Page 72 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

She grabs a dead leaf from the tabletop, spins it by the stem. “I met him at a tough time in my life. I was lonely and tired of being lonely, often falling into random funks of sadness. He was in Windfall on vacation, and he made me laugh. Swept in with his polo shirt and khaki pants. Not my usual taste, but I don’t know . . . I liked that he wasn’t my type. I thought maybe I just needed different, and I liked his attention. He was good at that, making me feel special when we were together. He took over conversations when I wasn’t in the mood to speak. He made plans when I didn’t want to plan. He was a doer, and it was easy to get sucked into his orbit.”

I think about our nights, how easy they are, whether talking or watching TV or goofing around. The comfort in our silences. Neither of us plans much or takes over. Not since I abandoned my list. We work together naturally. “So, you fell in love with him?”

“I fell in love with the idea of him.” She stares off into the distance, her face contemplative, the tip of her nose red from the chilly air. “With the idea of a fresh start somewhere else without the memories of my dad and Pickle and you. I thought leaving would make me happy, and he offered me a new life in New York. New friends. New memories to be made. But we were apart for most of our relationship, and he proposed quickly, which makes sense in the aftermath. He’s a spontaneous pleasure-seeker who does what he wants when he wants.”

The crisp air fills my lungs, while Delilah’s confession fills me with sadness. “I wanted to say something, comfort you. I hated not saying anything.”

She lets out a weary sigh. “His disregard of me and my feelings hurt, but being long distance made the break easier. And I knew it was the right choice, ending things.” She slides her gaze to me. “Then you turned up.”

“Then I turned up.” I brush the backs of my fingers across her breeze-kissed cheek. “Your acting’s improved exponentially.”

“You mean better than this . . .” She screws her face into a scowl. “This soup is disgusting. I feel like throwing up.”

There’s my favorite congested Australian.

“Miles better. You should teach classes.” I take her hand and run my finger over the fake engagement ring. “You should also take this off. I don’t like seeing it on you.”

She pauses a moment, then pulls the ring free and places it on the table. We stare at the simple piece of jewelry, a symbol of change, our future shifting as we sit here on the edge of a sparkling lake.

“Please give me a chance,” I say, my focus on that monumental ring. It represents her past, our reunion, a perfect future I’m still terrified won’t happen. “I want more. I want you. I want us.” I face her and cup her cheeks. Tilt those gorgeous lips toward mine. “Losing you destroyed me, and having you back in my life is everything. Please trust me. Please trust I won’t hurt you again.”

She blinks, the press of her eyelids pushing a tear free. “This isn’t about trust, E. I know you. I hate what you’ve been through and know you didn’t hurt me on purpose.”

“Then what’s holding you back?”

Her hands find my chest, palms pressing flat. “You know I went through a rough time when you left, but you don’t know the extent of it, and I don’t want to relive it. I don’t want to see your face when you find out what happened. I don’t want to live with the knowledge of what it will do to you.”

I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out what this terrible, awful secret is. She admitted she went off the rails—drinking, drugs, reckless behavior. Did she get into prostitution? Did she get sucked into some illegal gambling ring and has a mountain of debts to pay? Did she hurt herself like I once suspected, taking pills to numb the pain? There are no good possibilities. Already, I’m breathing hard, feeling ill. Wishing I could hold her and kiss her and promise her all scars heal. More than anything, I need to show her I can handle heartache.

“I lived through my father’s betrayal and ten years of witness protection. I’m stronger than you think.”

“Are you forgetting your disappearance the day I told you about your father’s book deal?”

“Sure, but . . .” There are no buts. I was a selfish prick that day, and it’s coming to bite me in the ass. “I came back and we’re good, right? I didn’t let it fester. I worked in your kitchen and helped you today and made you an orgasmic curry?”

She laughs, smoothing her palms down my chest. Gradually, her hands fall to her lap. “Tell me again why the idea of your father’s book upsets you so much.”

“Besides the fact that he’s earning money from our misery?” Saying it aloud pisses me off all over again. His betrayal’s also a reminder there’s no way I can sell my story and help Sathya without everyone’s approval. A hurdle that can wait.

“Besides that,” Delilah says.

I cover her hands with mine, needing a connection. “It wasn’t about me. I’m worried about my mother and Desmond and how his latest stunt will affect them.”

“Exactly. You absorb everyone’s pain, and I don’t want you to absorb mine.”

We’re back to her thinking I’m an empath again, feeling too much, on the cusp of inbursting at the slightest provocation. She’s not completely wrong. I’ve proved once how selfish and oversensitive I can be. Which leaves one option. “Then don’t tell me.”

She frowns at her lap. “It’s not that simple.”

“At least give us time to try again. Time to decide, together as a couple, if we’re worth whatever pain I’ll suffer. Can you give me that? The chance to decide for myself? Or am I not worth it?”

She meets my eyes, her chin trembling. “You’re worth everything, E.”

“Then don’t tell me yet. We’ll put a pin in that conversation and save it until we’re stronger. But I can’t go on pretending we’re not perfect for each other.”

More tears fall down her cheeks, so many I’m worried the lake will rise, swallow us whole, drown us in all this painful history—then she’s dashing at her cheeks and nodding. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. I want to try. Just don’t ask me to talk about it, okay?”

“I won’t.” I cup her cool cheeks, inject as much sincerity as possible into my voice. “I promise.”