Page 79 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“They retired a year ago and returned to Mexico. She’s already revamped the place. Added a cute reading nook for kids, and she hosts knitting nights where she reads aloud as people knit.”

More changes since I’ve been gone, but the awareness of what I missed no longer saddens me. Not when I’m holding Delilah’s hand, having fun chasing scarecrows and riling her up.

“Four minus one,” Delilah mumbles as she slowly scans the shelves. “With the castle and sentry references, I’m guessing she has three historical or fantasy books stacked somewhere, but one of the series will be missing. Like right there,” she says, her voice rising in excitement.

She yanks at my hand, intent on her mission, but I don’t budge. We’re in front of a graphic novel section, and my book is facing front. It’s the first in the series, with Ceuthon’s serpentine face front and center, the fiery gates of hell pulling at him from below.

Delilah follows my gaze and squeezes my hand. “It must be so cool to see your work in the wild.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tug her into me. “That day in my truck, when I told you I was Brian Baker, I wanted to kiss you so badly. What you said about my work meant a lot.”

She flattens her palm on my chest, her blue-blue eyes sweeping over my face with wonder. “I meant every word, and I wanted to kiss you so badly too.”

“Really?”

“Not kissing you was killing me.”

I study her and chew my cheek. “I honestly couldn’t tell if you were fighting our pull as much as me or just being kind. I mean, I hoped you were into me, but it was tough to read you with all the fake fiancé stuff.”

She traces my jaw, then the scar through my upper lip. “After I saw you at the airport, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was with Hugo, stressed about our relationship, but all our memories flooded back. I think that’s what gave me the courage to end my engagement.”

I kiss the tip of her finger. “How so?”

“As wrecked as I was when you left me, seeing you again reminded me that when relationships are good, they lift a person up. A partner should make you feel like the best version of yourself, and Hugo didn’t do that for me. We weren’t right for each other. Then you showed up at my café, and . . .”

“And?”

Eyes full of a bookstore’s worth of emotion, she threads her fingers into the curled ends of my hair. “And every second I held you at a distance was torture.”

“Worse than the time Lennon dared you to eat a live worm and dropped it on your hair?”

She shudders dramatically, still mooning up at me. “Even worse than that.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we can touch and kiss whenever we want now.” I lean down and kiss her, soft and slow and chaste. We sigh in tandem, rubbing our noses together. When Delilah opens her eyes again, they’re shining with unshed tears.

I tilt her chin up. “What’s wrong?”

She smooths her hand down the front of my newly purchased “Life Is Good” T-shirt and tangles her fingers in the hem. “I’m just so happy.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

She nods and gifts me with a watery smile, but something darker is shimmering in her gaze. Fear. The secret she hasn’t yet shared glinting below the surface.

In case you’re wondering, I haven’t pushed like the pusher I can be. As requested, I haven’t asked Delilah for answers to my many questions. Fact is, I’m in this for the long haul. Every time we have sex, I finish with a kiss on her scar. A kiss to let her know she’s beautiful. A kiss to remind her she needs to open up one day. A kiss to promise her story won’t change anything between us. She stays quiet every time, which is okay. I want this time together as much as her, unfettered by more drama.

“I’m happy too,” I tell her and run my knuckles down her cheek. Not just happy. Busting with so much emotion that my chest often aches. “And if we’re confessing stuff, that day in the truck, when I told you my alias, I didn’t hit play on ‘Pillow Talk’ by accident.”

She rolls her eyes and blinks away the darkness. “Shocker. Now let’s find this scarecrow so we can dance under those fairy lights.”

“Excellent plan. The sooner we get to the party, the sooner I get you home and out of that dress.” I wink at her.

She gives her skirt a saucy flick, then skips ahead to the stack of books she spotted. She yanks them aside, expecting to find mini scarecrows behind them, but there are just more books.

She slumps. “Must be a different series.”

She scrutinizes the rows of novels, heading to the kid’s reading nook. There could be a series about kings or queens or castles in there. I’m about to join her, when I spot an adorable dog.

I’ve always been a dog lover, but since having Candy Cane, I’ve become a dog freak. Any and all furry friends must be petted and given love. Since my girl is at home—busy festivals aren’t her speed—I crouch and give this pooch an extra dose of attention.