Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Jagger
Despite the disastrous start to our date, things have taken a positive turn.
Sitting across the table from her, watching the way she chews every mouthful with purpose to expertly pick apart the flavors, seeing the way her nose scrunches when she laughs, how her cheeks dimple when she smiles…
Fuck, she cracks my chest wide open. This is all I’ve ever wanted.
I ask her a lot of questions. Probably too many, but I’m desperate to know everything about her.
I ask how she’s enjoying her studies, laughing along as she talks about her most recent projects.
I ask about her family, learning how close they are and feeling a pang of sadness at not being able to relate to that.
I listen intently to every word, so immersed that I don’t realize that the hot cocoa I made has gone cold.
I could listen to her talk all day. Whenever I have to speak, I almost find myself disappointed to have to take a break from listening to her.
“I do have one question for you now.” She dabs her mouth to wipe off the lemon jam from the delicious tarts we devoured. A new recipe of Dora’s. “What would your dream date be?”
“A dream date…” I lean back in my chair. It’s not something I’ve really thought about before. “I don’t know.”
“Come on.” She rolls her eyes, selecting a macaron to sample from the items stacked on a plate between us.
“You must have done loads of cool stuff—skydiving, eating at the best restaurants, swimming with pigs in the Bahamas…” She releases a moan as she sinks her teeth into the pastry, making my cock strain against my jeans before I tune back in to what she’s saying.
“Swimming with pigs on Big Major Cay is amazing.” I laugh at the memory. We went there once to shoot a Pack Fire music video. “But honestly? I just want to experience life how everyone else does. Do normal things. Things like having breakfast in bed.”
Her eyes bulge in disbelief. “You’re the star of the biggest band in the country, and all you want is breakfast in bed?”
I grin. “As long as you’re in the bed with me.”
When she shuffles in her chair, I catch a hint of her perfume hiding underneath the scent blockers. I drop my hand beneath the table to readjust myself. Being this close to her and not touching her is torturous.
“Uh…” The motion makes the fabric of my jeans wrinkle, reminding me of something else I brought along for her. “I brought you one more thing.”
“Is it a Chihuahua? The deed to a house? Plane tickets?” Delilah teases.
“Actually…” I pull out the crumpled bit of torn-off notebook paper that I stuffed into my pocket at the last minute. “It’s something I wrote. A poem. I know it’s not big or lavish, but—”
She puts down the macaron. “You wrote me a poem?”
My knees jiggle nervously. Songs and poems are basically the same thing, and I’ve written countless lines about our relationship and my feelings for her. My heartbreak has pretty much been my only muse this year, and seeing her again has reignited my inspiration.
“Forget it.” I go to stuff it away, my palms already getting clammy. “It’s stupid.”
“No.” She reaches across the table, gently catching my wrist before I can screw the paper into a ball. “I’d like to hear it.” Maybe I should have just set it on fire. She flutters her eyelashes at me. “Please.”
When she looks at me like that, how can I refuse her?
“It’s not finished yet.” I fumble with the edges of the paper, smoothing it out as she sits back expectantly. “But if you really want—”
“I do.”
I take a deep breath before beginning to read, keeping my eyes glued to the ink, afraid to see distaste on her face if I look at her.
“Lost inside the crowd, there is only you.
The whisper of your name is what calls me home.
The memories of our time, spent in the mountains…”
When I’m done, I dare to look at Delilah across the table, half-expecting her to burst out laughing or tell me that it’s a crock of shit—just like Valerie, Drew, and Brad did when I shared some of my recent work with them.
“That was amazing.” Her eyes mist over. “Truly. You’re so talented.”
“It could do with some tweaking.” I scratch my head. “I don’t think my record label would like it, but your opinion is the only one that truly matters.”
“I love it.” She gestures to the paper in my hand—a piece of my soul etched into the page. “It’s a perfect gift.”
“It’s not a holiday or a designer purse or…” I rack my brain for other gifts that I guess many women want.
“I already told you, I don’t need any gifts.
All I need is for you to be… well, just you.
” She looks at me as if she’s staring right through me, the bakery kitchen suddenly fading away.
She takes my hand, her thumb grazing tenderly over a scar on my knuckle from a childhood fall that the cameras always airbrush out.
“You were enough before I knew who you really were. The band, the record label, the money. None of that ever mattered to me.”
My heart sings. After a lifetime of feeling like my worth is measured by fame, it’s everything I need to hear. I’ve wasted so much time, losing myself to meet other people’s crippling expectations.
“Delilah…” My voice is strained. “I’ve been a fucking idiot.”
“I know.” She smiles back. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep sharing your work with me.”
“That I can do.”
While I’m still in the process of discovering the true artist I want to become, knowing she likes my work gives me an added confidence boost. Maybe I don’t even need the band. With her support, anything feels possible.
“Woah, is that the time?” She casts a look at the clock up on the wall. It’s just past 11pm. “I should be getting back to Stella House.” As she pulls on her cardigan, disappointment sweeps through me. “I have an early class tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss the last bus.”
“I can dr—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupts me. “I like the bus.”
“I can walk you to the stop?”
“And be seen out in public with me?” She shakes her head.
“That’s not a good idea. You know what happened the last time we were seen.
Kady is still burned out from all the strings she had to pull to get those photographs taken down.
” She laughs. “Besides, you can see the bus stop from the bakery window, if you’re that concerned. ”
We stand, and she plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, making me forget how to breathe for a second as her scent floods my senses. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Thank you for coming.” I dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from kissing her again. “I’ll be watching until you get on that bus, and I want you to text me as soon as you’re home.”
“I’m not a celebrity who gets hounded by the press.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll make it back to SVU just fine.”
“Still,” I insist as we pause at the bakery door. “I need to know you’re safe.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Good night, Jagger.”
The bell jingles as she leaves into the cold night. I stand watching her, forehead pressed against the cool glass, wishing I could go with her. I watch until the tail lights of the red bus disappear into the distance before I turn to clear up.
I pick up the napkin she used to dab her mouth, lightly smeared with lipstick, then tuck it into my pocket. I can’t bear to throw it away. After letting her go once, every shred of her feels like something I should cling to.
The heavy fog that’s followed me around feels like it’s starting to lift, like a cloak is being taken from my back. Tonight was a start. Instead of the empty cavernous feeling in my chest, I feel a shred of hope.
Things might work out after all.