“Thank you, Ashley.” Janessa looks at Delilah and narrows her eyes. “Don’t forget what I told you.”
Delilah hooks a finger around one of mine and nods.
I just fell a little harder.
Delilah drops my finger before we leave, but not before Brooke sees us and flashes a warm smile. I think Delilah has blushed more times tonight than the whole time I’ve known her. We walk out of town toward her house, where we’ve chosen to stay tonight, and although we’re not walking hand in hand, Delilah is close enough that I don’t feel a distance.
“Thanks for meeting us tonight,” Delilah says.
“Thanks for inviting me. I really wanted to hate Janessa.”
Delilah laughs. “I guess I don’t blame you. I want to hate Sandy.”
“Be my guest. Hate her. But I can’t hate Janessa. Now I get why she offered you what she did. I can’t imagine losing a sibling.”
We turn down her street and she reaches for my hand. I have to work hard to stifle my grin and hide my elation at her gesture, but I know she can feel positive energy coming off of me because her eyes keep darting to me and she’s got a wide grin on her lips, too. Working through Delilah’s insecurities makes me feel like I’m back in high school, holding hands for the first time ever.
“Do you mind if I ask you what Janessa was talking about when she said to remember what she said?”
Delilah remains silent for a few minutes, and when we reach her driveway, she turns to face me.
“You can always ask me anything. She told me to acknowledge you in public, or I’d hurt your feelings.” Her eyes get serious. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Ash. I’m trying.”
I step closer. It’s dark and there’s no one outside, so I’m pretty sure she won’t mind, but I don’t touch her, even though I’d like to gather her in my arms and tell her how wonderful she is.
“I know you are, and I appreciate all of your efforts. The way you held my hand under the table. The way you linked one finger with mine. The way you look at me.”
She gazes into my eyes for a long while. Her eyes shift right and then left. Her brows knit together, and she releases my hand and places her hands on my cheeks. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to mine.
It’s a quick kiss.
A sweet kiss.
A kiss that lasts only three seconds at most.
It’s a kiss that makes the earth shift beneath me.
Chapter Fifteen
~Ashley~
THE RAIN THAT threatened earlier in the week passed us by, leaving sticky days in its wake. Friday greets us with mugginess that rivals the worst of them. Delilah finishes packing a bag for the weekend, and when Wyatt walks out of his room and sees her carrying it, he takes it from her. Delilah rolls her eyes. I know she loves how Wyatt is always there for her, but I have noticed recently that she has been getting a little irritated when he tries to help her with things.
“You’ll be back Saturday evening?” He’s wearing a tank top and cargo shorts and has a serious look in his green eyes.
“Yeah. I made sure the Taproom was fully staffed, and I programmed Ash’s number and her parents’ address into your phone.”
He slides that serious look to me. “No drinking and driving.”
I roll my eyes, but catch myself midroll when I remember that their parents were killed by a drunk driver. “I promise, Wyatt. I’ll take excellent care of her.”
I reach for Delilah’s hand, and she takes it willingly. Of course she does. We’re in the privacy of her house. I long for her to feel this comfortable in public.
“We’ll be fine, Wy. I’ll text you when we get there so you don’t worry.”
“Cassidy will kill me if I don’t remind you to take pictures of Kenny’s play. You know how much she loves kids.” Not only does she love kids, but she loves plays and loves looking at pictures of everyone’s families. I have a feeling that if—when—they get married, Cassidy will want kids right away. Wyatt motions for us to go down the stairs first. Always the gentleman.
“I’m a photo fool when it comes to Kenny. I’ll take more than she’ll want to see.”
“Have you met my girlfriend?” Wyatt teases. Cassidy takes all the pictures for hers and Brooke’s party-planning business. She almost always has a camera in her hands, and when she’s home, she’s tweaking pictures on one of her many computer programs.
I go into the kitchen to make us coffee, and Tristan hands me two to-go cups.
“Already made them, hon.”
“Thanks, Tristan. You didn’t have to do that.”