Chapter 6
six
Mitch
Three weeks. It's been three weeks since Delilah walked into my house during that storm and didn't leave. Three weeks of waking up to red hair spread across my pillow, of her toothbrush beside mine, of her laughter filling spaces in my home I never realized were empty. It should feel too fast, too much. Instead, it feels like finally exhaling after holding my breath for years. Today, I'm taking her on a real date—not just takeout on my couch where no one can see us together, but somewhere out in the open. Somewhere I can hold her hand and not look over my shoulder every five seconds. It's time to stop hiding, even if that means facing Bill and whatever comes after.
I check the picnic basket one more time: bottle of wine, cheese, strawberries, sandwiches from that place in town she mentioned liking. A blanket folded neatly beside it. I even bought actual wine glasses, not the mismatched coffee mugs we've been drinking from at home.
Home. That's what my house has become with her in it. Every morning she pads around the kitchen in one of my shirts, her legs bare, hair tousled from sleep and my hands. Every night she curls against me, fitting perfectly in the space between my arms like she was designed to be there.
Bill thinks she's staying with a college friend, looking at apartments in town. The lie twists in my gut every time he mentions it, every time he calls me to grab a beer or help him with some home project. Fifteen years of friendship, and I'm betraying him daily. But losing Delilah isn't an option anymore.
My phone buzzes with a text from her:
Still at dad's. Be ready in 20. Can't wait to see what you have planned.
I smile at the heart emoji. For all her boldness, Delilah can be surprisingly sweet, surprisingly tender. It's those moments that undo me most—when she brings me coffee just the way I like it, when she falls asleep on my shoulder during a movie, when she absentmindedly kisses my cheek as she passes by. The domesticity of it all is more intoxicating than I ever could have imagined.
I load the basket and blanket into my truck and drive to Bill's house, parking down the street where he won't spot my vehicle if he happens to come home early. We've been careful—almost paranoid—about not getting caught. But after today, after our talk, that's going to change. My palms sweat at the thought.
When Delilah opens the door, she's wearing a sundress that makes my mouth go dry. It's simple, pale blue with tiny straps that show off her shoulders, the hem hitting mid-thigh. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, and there's that cherry gloss on her lips that drives me crazy.
"Hi," she says, smiling up at me. Her eyes are bright with excitement. "Where are we going?"
I tug her outside, unable to resist pulling her into my arms for a kiss. She melts against me, her hands coming up to frame my face, her body soft and yielding.
"It's a surprise," I murmur against her lips. "You look beautiful."
She beams, twirling once to make the dress flare around her thighs. "Got it yesterday. Thought you might like it."
"I'd like you in a potato sack," I tell her honestly. "But yes, the dress is perfect."
I take her hand, leading her to my truck parked down the street. Once inside, I bring her knuckles to my lips, pressing a kiss to each one. "Ready for a real date, Delilah Carter?"
She leans across the console to kiss my cheek. "More than ready."
We drive with the windows down, the summer air warm against our skin. Delilah's hand rests on my thigh, her thumb idly stroking back and forth in a way that makes concentrating on the road increasingly difficult. Her other hand holds her hair back from the wind, and she sings along softly to the radio, her voice sweet and slightly off-key in a way I find endearing.
"The lake?" she asks, her voice lifting with pleasure as I turn onto the familiar road that winds through the forest toward the water.
I nod. "Thought we could have a picnic. It's pretty secluded at the north end this time of year."
Her smile turns knowing. "Secluded sounds perfect."
Twenty minutes later, we're set up on a small, sandy beach hidden from the main recreation area by a curve of shoreline and a stand of pines. The lake stretches before us, sunlight dancing on its surface. I spread the blanket while Delilah explores, picking up stones and skipping them across the water.
"My dad used to bring me here when I was little," she says, returning to help me unpack the basket. "We'd go fishing off those rocks." She points to a small outcropping jutting into the water.
The mention of Bill sends a pang through my chest. "Good memories?"
She nods, settling beside me on the blanket. "The best. He taught me to swim right over there."
I hand her a glass of wine, watching as she takes a sip, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation. "He's a good father."
"The best," she agrees, setting down her glass. Her eyes find mine, concern flickering in their green depths. "You're thinking about telling him, aren't you? That's what today is about."
Perceptive, my Delilah. I nod slowly. "I can't keep lying to him. And I can't keep pretending that what I feel for you is something that's going to fade or that I can walk away from."
She shifts closer, her bare knee pressing against my thigh. "What do you feel for me, Mitch?"
The directness of the question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. Delilah has never been one to dance around what she wants to know.
"Everything," I say honestly. "Things I've never felt before. Things I didn't think I was capable of feeling."
