9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Delilah
“ D on’t yell at me,” I tell Faye as I put my phone on speaker and drop it on the bed.
She is silent for a few beats, but then says, “Yell at you? I will never stand in the way of you getting railed by a hot piece of British specimen.”
“Nobody is getting railed tonight,” I groan, tying up the silky laces of my cherry red espadrilles.
“Mmh, sure.”
“Anyway, I think I’ll wear that midi dress with the chiffon sleeves,” I say tentatively.
“The red one?”
“It’s burgundy, but–oh, it’s too much, isn’t it? Yeah, you’re right, I should probably change.”
“Lila!”
“Yeah?”
“I hate to break it to you, but the guy looked at you like he was starving and you were the only meal in sight. It doesn’t matter what you wear,” she snorts.
My mouth hangs open on a protest, but I can’t find the words to voice it.
“That’s not good,” is what I settle on.
“You mean because he might bring unwanted attention upon us? Or because he pronounces tomato as if it were an insult?”
Leave it to Faye to hit the nail on the head and make it sound funny. Except I know it’s not. What am I doing? I can lie to myself and say I’m doing this to be a good person and return his kindness from this morning… but that’s all it would be. A lie.
“I am not answering that,” I sigh, passing a hand through my hair. “Should I tell him I’m sick?”
“Answer this instead: do you want to see him?”
“Yes,” I reply easily.
“Then go see him.”
“I’m not sure it’s the sensible thing to do anymore,” I say as I pick up the phone and shut the speaker off, putting it back to my ear.
“You’re not doing anything wrong, Lila. It’s dinner.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, though that’s a half truth at best. It is one dinner, but what if it leads to more dinners? To breakfast? To–
“Then go to the damn dinner. He’s paying.”
I chuckle at Faye’s pragmatism, and that’s when the doorbell rings. “He’s here,” I breathe. “I’ll talk to you later, Faye. Thank you. ”
“Mhh-mmh, let me know if it’s safe to call or I’ll assume you’re getting fri–”
“Goodbye!” I yell into the phone, plopping it into my purse as I pet Blaine goodbye and grab the keys.
I push the door open, and Cedric is standing at the base of the porch, engrossed by the purple-orange sky. His nose is tipped up and his hands are in his pockets, forearms exposed as he’s rolled up the sleeves of his collared beige shirt.
He looks so handsome I forget to speak before he notices me when the handle slips out of my hands, the door thudding shut.
He turns to me fully then, and the peaceful expression on his face turns thoughtful.
“Hi,” I say.
“Good evening,” he says slowly. “You look… rather nice.”
“Thanks,” I nod, hoping the light is dim enough to hide my blush. It wasn’t even that big of a compliment! I feel like a teenager all over again.
“I hope you’re hungry, because you’re not leaving until you taste every delicacy Fern Port has to offer,” I recover as I hop down the steps. He follows my every movement with hawk-like attention, and all I can do is try to ignore how my stomach flutters in response.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’re hungry,” I chuckle.
“Right,” he clears his throat. “Yes. Quite.”
We are silent for a few minutes, and it’s only awkward because I’m making it so. I’m about to speak then, sing the praises of Darla’s food, but Cedric precedes me.
“So, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I say. “Though my birthday is in a few weeks. ”
“I’m going to have to think of a great present, then.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, hugging my arms to my chest. “It’s hard to get someone a present when you don’t know them, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps I plan to get to know you,” he says in that no-nonsense tone. When I look at him, his eyes are already on me.
That either sounded ridiculously sexual, or I’ve been off the game for a little too long. I don’t say this often, but I am glad Faye wasn’t here to hear it.
“And you are twenty-nine,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “As you’ve pointed out multiple times.”
His face scrunches up, and I can’t repress a giggle.
“I can’t very well let people assume I’m a middle aged man, can I?” he says seriously.
“Oh, absolutely not,” I concede with a smile.
“Do you have family in Fern Port?” he asks then, and I nearly stumble on my own feet.
