Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
DELILAH
The Fiction Nook smells like vanilla candles and old paper, the particular kind of comfort that only comes from being surrounded by stories.
I love this place. The cozy armchairs arranged in reading nooks, the hand-lettered signs pointing to different genres, and the way evening light filters through the front windows and makes everything look like it belongs in a movie about someone with a much less complicated life.
Tonight, though, I’m having trouble appreciating it.
Levi is leaving again soon.
He says he’s coming back. He promised.
“You’re spiraling,” Jo says, appearing at my elbow with a glass of wine. “I can tell because you’re standing completely still and staring at the romance section like it personally wronged you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely not.” She presses the wine into my hand. “Drink this. It won’t solve your problems, but it’ll make them fuzzier around the edges.”
I take a sip. It’s the good stuff, probably from Michelle’s secret stash. “How do you always know?”
“Know what?”
“When I’m falling apart.”
“Honey, you walked in here with the expression of someone who just found out her favorite restaurant closed permanently.” She steers me toward the circle of chairs where the others are already gathering. “Also, you keep checking your phone like you’re waiting for test results.”
“I do not.”
“You do. It’s very obvious.”
I don’t have a defense for that, so I just follow her and try to arrange my face into something that doesn’t scream “emotional disaster in progress.”
The Fiction Nook’s back room has been transformed into book club headquarters.
Jessica has set up a spread on the coffee table with cheese, crackers, grapes, and something chocolate that Amber brought from The Salty Pearl. Tally’s handiwork, if I had to guess. The woman is a pastry genius.
Austen, Jessica’s orange tabby, is already stationed on the back of one of the armchairs, watching the cheese plate with predatory focus. He’s been banned from book club snacks more times than anyone can count. It never sticks.
“Delilah!” Michelle waves me over to the empty chair beside her. “I saved you a seat. Also, I have opinions about this month’s book and I need an ally.”
“What kind of opinions?”
“The heroine should have just told him the truth in chapter three. Would have saved everyone two hundred pages of miscommunication.”
“That’s not an opinion, that’s a manifesto.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Hazel is settling into her usual spot with a notebook, because Hazel always has a notebook.
Grandma Hensley is already eating cheese, having apparently decided that the meeting has unofficially started.
Amber is pouring wine with a heavy hand.
Mads is texting someone, probably Asher, with a soft smile on her face.
And then the door chimes, and Jo practically leaps out of her chair.
“She’s here!”
A woman walks in, and even from across the room, I can feel her energy. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a flowy blue top and white jeans, an expression that suggests she’s genuinely delighted to be alive on a random Thursday evening.
Emma. The photographer from the marina.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, slightly breathless.
“Millie couldn’t find her homework, Aidan decided he needed to tell me the entire plot of a YouTube video about deep-sea creatures, and Jenna is currently not speaking to me because I suggested she might want to unplug from her phone for five minutes. ”
“Sounds about right,” Hazel says sympathetically. “How old?”
“Fifteen, ten, and eight.”
“You’re in the trenches. It gets better.”
“Does it?”
“No. But you get better at faking sanity.”
Emma laughs, and the sound is warm and infectious. Jo ushers her toward an empty chair, and introductions happen in the chaotic, overlapping way they always do at book club.
“Emma just moved here,” Jo explains. “She’s a photographer. She did my bridal shots at the marina.”
“The marina?” Grandma Hensley’s eyes light up. “Isn’t that where that grumpy fellow lives? The one who owns the place?”
Emma’s smile flickers, just for a second. “Paul. Yes. He’s my…neighbor.”
“Neighbor,” Grandma Hensley repeats, in a tone that suggests she’s filing this information away for later investigation. “Interesting.”
“It’s really not.”
“That’s what they all say.” Grandma Hensley pulls out a notepad, the one with Detective Notes written on the cover in sparkly gel pen. “And then suddenly it’s very intriguing indeed.”
Emma looks slightly alarmed. Michelle pats her arm. “Don’t worry. She does this to everyone. It’s her love language.”
“Observation is a gift,” Grandma Hensley says primly. “I simply choose to share it.”
We settle in with our books. This month’s pick is Coming Home Again, a second-chance romance about a woman who keeps leaving and the man who keeps waiting for her to stay.
I did not choose this book. I want that on the record.
“Okay,” Jessica says, opening her copy. “Who wants to start?”