She waits, patient but expectant. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to continue.
"I think about you all the time. When you're not with me, I'm just counting minutes until you are. The sound of your laugh makes my whole day better. The way you curl against me at night makes me forget every shitty thing that's ever happened to me." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm in love with you, Delilah. Probably have been since the moment you showed up in those cutoff shorts and made me lose my goddamn mind."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "Say it again."
"I love you." The words come easier this time, as if my mouth was always meant to form them for her. "I love you, and I'm done hiding it."
She launches herself at me, wine forgotten as she wraps her arms around my neck. I catch her easily, steadying us both as she presses frantic kisses to my face—my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, and finally my mouth.
"I love you too," she breathes against my lips. "So much, Mitch. So much it terrifies me sometimes."
I hold her tighter, one hand tangling in her hair as I deepen the kiss. She tastes like wine and sunshine and possibilities I never thought I'd have.
When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen. I keep her in my lap, unwilling to let her go just yet.
"What do you think he'll do?" she asks, her fingers tracing the collar of my shirt.
I don't pretend to misunderstand. "Probably try to kill me," I say, only half-joking. "He trusted me with you, Delilah. In his mind, I've betrayed that trust in the worst way."
"You haven't," she insists. "You've been good to me. You've taken care of me."
"By sleeping with his daughter behind his back," I point out dryly. "Not exactly the kind of care he had in mind."
She sighs, resting her forehead against mine. "I'm twenty-two. I get to choose who I love."
"And you've chosen a thirty-five-year-old builder with rough hands and a checkered past who your father will probably never approve of." I stroke her cheek, marveling again at how soft her skin is. "Why, Delilah? Why me?"
She pulls back enough to look me in the eyes, her expression suddenly serious. "Because you see me. Really see me. Not as Bill's daughter or as some kid you've known forever, but as me. Because you make me feel safe and wild at the same time. Because when you hold me, I feel like I've finally found where I belong."
The simple honesty of her words hits me like a physical blow. I've spent so long thinking of all the reasons we shouldn't be together that I've almost missed the most important reason we should: we make each other better. Happier. More complete.
"I need to tell him," I say quietly. "Soon. Before he finds out some other way."
She nods, her expression resolute. "We'll tell him together."
"No." I shake my head firmly. "This needs to be man to man. I owe him that much."
"I'm not letting you face him alone," she argues, her stubbornness flaring. "This is about both of us."
"And I'll make that clear," I promise. "But the initial conversation needs to come from me. He needs to hear it from his friend, not his daughter."
She considers this, her brow furrowed in thought. Finally, she sighs. "Fine. But I'm going to be right outside. The second it gets ugly, I'm coming in."
I smile, pressing a kiss to her wrinkled forehead. "Always rushing to my rescue."
"Someone has to," she retorts, but there's no heat in it.
We eat our picnic as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, painting the lake in shades of gold and pink. Delilah tells me about her plans to look for a job in town, maybe at the library or the community college. I share my latest building project, a custom deck for a house on the edge of town. It's easy between us, this sharing of our days, our thoughts. Like we've been doing it for years instead of weeks.
When the wine is gone and the food packed away, we stretch out on the blanket, Delilah's head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders. The first stars appear in the darkening sky, pinpricks of light in a canvas of deepening blue.
"Say it again," she murmurs, her voice drowsy against my shirt.
"I love you, Delilah Carter." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "And I'm going to keep saying it every day, even when your dad tries to run me out of town with a shotgun."
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "He doesn't own a shotgun."
"Small mercies."
She lifts her head to look at me, her expression suddenly vulnerable. "Promise me something?"
"Anything," I say, meaning it.
"Promise you won't let him change your mind about us. That no matter how angry he gets, you won't decide I'm not worth the trouble."
The fear in her voice breaks my heart. I sit up, bringing her with me so I can look directly into her eyes. "Listen to me, Delilah. There is nothing—nothing—that could make me walk away from you now. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. The only thing I've ever fought for that matters."
Her eyes shine with tears in the fading light. "I'm scared," she admits. "I don't want to lose either of you."
I pull her close, tucking her head under my chin. "You won't lose me. And your dad loves you too much to stay angry forever. It might take time, but we'll figure it out. Together."
Against my chest, I feel her nod. "Together."
As darkness falls around us, as the sounds of the lake at night envelop us in their symphony, I hold the woman I love and make a silent promise to myself: whatever comes next, whatever price I have to pay for loving Bill Carter's daughter, I'll pay it gladly. Because a life without Delilah isn't a life I want anymore.
She shifts in my arms, tilting her face up for a kiss, and as our lips meet, I know with bone-deep certainty that some things are worth any cost. This woman. This love. This is what I was made for.