“Not anymore,” I say, hoping I’m conveying none of the feelings I carry about that topic. I have the inkling Cedric is not the kind of person to let things go easily, so it’s best to gloss over the topic immediately. I don’t want him getting curious. I don’t look at him as I quicken my pace and we round the corner, the diner’s lit-up sign coming into view.
Cedric bridges the gap between us easily. “Are you alright?” he asks, one hand hovering above my arm before he seems to think better of touching me.
“Of course!” I smile, and hopefully it’s convincing. “Come on, we’ll lose our spot.”
Before I know it, he’s holding the door open for me.
I thank him before making a beeline for the usual table. Derek and Caleb, my neighbors who are sometimes very loud, but that make up for it by leaving a pan of warm peach cobbler on my balcony every other Sunday, intercept me before I can reach our seats.
“Want to join us? Derek here was about to start his third drink, and I for one could use the emotional support,” Caleb says.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Derek says with a roll of eyes. “I am perfectly sober.”
“He called me Angela no more than five minutes ago,” Caleb whispers loudly, which makes me laugh as I shoot Derek an apologetic look.
“I would love to, but…” I nod to my side as Cedric comes to stand next to me, though not close enough to feel overwhelming. I appreciate the sentiment, mostly because I worry his touch might elicit more unwanted goosebumps.
“We’re having dinner,” Cedric says, offering his hand for Caleb to shake as he introduces himself. “I’m going to let you catch up,” he adds before walking toward the table he already knows I was going for, given last night’s debacle with Faye.
Caleb smiles pleasantly at Cedric until his broad shoulders turn away, and Caleb’s eyes swing back to me, saucer-wide.
“Who is that ?”
“No one,” I shrug, stealing a glance at Cedric, who is sitting with one arm draped on the chair next to his.
Caleb crosses his arms across his chest expectantly, and I sigh. “He’s on a business trip. He–look, it’s a long story, but the basics are, he doesn’t know anyone around and I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Noice,” Derek says, raising his drink.
Caleb shakes his head and chuckles. “I expect to be informed of any developments,” he says, enunciating the last word .
“I’m afraid we’re not going to be chatting anytime soon then,” I say with a small smile. All jokes aside, I genuinely can’t bring myself to even think about anything happening between me and Cedric. For so many reasons. The wolf being a solid number one, the he’s-here-for-a-few-weeks-thing coming in second, my apparent inability not to feel like something bad is bound to be lurking at the corner should I let my guard down coming in third.
Besides, we’re worlds– galaxies apart, aren’t we?
“Go on, then, don’t leave the gentleman waiting,” Derek says, nudging me.
I shake my head at the epithet, and quickly find my seat opposite Cedric’s.
I take in his relaxed posture, his fierce cheekbones, and can’t fathom how it’s possible for him to simultaneously stick out like a sore thumb and look so perfectly at ease among strangers.
Though I suppose I’ve conquered acquaintance status, at least.
“Your friends seem nice,” he says then, chin resting upon one strong hand.
“They are,” I confirm, avoiding his gaze. “Have you already decided what you’re going to order?”
“I was waiting for your suggestion, actually.”
“Oh, right! So, I usually take Fried Fern and the battered vegetables, like a ton, to be fair, and maybe you should avoid the sauce because it’s outrageously spicy, or go with–”
“Delilah,” he says, again with that tone that jumbles up my insides. “Forgive me for interrupting, but…Do I make you nervous?”
Yes, you ridiculous man.
“No, why would you say that?” I say, accompanying the words with a breathy laugh that begs to differ.
“I can’t help but notice you have a tendency to…ramble, around me,” he says.
“Oh, sorry.” See? This was a terrible idea.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
I look at him, his eyes are warm and honest, and I’m helpless to do anything but believe him. Believe he enjoys my company.
“In fact,” he continues, not breaking eye contact as he politely waves a waiter over, “I must confess I quite like the sound of your voice.”
I don’t have time to say anything before Ronnie arrives to take our order. I speak for both of us but I am aware how odd I must sound, how distracted. The most basic kind word is making a tangled mess of my serotonin levels. The way Cedric says things lights something up within me that I can’t recall feeling before.
