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She releases out a slow breath and smiles.
“Good.” She lightly touches the back of my hand.
Smiling like a damn fool already, I settle in across from her with my own plate.
“I don’t fuck with formality, so if you’re hungry, dig in. Unless you want to do the obligatory small talk like it’s a real date. Y’know, the kind where you’re in a fancy restaurant being awkward with each other while you wait for appetizers.”
Delilah had started to reach for her fork, but now she stops, giving me a wide-eyed look. Her cheeks stain in delicate red.
“...is this a date?”
Oh, shit.
Here we go.
I feel like some awkward-ass kid again, all bones, too big for myself.
I clear my throat. “I mean, yeah. If you want it to be. I—”
“Lucas, it’s a date!” Her eyes ignite and she grins in a way I’ve never seen, all sweetness and warmth. “Just call it a date, dude. Because you’re really cute when you blush.”
“You really are a goddamned brat,” I grumble, pointing my fork at her.
“And you,” she says merrily, “must be a great cook. Because just looking at this makes me hungry, and it smells amazing. You really went through all this trouble for me?”
“Wasn’t no trouble,” I lie.
“Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
Her lips press together as she tries to suppress her laughter. “I think you left your cooking video playing.”
Shit.
I glance back at my phone, still propped up on its little stand next to the stove. Sure enough, the video flicked over to the next in the queue even though it’s on mute.
Oops.
There goes my secret.
Muttering, I ignore how hot my face is and get up. I snag the phone and shove it in my pocket, then drop down in the chair and point at her.
“You saw nothing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Officer.” She laughs, biting into her crab cakes. “Yum. Also, I totally didn’t just watch a man being adorable, looking up recipe videos to cook for me. I’m not flattered at all. Or even slightly impressed.” Then she takes a bite and drops that teasing tone as she lets out a low groan, her eyes slipping half-closed. “I’m lying. I’m completely impressed. This is so good.”
“Yeah?” My chest warms and I savor my own bite before swallowing. Didn’t turn out half-bad. “I used to do all the cooking around the house even before my little stint on galley duty. Cleaning, too. Celeste was always too busy working like hell to take care of us, so I tried to tackle the household crap. Whatever I could do to make it easier on her, but I guess it made me a little too self-sufficient. Sorry if you were hoping to find a beat-up man cave.”
It’s almost strange how easily it slips out.
Just talking about my sister casually, recalling the good times instead of the pain.
With Delilah here, when I think of Celeste, I just smile.
I don’t fall down that pit of hatred and grief, constantly churning around the unanswered question, Where the fuck did she go?
Hell, just being near Delilah Clarendon soothes the raw edges off old wounds and lets me feel something besides pain.
She’s watching me thoughtfully now, like she can see what I’m thinking, before she takes a longer look around the kitchen.
“So, this is where you grew up?”
“Yeah.” I duck my head. “Been in the family for a long time. Figured I should keep it. For a while I let the Bowdens rent it out, back when I was gone. Felt weird, though, with tourists living in this place that belonged to the folks I love.”
“It must be lonely,” she says. “There’s so much family in this house, the way it feels, the presence... but for you it’s like being surrounded by ghosts, isn’t it?”
She has no clue.
Or maybe she does, and that’s the problem.
It’s strange to have her look at me this way, and for me to feel so real.
Like she already knows me inside and out with this presence we have together. I don’t need to bare the painful gristle of my heart when she can already touch it so gently.
Fuck, my mind goes places it shouldn’t.
“Maybe one day I’ll fill it up with family again,” I say without thinking.
Delilah gives me a startled look, tucking her hair behind her ear with a shy smile.
“You never know.” She pauses for another bite, clearly enjoying the grub. She won’t look at me as she murmurs, “I’ve always wanted kids myself someday, but...” She shakes her head, staring at her plate. “I think deep down I’m afraid I’ll damage them. I never had a stable household with someone who really wanted me around. I don’t know what good parenting feels like. It’s different from taking a few child psychology courses. I’ve just got so much bitterness there. So I’m worried I’d be a bad mom and end up hurting them when I just want to love them.” She shrugs. “Plus, I’d probably have to go to a sperm bank to find a dad I wouldn’t want to strangle within a week.”
