Chapter 69 Deli
Deli
Deli poured champagne into the waiting flute and clutched it between her fingers like the last life vest on the Titanic.
She’d barely had any time to get ready. Quick makeup, a swipe of cranberry lip gloss, and a messy half-up bun was all she’d managed after flower prep and before she was due for hostess duty. At least Aunt Mo had taken care of the dress and bought her an emerald sweetheart thing in town.
Aunt Mo came back in from seating guests and clapped. “Alright, lads, you’re up!”
Deli unwrapped the boutonnieres set aside for the groom and his men, pinning them one by one. William’s grin was devious at best.
Deli lifted his lapel. “Don’t smile at me like that, William.”
“Call me Will,” he purred. “And like what?”
“Like you’ve just found your new favorite toy.”
William bent his head to her ear as she positioned the boutonniere. His fingers brushed her wrist. “What if I want you to be my new favorite toy?”
“I’d say start talking money or stop breathing on me.”
“Sharp wit and curved . . . edges?” He winked at her. “I’d happily go broke.”
She pushed a pin through the fabric and into the stems. “Wow, you need an actual job, dude.”
Deli thought she saw the flash of headlights through the window, and her whole body buzzed with the adrenaline of expecting Lachlan to walk in. William threw his head back and laughed so loudly she almost jumped.
“I really like you, Deli. I see what he sees.”
Will’s slimy pretense was gone. He was Lachlan’s little brother, out to play a game. She straightened his lapel, ignoring the pang in her chest. “Yes, I’m a delight.”
Aunt Mo lined up Andrew’s groomsmen by the door, including Andrew’s brother with a guitar in his hand. “Well? What are you waiting for? Giddyup, fellas.”
Will paused in the doorway. “Wait, I almost forgot—you look absolutely lovely, Mo.”
Her impatience melted with a grin. “You can kiss my ass another time, kid.”
Will chuckled. “And you . . .” He looked Deli up and down. “Deli, you are ravishing.”
She rolled her eyes. Will walked confidently out to the ceremony.
For a moment, Aunt Mo and Deli were alone.
“Have they seen him yet?” Deli asked.
“Oh, yes.” Aunt Mo took a sip of champagne. “He politely asked them to refrain from photos until after the ceremony.”
“Oh, I bet they loved that answer. I can’t believe he’s officiating.”
“I can’t believe our mothers are hitting on the officiant.”
“Probably throwing a tantrum about having to sit waiting with the peasants instead of walking down the aisle.”
Aunt Mo snorted as the sound of an engine came up outside.
“Here comes the bride!” Blair called. She was breathtaking in a simple satin gown so softly kissed with blue guests might not have noticed anything but the way her hair burned especially fiercely.
At the look on Deli’s face as she took in her friend, Blair laughed, radiating joy.
“We’re flower faeries!” Kieran chirped and twirled in their ruffled skirt and jacket.
“Yes!” Deli feigned a gasp. “I almost forgot!” She pulled the baskets filled with the electric blue petals of her favorite delphinium from the top of the refrigerator and knelt eye level with the kids.
“This is very serious business, okay? Do you swear to petal that aisle to the best of your ability and let no grown-up, child, dog, or butterfly distract you from your task?”
“We do!” Kieran and Penny said in chorus. Deli stood and saluted. They saluted back as she handed them their baskets. Then Deli gave Blair the bouquet.
“Deli MacDonald, you’re a genius!”
Deli sagged in relief. “Oh, thank god, you like it. I made sure to only put the ones with the very best meanings in.”
Blair couldn’t wipe the smile from her face as she touched a milky petal. “They have meanings? What about this one?”
Deli was particularly fond of the bloom, but after seeing Lachlan that morning—after he’d just said nothing . . . it felt strange in her hands. “Dogwood. Love undiminished by adversity.”
“What’s this one?” Kieran pointed.
“Larkspur. It means lightness and ardent attachment.” She continued, pointing to each flower, “Chamomile daisy for innocence and energy in adversity, Forget-me-not for faithful and best love, eucalyptus to watch over you, peach cabbage roses for gentleness and for closing the deal, Baker’s fern for magic and fascination, and sweet pea for blissful pleasure”—she winked at Blair—“and thank you for a wonderful time.”
Blair’s voice was thick with emotion. “How can I ever thank you, Deli?”
Blair had just absorbed Deli into her life, into her family, without any tests or hoops to jump through. Deli hadn’t really known a friendship like Blair’s before. And though it was young, it had taught her something new. Something very important.
“You have given me more than you can imagine.” Deli pointed to the last small, blue-purple flower. “Periwinkle. Early friendship and fond recollections.”
Blair gripped Deli’s forearm, and Deli returned the gesture. They could just hear the plucking of guitar strings from the cliff.
They sent Penny and Kieran out first, both with deadly serious faces and petals at the ready. Blair hugged Aunt Mo.
“Mo, you are—and I mean this with every bit of me—the best.”
“Go on, then.” Aunt Mo pulled Blair’s hair behind her shoulders and let it fall. “Get married.”
Neither Aunt Mo nor Deli heard the soft click of the back door as Blair and the kids walked out of view.
“She’s . . . so beautiful,” Deli said.
It was Lachlan who responded, “Yes, she is.”
