Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
DELILAH
Penelope Waters is standing in my flower shop like she owns the place.
Which, technically, she doesn’t. But she’s the Mayor’s wife, and she’s got the posture of a woman who’s never been told no in her life.
“I was hoping we could chat,” she says again, when I don’t respond.
Ruffy is still growling, low and steady. I put my hand on his head, more to steady myself than to calm him.
“The shop’s about to close.”
“This won’t take long.” She walks toward the counter, heels clicking on the hardwood. “I wanted to talk to you about Levi.”
My stomach tightens. “What about him?”
“I’ve been thinking about our little conversation at the gym. About what you told me ten years ago, the night before you left town.” She pauses, lets her gaze drift over the flower arrangements like she’s evaluating them. Finding them lacking. “Do you remember?”
I remember. I remember crying in her kitchen, spilling everything, telling her why I had to go. I was young and stupid and she seemed sympathetic.
I didn’t realize she was collecting ammunition.
“That was a long time ago,” I say.
“Was it? Because it seems like nothing’s changed.” She sets her phone on my counter. “You’re still running. And Levi’s still going to get hurt.”
“Penelope...”
“I’m not here to lecture you.” Her smile is warm. Almost maternal. It makes my skin crawl. “I’m here because I think you deserve to know what you’re getting into.”
She pulls out her phone slowly, deliberately, like she’s savoring the moment.
And there it is.
A photo. Levi and Mia Monroe, the pop star with the perfect face and the kind of polish that comes from professional stylists and expensive skincare.
She’s got her arms wrapped around him, her face tilted toward his like she’s about to kiss him.
His hand is on her back. His expression is…
I don’t know what his expression is. Surprised? Guilty? Happy?
The headline reads: Levi Cole’s New Romance? Rock Star Gets Cozy with Pop Princess Mia Monroe.
My chest goes cold.
“This was taken during his last trip to LA,” Penelope says. Her voice is soft. Sympathetic. “I thought you should know.”
I can’t stop staring at the photo, at his hand on her back and the way she’s pressed against him, at the way he’s not pushing her away.
“Where did you get this?”
“It’s all over the internet, honey. Has been since this afternoon.” She tilts her head, and the light catches the pearls at her throat. “He didn’t tell you?”
No. He didn’t tell me. He texted me about clouds shaped like ducks and Lucky Susan and how much he missed me. He didn’t mention anything about a pop star with her arms around him.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” I hear myself say.
“I’m sure there is.” Penelope’s voice drips with something that sounds like pity. “There’s always an explanation. That’s what men like Levi do. They explain. They apologize. They promise it won’t happen again.” She pauses, lets the words sink in. “Until it does.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Maybe not. But I know you.” Her eyes sharpen.
“I know what you told me that night. That you were leaving because you were holding him back. That he’d never make it if you stayed.
” She gestures at the photo. “Well, you were right. He made it. And look at him now, pop stars throwing themselves at him. Private jets. A life you can’t even imagine.
” She smiles. “Do you really think he’s going to give all that up for a florist in a small town? ”
My throat is tight. I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong. But the photo is right there, and Levi didn’t tell me about it, and everything she’s saying sounds exactly like the voice in my own head.
The voice that says I don’t deserve this. That good things don’t last. That I’ll ruin it eventually, so why not just accept the inevitable?
“Why are you really here?” I ask.
Penelope’s expression flickers. Just for a second, something sharp underneath the sympathy. Then the mask slides back into place.
“Because I hate watching train wrecks in slow motion. You’re going to leave again, we both know it. You always do.” She drops the phone into her purse. “I’m not the villain here, Delilah. I’m just the one willing to tell you the truth before you waste any more of his time.”
“The truth according to you.”
“The truth according to that photograph.” She turns toward the door, then pauses. Looks back at me over her shoulder. “You told me yourself why you left. You didn’t think you were good enough. And now he’s famous and you’re…here.” A small, pitying smile. “Maybe you were right.”
She walks out. The bell chimes behind her, two notes, high then low, sounding nothing like magic.
I stand there, frozen.
Ruffy whines and presses his head against my leg.
I don’t move.
I close up the shop on autopilot, lock the door, turn off the lights. I should call him. Ask him about it. Give him a chance to explain.
