Page 78 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

I wrap her in my arms, overwhelmed by her offer. This is more than us having amazing sex and flirting openly. This is Delilah wanting to care for me as much as I want to care for her. “I’d love nothing more than to be your scavenger hunt date.”

We kiss chastely, then join the festivities outside. Colored leaves float down in the breeze, ivy and white flowers spilling over a wooden pergola. We take our seats next to Avett and Naomi and hold hands while the music plays. We keep holding hands while Ricky, then Aaron, walks down the aisle and says their vows, the two of them sharing their love with us all. We hold tight while I picture Delilah and me up there, pledging ourselves, overcoming the odds, kissing like Ricky and Aaron—sweet and sensual and a little filthy. When they hug intensely, emotion sears my throat, and Delilah squeezes my fingers.

So yeah. I cry at weddings. Shocker, I know. Delilah looks at my face and blubbers. Maggie turns around at the sounds I’m making trying to hold it all in.

She mouths, Baby.

I whisper, “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Her face shrivels, and she whips back around.

Inside the inn’s cathedral-ceilinged room, champagne flows and pretty appetizers are passed around. The mood is downright vivacious, everyone toasting the newlyweds and grinning broadly. The buffet dinner is fantastic. Delilah’s by my side for most of the night, but she’s with her friends too. I enjoy those moments almost as much. The way she laughs and talks with them, then searches the room, her eyes finding mine, sparkling that electric-blue sparkle that snaps across my skin. We share silly winks and secret I’m-going-to-defile-you smiles, and when our lemon tarts join the stunning desserts she and Angel created, I feel a hit of pride.

The pièce de résistance is when the Tweeds take the stage.

I assume my role of roadie like a seasoned pro, helping set up after the DJ clears out. Shawn smells like he smoked ten ounces of weed. Kaitlyn doesn’t listen when I ask her to test her bass. Ricky’s drunk and doing some weird dance onstage, making everyone laugh. For the first time since returning to Windfall, it’s like nothing’s changed.

They rock out. Loud and proud and awesome. I slam dance with Avett like we’re fourteen and stupid. I holler and cheer until my throat’s hoarse. I do the chicken dance for Delilah until she almost pees herself, then I drag her close and dirty dance with her because I can. Yeah, it’s a great night.

Delilah and I are among the last to leave. Ricky and Aaron are slow dancing with some stragglers around them. Shawn is passed out on the floor with a crushed cupcake in his hand and smeared icing on his face, like he hit the floor midbite.

Not gonna lie. I’m pretty drunk. As is Delilah. We’re leaning on each other, sleepy and smiley, and I do my drunken best not to sit down in the elevator. If I do, I’ll be snoring in seconds. We help each other to our room, fumble with the keycard five times. Nope . . . make that six. Then we stumble inside and plow onto the bed. Fully clothed. No washing up. We don’t have sex or even kiss. I tuck her against my chest, spooning her aggressively—one of my legs wrapped over hers, both my arms latched around her stomach, my face squished into her thick hair. I hold her, scared about how happy I am. How good I feel. How perfect everything is.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“It’s definitely the Sandpiper’s Nest,” Delilah says, crowding me to read the paper in my hand. “The bird reference is obvious.”

I have no doubt she’s right, but I haven’t participated in the Scarecrow Scavenger Hunt in a decade. I’m enjoying dragging out the late afternoon, watching Delilah’s face light up when we find a hidden mini scarecrow. It’s been two weeks since the wedding, and she was right about me needing a break from work. Thanks to her, today has been the perfect breather.

Participating tourists and locals have been running around town all day, one of ten different papers in hand, each with eight clues to find eight scarecrows, all in mixed-up orders to spread people out. Once again, Windfall will be splashed over social media with hashtags like #CutestTownEver #MiniScarecrowsForTheWin #SoMuchFun. More people will come. This small town, which runs on gossip and protecting its own, will thrive.

Most participants started much earlier and have finished their hunts. They’re congregating at the beer garden now, purses and backpacks filled with mini scarecrows, sharing stories and smiles in the town square. The barbecue tent smells amazing, and it appears the organizers opted to stick with country music for the after-party—the band setting up under the tapestry of strung-up lights are sporting impressive cowboy hats.

Since Delilah and I couldn’t follow our clues until her shop was quiet enough for her to leave, we’re some of the last stragglers hunting scarecrows. I move behind her and wrap my arms around her stomach, tucking her close as we reread the clue.

Find me where birds of a feather flock together, protected by a castle, with four minus one sentries guarding me.

“The bookstore is a good guess,” I say, running my nose along the slope of her ear. She shivers, and I drop a soft kiss to her temple. “But lots of birds shit on the mermaid fountain. It could be over there.”

“Except Yvette’s obsessed with all things medieval, and she owns the bookstore. The castle and sentry part has to be her.” Delilah nuzzles into me, neither of us caring if anyone is watching. “I also really love it when you flirt with my ear.”

“Like this?” I blow a soft breath on target. As amazing as being openly affectionate at the wedding was, standing in the middle of town, with Delilah telling me what turns her on, beats that awesome weekend.

She moans softly and presses her ass against my growing erection. “Seems like you enjoy flirting with my ear too.”

“I enjoy all of you all the time. But this dress?” I slide my palm across her abdomen, quickly realizing this game we’re playing is not public appropriate. Her blue dress is thin and soft and patterned with tiny peaches. “You look edible,” I murmur.

A guitar strums. Laughter erupts down the street.

Delilah pulls away from me and adjusts her dress, her face beautifully flushed. “So, the clue. Birds. Castles. Sentries.”

I can barely focus on blinking, let alone clues. “I’m not sure about the ‘four minus one sentries’ part of the riddle, but I know where one sentry is, and he’s standing at attention.” I point to my dick.

Delilah bites her lip, which makes me want to bite her lip, her collarbone, the swell of her full breast, the soft skin of her inner thigh. I release an animal grunt. I’m not sure if my face looks as ferociously covetous as I feel, but she grabs my hand before I cause more town gossip and drags me toward the Sandpiper’s Nest.

The bookstore is brighter than I remember: soft-yellow walls, sections organized by themes, not just genre. I walk stiffly at first, my body still primed for Delilah, but the happy space eventually distracts me. Yvette Lozano waves at us, then continues chatting up two older ladies at the cash register.

“When did Yvette buy the shop from her parents?” I ask.