He stood behind them, back against the door, draped in formal family colors. He met her gaze, and it was like he’d fired a cannonball of mixed, nauseating feelings into her chest. She stumbled a half step back until she bumped against the counter. He clenched his hand into a fist.
“Mo,” he said as he broke their connection. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Is it done?” Aunt Mo asked as Lachlan bent to kiss her cheek.
“It’s done.” He stood back, holding her shoulders at arm’s length, taking in his friend in her smart high-waisted trouser suit. He took Aunt Mo’s hand and twirled her. “You are a vision.”
“Thank you, my love. Let’s go.” She gestured to his camera bag tucked by the door.
“Blair’s cousin managed to come to the wedding. She’s a professional.” Lachlan shrugged.
“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, kid.” Aunt Mo beckoned as she walked out. Lachlan trailed behind with his eyes fixed to the floor.
“Wait.” Deli barely whispered the word, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her, but his body went still. She reached above the fridge and brought down the last boutonniere. Forget-me-not and purple verbena. Hope in darkness, she thought. And regret. “Blair told me it’s for you, specifically.”
Lachlan hesitated. “I . . . I don’t know how to put it on.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He crossed the room to her slowly and stopped a sterile three feet from her. She felt her temperature rise anyway. She held her arms out, about six inches short of him. “Should I . . . put it on with telepathy?”
“Telekinesis,” Lachlan said.
Deli smirked. “Nerd.”
Lachlan sighed and looked down. Deli closed the space, torn by how easy it was to fall back into rhythm with him like nothing had changed.
She stuck the black heads of the boutonniere pins behind her teeth like she’d done a million times before. She could feel his heart beating against the back of her hand as she positioned the boutonniere.
“You’re shaking.” Lachlan’s hand fell over hers.
She gasped at the shock of his touch and the last pins in her teeth clattered to the floor, rolling in lazy circles in the silent room.
When Trey had shown up on her doorstep and kissed her, Deli had barely felt anything. It was so quick, and then it was over, and she hadn’t wondered why the feeling of it hadn’t stayed in her head.
Since Lachlan had kissed her on the bar top, the feeling was all she’d thought about.
It wasn’t just the heat and the wanting of it—it was the feeling of trust, of intimacy.
The way he’d cradled her head and moved with her, like he had attuned to the things Deli needed but could never seem to say.
He had made her feel safe. Kissing Lachlan was belonging.
She could almost feel him on her mouth as her hand rose on its own. The moment her fingers found his face—her nails disappearing into the thick hair at his temple—she moved toward him, and she didn’t have to imagine anymore.
Lachlan’s lips found her throat as her hands wrapped around his neck. He threaded his fingers into her hair behind her ears and walked her backward, whispering her name as he kissed her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
As she collided with the counter, his kiss could have convinced her she was the last woman on earth. She didn’t recognize her voice when she sighed his name. It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss him back—to pretend there was nothing to say.
She didn’t know how long they were there—hands tangled in hair, chests heaving and lips desperate. When he finally pulled away he stooped to press his forehead to hers and whispered, “God, I missed you.”
Of all the many years Deli and Trey were so emotionally connected with lives intertwined, he had never shared a photo of them together on any public platform.
Her mother and often grandmother responded to any mention of Trey’s resistance to their connection with the suggestion of weight loss.
And of course, she had tried. But eventually Deli learned that some bodies simply aren’t thin ones, and hers was perfectly reasonable.
In most ways, she no longer felt like she needed to change—but that coiled, hissing shame lived under her skin and spat at anyone who wanted to touch her.
Like if they felt her softness with their own hands, some illusion of her would drop, and they’d see her for what she really was.
Someone who, despite being compatible in every way but one, was made, fundamentally, unlovable.
Deli had racked her mind for reasons Lachlan’s face had gone pale when William showed up.
She didn’t expect anyone to understand how impossible it felt to scrape away a truth she’d carried in her bones for the majority of her life and ignore her biggest fear.
She didn’t expect anyone to believe that it had taken all her courage to let Lachlan touch her, and to believe him when he said everyone else had been wrong.
That, to him, Deli wasn’t falling short.
Then, at the first chance, he’d treated her like an indulgence to be ashamed of. A dirty little secret he didn’t want his brother to know.
Deli wanted to be someone new. She wanted to be someone Lachlan could be proud of. But the girl she’d always been had arrived on a plane with her mother, shaking her head at the Deli who should have known better, waiting in the dark to whisper, I told you so.
“Every second, I’ve missed you,” Lachlan said. She’d believed him once—telling her things alone in quiet rooms when there was no one else to see.
Deli answered him with the tears she lost the fight to keep from falling.
He pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently cradling her head against his chest. Deli clung to their last moment.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he gently swayed on his feet, rocking them to a song that didn’t play. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s my fault. I know. It’s okay.”
He kissed the top of her head and crossed the room to the door before she could think.
Deli felt like she was drowning. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“I am sorry, Deli.” He pulled his camera out of the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “For everything.”
“I—”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Deli’s knees nearly buckled. “You haven’t seen the bride yet,” she managed with a laugh. She felt frantic and unmoored, but he stared, resolute.
Lachlan spoke clearly, strong and final. “It will always be you.”
He left her standing in the kitchen—undone and unsure of anything at all.