the gentle slide of our fingers, basic contact with a woman who was my first enemy, my first best friend, my first love, and my first understanding that another person could mean more to me than my own life.

She looks at our joined hands, her shoulders softening on an exhale. “Everything’s changed, but some things don’t.”

“Which things?” I ask softly.

She flexes her fingers against mine. “This.”

No other words are needed, just this. The miracle of a touch that inexplicably heals.

I thread our fingers firmly, bring our joined hands to my mouth, and press a soft kiss to her knuckles. Her breath stutters. My lungs don’t recall how to function, and the hungry look on Delilah’s face slays me.

“So,” Mrs. Chan says brightly as she leads another dog into the playroom. “Here we have Sophie.”

Delilah doesn’t yank her hand away from me as I expect. We hold on a second longer, her heated gaze locked on my face, darting briefly to my lips. She pulls back first, because I’m not that strong, and angles her head at Sophie. “Aren’t you adorable?”

She really is. We play with Sophie, messing up her mop of long hair, squeaking toys in her face, taking turns giving her hugs.

“Dogs aren’t fun at all,” Delilah says when Mrs. Chan leaves to get contestant number three.

“They’re the worst,” I confirm.

Dog three is as adorable and heartbreaking. Smaller and rambunctious, she’s all floppy ears and cute button nose. By the time we shower her with love and Mrs. Chan leads her away, I’m picturing my small apartment filled with a menagerie of pups.

“You can’t adopt them all,” Delilah says, mind reader extraordinaire.