“I will,” Amber says. “I thought it was beautiful but also deeply stressful. Every time she ran, I wanted to reach into the pages and shake her.”
“She had reasons,” Mads counters. “Trauma responses aren’t logical. She wasn’t running because she didn’t love him. She was running because she did, and that terrified her.”
“But he kept waiting,” Michelle says. “Every time she left, he just…stayed. And welcomed her back. Doesn’t that get exhausting?”
“Love is exhausting,” Grandma Hensley says matter-of-factly. “That’s how you know it’s real.”
The conversation continues, and I try to participate, but my mind keeps drifting. To Levi. To the way he looked at me this morning, like he was trying to memorize my face, and the way his phone kept buzzing with messages from LA.
To the way I keep wondering if this time will be like all the others.
“The question is whether she can actually change,” Hazel is saying. “She’s spent her whole life running. Can someone just…decide to stop?”
“People change all the time,” Jo says. “Look at Dean. He was convinced he’d never let anyone in again, and now he’s planning a wedding.”
“That’s different. Dean wasn’t a runner. He was a hider.”
“Same instinct, different execution.”
“The point is,” Jessica says, “she has to choose to stay. Not because he asked her to, not because it’s easier, but because she finally believes she deserves to. That’s the real climax of the book. Not when they get together, but when she decides to stop leaving.”
Everyone nods. I stare at my wine.
“Delilah?” Michelle’s voice is gentle. “You’ve been quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About the book?”
“About...” I trail off. Everyone is looking at me. Waiting. “About how I’m not sure if people really change. Or if we just want to believe they can.”
The room goes still.
“This isn’t about the book,” Jo says. It’s not a question.
“No.” I set down my wine glass. “It’s about Levi. He’s going back to LA. The label wants him.”
“For how long?” Amber asks.
“He doesn’t know. A few days, maybe longer. They want him to commit to a new album and a tour.” I shake my head. “He says he’ll return. But he’s said that before.”
“You’ve said that before too,” Grandma Hensley points out. “Leaving and coming back. From what I hear, you’ve done plenty of running yourself.”
“Grandma,” Hazel warns.
“What? It’s true. And it’s relevant.” Grandma Hensley fixes me with her knowing gaze. “The question isn’t whether Levi will come back. The question is whether you’ll still be here when he does. Or whether you’ll convince yourself he’s not coming and run first.”
The words land like a punch.
Because she’s right. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Not that Levi will leave, but that I’ll leave before he gets the chance.
The cheese plate is demolished and the wine is almost gone. Austen has relocated from the chair to the arm of the couch, inching closer to the remaining crackers with the patience of a seasoned hunter.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Emma says. She’s been mostly quiet during my confession, listening with an intensity that makes me think she’s taking notes. “If you love him, and he loves you, why does geography have to be the thing that breaks you?”
“Because geography isn’t just geography,” I say. “It’s his career. His life. Everything he’s built.”
“And you can’t be part of that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But what if I’m just…holding him back?”
“Have you asked him if he feels held back?”
“He says he doesn’t. But he said that before, too. And then I overheard him tell someone he couldn’t leave because of me, and I...” I stop and breathe. “I left because I didn’t want to be the reason he gave up his dreams.”
“And did he give up his dreams?”
“No. He became a rock star.”
“So leaving worked out great for his career.”
“I mean…yes?”
“But not for either of you emotionally.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Emma leans forward. “Here’s the thing. I spent most of my adult life putting everyone else first. My ex-husband. My kids. Everyone’s dreams except mine. And you know what I learned? Sacrifice isn’t love. Sometimes staying is the bravest thing you can do.”
“That sounds like it comes from experience.”
“It comes from a lot of therapy and one very expensive divorce.” She smiles, but there’s weight behind it.
“I moved my kids to a houseboat in a town where I don’t know anyone, and I’m terrified every single day that I made the wrong choice.
But I’m also freer than I’ve been in years.
Sometimes the scariest path is the right one. ”
Grandma Hensley is scribbling furiously in her notepad.
“What are you writing?” Emma asks.
“Character notes. You’re very interesting.”
“I’m really not.”
“That’s what Delilah said too. And look how interesting her situation turned out to be.” Grandma Hensley taps her pen against the page. “The grumpy marina owner. Three kids. A houseboat. I sense a story developing.”
“There’s no story. Paul and I can barely have a conversation without arguing.”