16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Delilah
T en minutes later, enough time for me to get some fresh air and quietly spiral about what happened in that room, Cedric joins me outside.
The shirt he’s changed into is the lightest shade of peach, and perhaps the most colorful item he’s worn so far. Is it vain if I think it matches my hair nicely? Maybe a bit, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve just shared a bed, I had a whole nap cocooned in his arms, and suddenly he was shirtless . I fear the planes of Cedric’s chest will populate my thoughts for a while. It’s honestly not fair for someone to look that good. Not at all the time, surely.
“All good?” Cedric asks, hands in his pockets, the picture of easy confidence .
“I’m merely astounded at how quickly you recovered,” I lie, this time with little shame. I doubt straight up telling him I was thinking about our skin touching and his toned chest would be appropriate, given the muddiness of our relationship.
It’s not muddy, you want to climb him like a tree! I think with Derek’s voice, because it makes me feel less guilty about it.
“I suppose I should thank my–” he interrupts himself, and when I look at him there’s a troubled expression clouding his features. He clears his throat, and adds, “You’ll have to tell me what kind of aspirin that was.”
I’m outrageously curious about what he was actually going to say, but I think it’s best to leave it be.
“In any case, I hope you’re ready,” I say, quickening my pace.
“For what, pray tell?”
I grin as I tell him, “The town.”
“The town,” he repeats.
My stomach flutters nervously, but I press on. “You’re not going to be here for long, right? I know Fern Port isn’t renowned for its sights, or at all, for that matter, but you should still experience all of it while you can. Maybe it will–” I chuckle, mentally kicking myself.
“It will what?” Cedric asks, dark eyes on me.
I shrug, wetting my lips. “Give you a reason to come back.”
He exhales, something like a feeble laugh, and then says, “You assume I wouldn’t have one already.” His tone is casual, but his hands are no longer in his pockets, his attention so brazenly on me that I’m afraid I’m going to light up like a match.
I smile, unable to comment on that, though I’d be an even worse liar if I tried to downplay it.
He means me.
I’ve never been someone’s reason before.
Cedric
After delightedly watching Delilah devour a few fern and strawberries pastries–understandable, as they were veritably delicious–at the bakery, I hadn’t expected us to go on a proper hike.
As thankful as I am that I decided to opt for elegant sneakers, I fear I am sweating like a pig. I have no bloody clue how Delilah is managing to move as swiftly as she is in those slippers and dress, but I refuse to show my struggle. She asked a thousand times if I was up for a walk, though I hadn’t realized how much of a euphemism that was. If anything, this means I get to spend some real alone time with her.
“If you want to stop, we can.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, rolling the sleeves of my shirt up.
“Dèjà-vu,” she says, the smile evident in her voice though her back is to me. Even more than how quickly and effortlessly she moves on the uphill trail, it’s the way she looks perfectly at ease in this scenery, too, that fascinates me. The way she can both blend among the thickening trees and stand out, catching my attention like a jewel in the sunlight. Her steps are sure, every movement fluid. The breeze moves her locks along with each movement–it’s mesmerizing, like each of the sides of her I’ve discovered so far, and even though I should, I don’t dream about stopping. Not until I know her to her core. I couldn’t if I tried, so I figure there’s no point in doing so. I’ll have plenty of time to worry about it later.
“We’re almost there, I promise,” she says, stopping to wait for me. I suppose I should be embarrassed, but I can’t find it in me to be. Not when she’s smiling so openly at me, her hand outstretched. I barely have to think about it and I’m taking it, her delicate skin smooth against mine. I crave her touch so badly I’m near-dizzy with it; it has nothing to do with the effort of the uphill walk. This brief kind of contact was maybe enough, at first, but I know it as I know my name: each moment spent in her presence makes me greedy for more.
And I’m afraid that, in the long run, it will simply not be sustainable. How I presume to just leave, I can tell myself it’s future Cedric’s problem, but it still manages to infiltrate my thoughts.
We walk for a few more minutes, gramineous plants swirling in the air between us, Delilah never letting go of my hand.
“Here we are!” she squeals excitedly as the trees finally dissipate and we reach a clearing, moving a low, bent branch from her way with her free arm. The view that presents itself to me nearly robs me of my breath.
The port is almost entirely visible from here, the placid water sparkling under the sunrays, sparse moored boats painted vivid shades of green and blue. The smattering of silver-gray rocks I stepped on upon my arrival seems much more dangerous, though perhaps for that reason exactly, no less fascinating. Something tickles my shoulder, and when I look up, I get a good look at the greenery and flora that surround us, my lips parting in surprise. Wisteria-covered branches curtain this lower promontory, and I need to pay attention so as not to crush a sea of daisies and forget-me-nots that seem too bright to be real.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Delilah asks, her fingers still touching mine, loosely intertwined.
“Quite,” I say, looking over at her.
“Sometimes I can’t believe this is home,” she continues, and I’m somehow both relieved and displeased she didn’t catch me staring.
I don’t trust myself to say anything back to that. I haven’t felt at home in a long time.
She turns to me then, hesitant. Her cheeks are pink from the walk; it’s physically painful, stopping myself from cradling her face in my hands and smearing that doubtful expression away with my lips.
“Thank you,” she says, surprising me. “For coming here.”
“You didn’t leave me much of a choice, given the whole surprise factor,” I consider. “Though I’m glad I followed blindly.”
The corner of her mouth quirks, but she shakes her head. “I meant for coming here , to Fern Port. I know you wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for your job, but–” she laughs breathily, as if struggling to get the words out. My heart is a rabbit inside my still-heaving chest.
“I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” I say, and this time I lean into her, unable to help it. She looks up, a stray wisteria petal fluttering across the bridge of her nose, and I bring one finger up to gently swipe it away. I don’t know what the smart thing to do would be now, but I can’t be bothered to focus on it. My fingers stay on her face, light, and her lips part on a small exhale as I brush my knuckles to her velvet- soft cheek.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t think it was sheer chance. It feels like you were supposed to come here. It feels right.”
A few emotions pass in her gaze, one of them something like fear, and if it’s because she’s worried about my reaction… boy, she has no bloody idea.
And so, in a rare-to-me moment of quiet, perfect honesty, I say, “I think so too.”
The smile that blooms on her lips is a reward I don’t deserve. I don’t know which of us leans in first, but we are so close now, the promise of her lips a mere inch away–
A smattering of red feathers swishes above us accompanied by a shrill chirp, and Delilah jumps in surprise. She laughs again, pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and takes a step back from me.
She shoots me a brief look, a sweet mixture of mischief and embarrassment glittering in her eyes.
“Right,” she starts, cocking her head to the side. “On to the next stop-over!”
“The next? How long is this list, exactly?” I ask, hoping she can tell there’s no true suffering to the question.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she singsongs, already a foot ahead of me.