I sigh, shaking my head. “Are you trying to charm me, or something?” It’s a genuine question, though probably not one I should have asked.
Cedric’s gaze sharpens as he considers me.
“Shall I try harder?”
“You–ask a lot of questions,” is what I land on, embarrassingly grateful for the drink being placed in front of me, the food following shortly after. To his credit, Cedric doesn’t push, though I can imagine how exhilarating this evening is for him, thanks to my total inability to play it cool. I smile at Ronnie in thanks, though he skitters away quickly after glancing at my companion. I wonder if Cedric is aware of how intimidating he can look. Not that he would have any reason to be intimidating now .
“Alright, first taste is yours,” I say, gently pushing my basket toward him.
Cedric eyes me for a second as I look at him expectantly. It’s not until he pries one fried fern stem and chews on it, nodding appreciatively, that I realize how badly I wanted him to enjoy my favorite food. I pick one up myself, the minty flavor hitting my nostrils before it does my tongue, and its familiar, delicious taste helps me relax a little.
“You were right,” he says, one corded arm reaching out again toward my basket, and I slap it weakly.
“You thief! I told you how incredible they were!” I laugh.
His expression falls subtly at that, yet guilt seizes me like a chain.
“I was kidding,” I say.
Something I can’t decipher passes in his eyes before he says, placidly, “I know.”
I hold the basket up in offering as he takes one more battered fern.
I truly don’t know what happened there–it’s like he went somewhere unreachable and came back in a matter of seconds.
We dig into the rest of our food, not-so-subtly trading glances as some indie-rock songs play in the background, the green and pink lights bathing the planes of Cedric’s face.
“Have you always lived here?” he asks before taking a sip of his sparkling water.
“Yeah,” I start, bracing myself for the parts I will have to cut out from this particular conversation. “I traveled some as a kid, but never too far from here. Not a big city person.”
His attention is completely on me, but for the first time, even though I should look away, the fear he might glean something he’s not supposed is so strong, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“I understand,” he says, surprising me. I say nothing, though I’m sure my face is speaking plenty.
“I know what you’re thinking. Proper businessman hates the city? Preposterous,” he says, crossing his arms on the table. “Except, I can’t stand the noise anymore. I wear ear plugs the whole bloody time, and only take them off at the office or at home.”
“Really?”
He nods, his gaze pensive. “And don’t get me started on the people.”
“Oh, but I want you to,” I say with a smile. He nearly smiles too, though not quite.
Next time , I think to myself, deciding on the spot not to analyze how the thought makes me feel.
I take a sip of my cocktail, considering. “Why don’t you leave if it makes you so miserable?”
He looks up at me, eyebrows knitted on his forehead. As if I’d proposed he ate live snails.
“I mean, I don’t know what your actual life there is like, but… you haven’t told me a single good thing about it. Isn’t life too short to stay where you’re unhappy?”
It’s what I’d told my parents before they decided to move. Carrying the weight of a space so full of grief was bound to kill them eventually, even if I had to be the one to say it out loud.
There’s no reason Cedric couldn’t start over, if he wanted to. Unless there’s something–someone–keeping him there? My traitorous stomach sours at the thought.
“You make it sound easy,” he says then. “Do you believe it is? Truly?”
Yes and no, is the quick answer. The long one entails a tumultuous trip through my sense of guilt toward my family, and the way everything became more complicated after what happened–the bite. Grayson. Is Cedric pretending or is he interested in my perspective? It hits me now, how out of practice I am with talking to people who are my age and aren’t Faye. The average male population of Fern Port does span the ultra-sixties range.
“I know, I know,” says Cedric, and I realize I must have been silent for too long. “Too many questions.”
“No, it’s fine,” I quickly amend, ducking my head. “It’s just that my circumstances were–are, a bit, uh… peculiar.”
Cedric slowly uncrosses his arms, one finger tapping lightly on the table.
“I shall like to hear all about it.”