19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Delilah
I rub my arms for warmth as I approach Cedric, whose arm is extended toward me, my cardigan bunched up in one hand. There’s an inscrutable expression on his face, so stoic it worries me.
I blow out a breath, hoping it’s not because he’s somehow changed his mind about me, which I realize sounds silly and Faye would glare at me if I said out loud. Especially after what happened.
“Thank you,” I say as I slip the garment on.
He nods, though there is still something slightly off about the look in his eyes. He slides the bag on his shoulder, making me laugh. “Ready to go?”
I smile in reply, and when we start walking back toward the town’s center, I glance at him from the corner of my eye .
The urge to take his hand hits me, and before I can either forget about it or act on it, Cedric surprises me by linking our fingers himself.
He shoots me a look, as if asking for permission, though I could tell him right here and now that he doesn’t need to ask. Whatever he’s willing to give me, I am already starving for.
“What if I wasn’t ready for this day to be over?” Cedric asks as we near the square, Myrta’s deep magenta sign staring at me.
A smile blooms on my face. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest?”
He looks at me as if I suggested he dye his hair blue, all traces of that weird expression gone. “I’ve been taught not to waste what little time I have,” he says seriously.
“Right,” I say, breathier than intended, the thought that we’re both aware none of this can be permanent making my heart constrict in my ribcage. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”
Would you like to come over and never leave?
“I don’t want to impose,” he says, ever polite.
“I offered,” I say, taking his other hand in mine.
“In that case–”
“Oh dear! Did you fall in the water, Lila?” Mrs. Coleman, Darla’s mother, says as she steps in front of us, wrinkled hand gripping her cane.
Cedric opens his mouth, a mildly annoyed expression on his face, but I interject as not to worry her.
“We went for a swim, Mrs. Coleman,” I reassure her, letting go of his hands. “But silly us, we forgot we might need a change of clothes!”
“That is worrisome, Delilah, you’re too young to be forgetful,” she says, her lips pinched .
“That’s why I’m about to head home and dry up, fear not,” I add cheerily.
“Alright, darling,” she relents. She peers up at Cedric with pale eyes then, as if just noticing his presence. “Grayson? How are you, love?”
Oh, that’s not good.
This hasn’t happened in a long time, but of course Mrs. Coleman’s memory betrays the both of us now .
Panic swirling through my insides, I meet Cedric’s gaze briefly, but long enough to see confusion in his furrowed brows and the now-troubled curve of his mouth. I’m about to tell Mrs. Coleman this isn’t Grayson, that–even if they looked alike, which is not the case–it couldn’t be, but Cedric recovers smoothly.
“I’m alright, Mrs. Coleman. I trust all is well with you?”
She blinks at him rapidly, then nods a few times and smiles. “I will see you around, dearies,” she says before continuing in the opposite direction.
I can’t believe Cedric went along with it, but if I really think about it, of course he did. Of course he would. My breath is shaky, but I force my voice not to waver when I say, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He stares at me steadily, his brown-black eyes bottomless. “Please tell me you don’t have a boyfriend lost at sea,” he says, his casual tone a stark contrast to the look in his eyes.
“I don’t have a boyfriend lost at sea,” I say with a deprecating smile. “I don’t have one on land, either.”
He nods, his shoulder slumping in such a small movement that I would’ve missed if I’d blinked. I want to say something , to explain, but I can’t find the words to do so.
“So, at what time should I come by?”
He’s going to let go that easily? I don’t believe it for a second, though not for a lack of virtue on his part. I would want to know why an old lady looked me dead in the eyes and called me some other person’s name if I were in his shoes.
I push a still-damp lock of hair behind one ear and ask, “Are you sure you want to come?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replies simply, though I can tell the cogs in his brain are working out some terrible scenario. I want to laugh at the fact that every scenario that involves me is, in the long run, inarguably horrible. And by laugh, I mean weep.
“Eight works.”
He nods, and I wonder whether I’ve squandered by chance to be the person he kisses goodbye.
Then Cedric leans in, and presses a feather-light kiss to my cheek.
“See you in a bit,” he says in the shell of my ear, and then I’m alone in front of Myrta’s Greenery, a bouquet of peonies bending at my feet.
Cedric
I’d be a filthy liar if I said my head wasn’t spinning with questions.
I know Delilah doesn’t owe me explanations, not even after that kiss–
Bloody hell, that kiss.
It was an absolute mess.
It was the best damn kiss of my life.
And though some part of me already knew this was going to be the case, Delilah’s body against mine felt inexplicably right. If I get near her again like that, I can’t be sure I’m not going to lose my mind.
I press my forehead and forearms to the rickety shower stall of my hotel room, breathing deeply against my growing erection. Heaven help me, I’m so gone for this girl.
Even though she carries genuine handcuffs in her tote bag. And the real reason I froze when I saw them is I was imagining what Delilah might have used them for.
So much for keeping my cock at bay. I give it a few lazy strokes, hoping it will quiet the rush of blood in my ears, though I know it’s likely not going to work. The warmth of Delilah’s tongue against mine is imprinted on me, and if I close my eyes and focus, I can taste it almost as precisely as if I were kissing her right now. A low groan escapes me, and I pass my free hand through my soapy hair. I’m scant minutes away from coming, I can feel it. But as my hand gets more frantic, my breath coming in quicker, like a badly edited film montage, the expression and voice of Mrs. Coleman replays in my head: “ Grayson, how are you, love? ”
The lust evaporates out of me.
Because that interaction begs the question: who the hell is Grayson?