6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Delilah
I ’ve tossed and turned all night for the past three days, cotton sheets clinging to my skin despite the gentle breeze granted by the night. I have a hazy memory of dreaming about my hands pressing into freshly plowed earth. I also can’t shake the image of a pair of coffee-black eyes. I refill Blaine’s water bowl as I feel my cheeks heat up.
So what if they’re the dreamiest eyes I’ve ever seen, who happen to be attached to an equally dreamy face? He’s come to the shop every day, him and Myrta holed up in her office, but I’ve sworn off eavesdropping from now on, since I have a good feeling about his intentions, after all. We’ve talked some, though mostly, he seemed content to just ask questions about the work and listen to me babble on about it .
But would there be any harm in getting to know him a little? Surely not.
I make my way to the flower shop, my steps propelled by renewed optimism. As I turn the corner, my vision zeroes in on the heel of a shiny leather shoe that can only belong to one person.
I walk in after him, a bright smile pasted to my lips as I head behind the counter. Cedric is leaning lightly onto it, a different recreation of the past days’ scenario. Today, I’m going to put my best foot forward. Maybe try not to blush so much.
“Good morning! Did you sleep well?” I ask as I deposit my purse in the lowest shelf behind the counter.
Cedric eyes me cautiously, though it doesn’t deter me.
“‘Sleep’ is a bit of a hyperbole,” he says, his fingers intertwined over the rough surface. “Are all mattresses in Fern Port stuffed with bricks?”
“Don’t be silly. Some are stuffed with granite, too,” I say cheerily.
He doesn’t look surprised, exactly, yet something flickers in his eyes.
“I take it your sleep was perfectly recharging,” he says.
“You could say that,” I lie, opening the register. I don’t need to disclose the details, like how I had a mix of wolfish nightmares and very specific dreams about the shade of his pupils. That would beg questions I’m incapable of answering, which is obviously a no go, a never ever, for no reason whatsoever. Gosh, I can’t even think of what would happen if this man, of all people, were to know the truth. It’s bad enough that he somehow found out Fern Port exists, let alone that at least two of its inhabitants occasionally turn into howling beasts.
“...see it all. ”
“Sorry?”
He makes a chiding sound, eyes twinkling playfully, though no other part of his face betrays amusement. “You weren’t paying attention, Delilah.”
He does not need to say my name like that. Why does he say my name like that?
“I need to do math in my head, otherwise it doesn’t make sense,” I lie quickly, my fingers gripping onto the register. As a general rule, I don’t like lying, but I can’t very well tell him what I was actually thinking about. Again.
He makes a noncommittal sound as he pushes off the counter, corded arms straining against his fitted blazer. It’s not the same he was wearing yesterday, and it looks rather dashing on him. Not that he’s dashing. I mean, he is, but–
“More math?” he asks.
“I love math,” I say dumbly, though the smile I keep on seems to get me out of more prying questions. We met a few days ago. He can’t have me all figured out.
I think.
Cedric
After a few days of pleasantries, of testing each other’s waters, being around Delilah feels inexplicably easy. Her good–if distracted–mood today could mean a number of things. Whether she had a great night–and I can’t let myself think about the implications of that, because I have known her for barely a day, and anyway, I wouldn’t get to lay claim on what she does in her free time… Or she’s simply the kind of person that starts her day with a smile. I can’t say I relate, but I can see how it would make sense for her .
I’m drawn out of my thoughts as Delilah answers the shop’s ancient-looking phone propped on the wall. If technology is ‘moving fast’, Fern Port sure as hell hasn’t caught up.
“Myrta’s Greenery, how may I help you? Oh, hi, Myrta. Yep.” Her eyes widen briefly to whatever Myrta tells her next.
“Alright, I’ve got it. I can do that. Take care.”
I raise an eyebrow in question as Delilah reaches for her white and green apron, smoothing her delicate hands over it.
“It sounds like it’s going to be you and me today,” she says. She smiles pleasantly as she turns to face me, and I’m not sure whether there’s an infinitesimal part of her that’s excited at the prospect or if it’s all politeness, but Delilah speaks again before I can get a word in.
“Myrta said you were supposed to go over some documentation? And I’m not assuming you’d want to spend your time here, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do, but since you’ve made the walk…”
“I’m sure a bit of gardening won’t kill me,” I say, surprising myself at how easily I’m jumping at the opportunity to spend more time with her. Delilah nods though she seems just as surprised as she ties up the laces of her apron.
“Alright then. Shall we?” she asks, arm extended toward the back of the shop.
“Lead the way.”
“What do you mean, you’ve never watered a plant before ?” Delilah asks, hands on her hips, reminding me of when mum used to scold me and Marcus as children .
“Do I look like someone who holds watering cans on a regular basis?” I ask back.
She seems to genuinely consider me, her eyes passing on the arms crossed against my chest. She sighs, though it’s not true resignation that echoes beneath the sound.
“I suppose not,” she says without malice as she bends to pick up the point of contention, then hands it to me. “Try.”
“Why is it so small?”
Delilah’s brows furrow, though a smile touches her lips. “Your hands are just–the watering cans are regular size,” she amends quickly, clearing her throat. Does she have a thing for hands?
Duly Noted.
I step closer to the designated pot, speckled blue and yellow flowers with spiky thorns that look like they could shred a man to bits littering the curving stem. I tip the can slightly, my grip tight on the handle. Why am I nervous? It’s a bloody plant.
“Wait!” Delilah yells, nearly making me drop the whole thing and drown the plant.
“ What, ” I breathe. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”
She smiles as if she knows that perfectly well, though on her pink lips, there’s hardly anything mischievous about it. “I should probably tell you that the flower bites.”
“The flower–”
Delilah makes a chattering sound, her teeth clanking together in demonstration. She inclines her head toward it, and sure enough, something impossibly similar to teeth borders the biggest petal of the flower, sharp as tiny knives.
“Is this legal?”
“Sure,” she says cheerily, and I don’t believe her one bit.
“Is there a particular reason you didn’t tell me right away? ”
“It wouldn’t have been as fun, don’t you think?” she says with a wink.
This woman.
She’s going to drive me insane.
I can tell.