But what if there’s nothing to explain? What if this is exactly what it looks like?
I pick up my phone. Put it down. Pick it up again.
There’s a text from Jo: Wedding cake tasting tomorrow! Don’t forget!
A text from Mom: Bridge club tonight. Dinner’s in the oven. Home by 8?
Nothing from Levi since the Lucky Susan conversation.
I stare at the photo again, at Mia Monroe’s perfect face and her arms around him, at his hand on her back.
She’s a pop princess. She probably smells like expensive perfume and doesn’t drive a car with a mysterious smell.
What am I even doing?
I grab Ruffy’s leash and head home.
Mom’s not there when I get back. Bridge club, just like she texted.
Good. I don’t want to explain why I look like someone just ripped my heart out and showed it to me.
I sit at the kitchen table with my phone in front of me, open to a gossip website. Ruffy lies at my feet, watching me with worried eyes.
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
He doesn’t look convinced.
My phone buzzes. Levi’s name on the screen.
I stare at it. Let it ring. Watch it go to voicemail.
Ruffy tilts his head at me like, You’re really not going to answer that?
“Don’t judge me,” I tell him. “You eat garbage.”
He doesn’t argue, which is fair.
I pick up the thing again. Study it. Try to see something I missed, some sign that it’s not what it looks like.
All I see is Mia Monroe’s arms around the man I love. Her flawless face and body. Her hand on his back like it belongs there.
My phone vibrates again. Voicemail notification.
I should be mature about this. I should call him back and ask calmly, like an adult, Hey, quick question, why is a pop star draped all over you like a designer throw blanket?
Instead, I call him back and say none of those things.
He picks up on the first ring, and we talk, and the whole time I’m staring at that photo and waiting for him to mention it. To explain. To say something, anything, that makes sense of what I’m looking at.
He doesn’t.
He tells me about the meeting. About Mia Monroe and a potential duet. About her asking him to dinner.
“I said no,” he says. “Obviously. I told her I’m with someone.”
I want to believe him. I really do.
But I’m staring at evidence that tells a different story, and he hasn’t mentioned it. Hasn’t explained. Either he doesn’t know it’s out there, or he’s hoping I won’t find out.
Neither option makes me feel better.
He tries to make me laugh, something about the fish that attacked him, about how he was thinking of me the whole meeting. It’s sweet. It’s exactly what the old Delilah would have melted over.
The old Delilah didn’t have a gossip article in front of her with photographic evidence that she’s kidding herself.
“I should go,” I hear myself say.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just need to think.”
“Think about what? Delilah, talk to me.”
But I can’t. How do I explain that Penelope Waters waltzed into my flower shop with a photo and twenty years of insecurities just fell on my head like a cartoon anvil?
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, and hang up before he can argue.
My phone starts buzzing immediately. His name, over and over.
I silence it.
Then the texts start coming.
Levi: Please talk to me.
Levi: Whatever it is, we can figure it out.
Levi: Delilah?
I stare at the screen, at his words and the promises I want to believe.
Then I look at the gossip article.
At her arms around him.
Penelope’s voice echoes in my head: You’re going to leave again, we both know it. You always do.
She’s right.
That is what I do.
I’ve done it my whole life. Every time things get hard, every time it feels like too much and I start to believe that maybe this time will be different…I run.
I left my first husband when things got boring. My second husband when things got complicated. I left Twin Waves the first time because I was scared. Left the second time because I was terrified.
And now I’m sitting here, terrified again, and Levi is in LA with a woman who probably has a skincare routine that costs a fortune, and I’m supposed to believe he’s going to choose me?
Me, with my flower shop and my Honda and my history of leaving?
I know how this story ends.
I’ve read this book before. The girl with the baggage doesn’t get the rock star. That’s not how it works.
I pack a bag.
Not much. Just the essentials. Clothes, toiletries, my phone charger. The basics of starting over. I’m disturbingly good at this. If running away were an Olympic sport, I’d have a wall full of gold medals.
Ruffy watches me from the doorway, his head tilted in confusion.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him. “You’re coming too.”
His tail wags. At least someone’s excited about this terrible decision.
I catch my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Red-rimmed eyes. Pale face. I look like someone who’s just been gutted, which is accurate.
My phone lights up again. Another text, another call. I’ve lost count of how many.