Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2)(16)

I’m sitting out front of the shop now, thinking about Delilah. Ever since we began meeting on the dunes, I wake before the alarm, and on the mornings we don’t meet, like this morning, the day is not nearly as bright.

I leaf through my sketch pad, trying to find the picture of Delilah I started yesterday morning. At least I’ll see her tonight. Cassidy and Brooke planned a birthday party for my friend Brandon Owens. He’s the one who introduced me to Delilah at the beginning of the summer.

Brandon and I went to college together. We met the first week of our freshman year, and we clicked right away. He’s a tough nut, all attitude and hard edges, but there’s a softer side to Brandon that I don’t think many people get to see. I don’t know why he let me into his inner circle, but I’m glad he did. I would never have come to Harborside or met Delilah if it weren’t for him. Brandon’s from Harborside, and after I had a really bad breakup, Brandon suggested that I move to Harborside instead of going home to Rhode Island. I love my family, but nothing beats living at the beach. I’ve been living in an apartment down the road for almost a year and have fallen in love with everything about the town and all the friends I’ve made.

Brandon’s sort of living at Delilah’s now. He crashes there almost every night. All of Brandon’s friends, many of whom are also Delilah’s friends, accepted me into their group pretty easily. And now that Delilah and Wyatt decided to sell their house in Connecticut and stay in Harborside, I like it here even more.

I find the sketch I was working on and begin refining the arch of Delilah’s slim eyebrows. Her hair is blonder than mine and silkier. Mine’s dirty blond and longer than Delilah’s. Sometimes the urge to run my fingers through her hair is so strong that I have to shove my hands in my pockets, or if we’re on the dunes, I have to put them beneath my thighs. And when we’re at my place? That’s the most difficult, because while we’re watching movies or sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean, all I can think about is taking her into my bedroom. It’s really bad. If I knew she was a lesbian, I’d feel better, because I’d just do all those things I want to do. Not knowing is killing me.

Ugh. I hate this feeling.

I gaze at the sketch and move from her delicate eyebrows to the shading around her expressive eyes—the eyes that I nearly fell into yesterday morning. I tell myself the same thing I’ve been telling myself all summer. The next time she looks at me like that, I’m just going to kiss her.

Give up my fear of her being straight and just do it.

I look up at the sound of a motorcycle and see Brent’s twin brother, Jesse, parking in front of the shop. He’s good friends with Delilah, too, and very protective of her. I imagine myself kissing her and Delilah pushing away, her green eyes wide and appalled. And then I imagine Jesse’s thick dark brows lowering into an angry slash.

Okay, so I won’t kiss her.

It was a stupid idea anyway. You don’t just kiss a girl, especially if you aren’t sure if she’s straight or not. Been there, done that. It’s an embarrassing situation that there’s no easy way out of, like asking a woman if she’s pregnant when she’s not.

“Hey, Ash. Is my brother around?” Jesse’s tall and broad with shoulder-length dark hair, several tattoos, and a well-manicured beard and mustache. Although he and Brent are twins, Jesse’s face is harder, his expressions more serious than Brent’s. Jesse also always wears jeans and boots, which I don’t understand given that he lives at the beach. But then again, I don’t understand the leather band he wears around his thick wrist or the chain that hooks to his wallet, either.

“He was in the back when I came outside.” I notice a guy heading for the shop and tuck my sketch pad and pencil into my backpack. “I’ll go in with you.”

“Are you going to Brandon’s party tonight?” I ask as he pulls the door open.

Jesse’s dark eyes run over the racks of clothing and surfboards lined up against the far wall and finally land on his equally tall and long-haired brother helping a customer in the back of the shop.

“I wouldn’t miss it. You?” He’s watching Brent intently as he asks.

“Absolutely. See you there.”

He’s already on the move toward his brother.

The guy I noticed outside comes into the shop talking on his cell phone. He’s tall, with sun-streaked blond hair, lean and muscular, and walks with a definite surfer swagger. He shoves his phone in the pocket of his board shorts, and I do my job.

“Hi. Is there anything I can help you find?”