Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2)(44)

My phone vibrates with a text, and I dig it out of my bag. Janessa.

Oh, shit. Janessa.

No wonder Ash was upset this morning. It’s Thursday. I didn’t put two and two together. Over the past week Janessa has texted me on and off with pictures of Jackie and just friendly stuff, touching base. She’s been totally supportive of me and Ashley, and I don’t want to end our friendship just because we made out once. It wasn’t even like really making out. It was more like she provided physical CliffsNotes. I had friends in college who dated guys and then dated their best friends, and sometimes they’d even date another one of their friends and still remain close to all of them. I don’t want to make Ashley uncomfortable, but I think once she gets to know Janessa, she’ll like her, too.

I read her message.

Coffee after the session tonight?

I look over at Ashley and hope I’m not making a mistake as I respond.

Sure. Mind if Ash comes?

My heartbeat speeds up.

Not at all. Where? Dean will pick me up with the kids afterward. My car’s in the shop.

I breathe a little easier. I’m about to take a really big baby step, and it scares me, but as I watch Ashley and think about the risk she’s taking for me—by allowing me the time and space to learn how to deal with our relationship in public, even though she’d promised herself never to be in this position again—I know she’s worth it.

I’ll have Ash meet us at Brooke’s Bytes.

~Ashley~

DELILAH AND I carry our stuff to the Jeep after my surfing lesson, laughing as we wave goodbye to Drake.

“I swear it’s like I have two left feet on that board.” We secure the board into the back of the Jeep. The morning is warming up, and even though it’s early, young families are already arriving at the beach, carrying enough paraphernalia for an army. I reach for Delilah’s hand, and her eyes dart around the lot, landing on a couple heading in our direction.

I don’t say anything as she pulls her hand out of reach. I tuck away my hurt feelings and remind myself she’s worth it. She climbs into the drivers’ seat, and I take a deep breath before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Janessa texted about tonight.”

Ugh. “Oh?” I hate that my voice sounds strained.

She pulls out of the parking lot as if she hasn’t just given me a double whammy. “She asked if I wanted to meet for coffee after group tonight.”

“Mm.” It’s all I can manage. What does she expect me to say? Great? Have fun? Sorry. I’m patient, and I’m understanding, but they’ve been down and dirty with each other. The last thing I want to think about is the two of them alone somewhere.

She stops at a red light and reaches for my hand. “Will you meet us at Brooke’s?”

Her voice is so hopeful that it’s hard to stay upset with her for not taking my hand in the parking lot. And then…I realize what she’s just asked.

“Brooke’s? Why would you go where everyone knows you when you’re so careful about people knowing about us?”

She raises her eyebrows and her lips curve up in a nervous smile. It’s not until she traps that plump lower lip of hers with her teeth that I realize what she’s doing.

She’s trying.

Well, I’ll be damned. My eyes well with tears again as I nod, and she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me.

The car behind us honks and we both laugh, but inside my heart is singing.





Chapter Fourteen


~Delilah~

AS I WALK up the front steps to the YMCA, I remember the first time I went to group counseling with Brooke. Despite Brooke telling me that we would sit in a circle with other people who had lost loved ones and discuss the trouble we were having working through our losses, I still didn’t really know what to expect. Nothing can prepare you for the look on people’s faces when they share their stories of longing to see someone they love or the overwhelming sadness that envelopes you as you watch pain turn their hands to fists and pull tears from their eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the moments of grief that I would experience over the first few months after my parents died. And certainly nothing could have prepared me for the way their deaths impacted my ability—or inability—to come out.

I really need to find a better way to think about this than coming out, because I hate how that phrase makes me feel. I mull that over for a few minutes as I settle into my seat. I’m the only one in the room and it’s quiet. The linoleum floor makes the room feel cold when there’s no one else in it.

Coming out.

Admitting I’m a lesbian.

Being myself.

Nothing feels right. How about none of anyone’s damn business?