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Chapter Twelve - Delilah
It isn’t until I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror that I realize I’ve been smiling and humming happily ever since I got out of bed to take a shower. Me. Like I’m some princess in an animated movie. All I’m missing is the birds flying through the window and getting the clothes out of the closet for me.
There’s a sparkle in my eyes, too. I can’t help but grin at my reflection when I notice it. I spent way too much time lying around, smiling and hugging the pillow after Luca left. Even now, still smiling like an idiot, I can stand outside myself and know it’s not a good idea to get all mushy and emotional over him.
But facts are facts. He spent the night with me. He held me and made me feel safe and cared for. Even if it doesn’t mean anything in the long run, it happened. I didn’t dream it.
And he didn’t try to force himself on me or anything like that. I know it doesn’t make him a prince. It doesn’t even make him a good man. Basic human decency isn’t something you give people an award for possessing. But he could have. I know that much. And he didn’t. I can’t believe that doesn’t mean something about him. Something good. He does have good in him.
I get dressed quickly, realizing halfway through that for the first time in a long time I have something to feel excited about. Am I seriously crushing on this man? I know I shouldn’t, but damn it, it makes me happy. I actually feel happy. I have something to look forward to. Seeing him. Having little moments like the ones we had this morning. Laughing together, just the two of us. Even if he isn’t the right man for me—or anyone—that doesn’t take away from how right it felt in the moment.
I’m not even upset about my hair this morning. Instead of avoiding my reflection in the mirror because I hate the sight of myself, I remember all the time I’ve spent blow drying and styling it over the years. I have to say, I sort of like having my time back. it’s enough to make me wonder if a shorter hairstyle might be worth considering going forward. I’m not ashamed to have other people look at me.
“Oh, my goodness!” Nora clasps her hands together, smiling from ear to ear when I enter the kitchen for the first time in more than a week. “There you are!”
“Yeah, I figured I would show my face around here again.” It’s humbling, how happy she seems. I didn’t think she cared this much, but she raises her apron to her eyes like she’s blotting away tears before coming to me and giving me a gentle hug.
“What can I make for you? Anything you want.”
“Don’t go out of your way, please. Whatever is easiest. But I am hungry,” I admit. For the first time in days, my appetite is raging. I help myself to a banana from the bowl on the counter while she fixes me an omelet In record time.
There’s something sweet and almost normal about all of this. Chatting with her as she cooks and plates up the eggs. I could almost forget this isn’t my home. This isn’t my family.
And I don’t want it to be. Right?
“It’s good to see you eat so well,” she observes after I’ve already plowed through half of the veggie-filled delight.
“It’s good to eat this well,” I point out. She only laughs it off with a wave of her hand. “I’m serious. I wish I could cook half as well as you do.”
“I would be happy to teach you.” The swelling in my chest, the warmth in my heart, is both welcome and dangerous. I really, truly want to learn. I want to spend time with her. But I can’t, can I? Nothing about this is permanent. I live in limbo.
“I think I’m going to go to the library and pick out a new book.” But I make a promise to stop by later, while she’s making tonight’s dessert. I need to know how she gets her pastry as flaky and buttery and addictive as it is.
That’s for later. Right now, I very much want to read about the life of Teddy Roosevelt. I’m smiling to myself at the thought on my way down the hall—only to find Jock standing at the foot of the stairs with his phone in one hand as always.
And the brief jump of his eyebrows tells me I’m just the person he wanted to see.
“I expected to find you upstairs. Can we have a word?” With one arm, he gestures toward the study, so I double back in that direction. My heart’s not so light anymore, thumping wildly now. What’s this all about? What did I do wrong this time?
At least he doesn’t keep me waiting long. “Have a seat.” He stands with his hands folded in front of him while I sit on the sofa, clasping my hands between my knees. This isn’t good, whatever it is.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I can’t bear the suspense anymore.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“Huh?” Wow, great reaction, but I don’t think anybody could blame me. Things change so fast around here I could get whiplash.
“It’s time to go. Home, wherever that is. Luca decided last night and asked me to facilitate things.”
Now I’m wishing I hadn’t eaten so much, or so fast. I wonder if puke can be easily cleaned off a leather sofa. “I don’t understand. Where is he? I want to talk to him. This seems so sudden.”
“He had a meeting come up out unexpectedly. That’s where he is now.” He lifts his chin, giving me a cold, stern look. “Besides, that’s not your call. But I would think you’d be happy to go. You didn’t come here by choice.”
“Yeah, and you would know all about that.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Exactly. Bottom line, you’re free to go, and if you need it, we can give you a ride home.”
I don’t get it. It’s all happening so fast. I don’t even get to say goodbye? What about everything that happened this morning—that was only a few hours ago. What changed? What did I do wrong?
