Chapter 71 Deli
Deli
If she hadn’t walked through the doors herself, Deli wouldn’t have believed she was in The Wallflower’s Crown.
Candlelight twinkled from every shelf of the bar, every table, the mantel.
There were flowers in mixed vases, clustered in color blocks, dotted around the pub.
Deli hoped Aunt Mo had been able to muster a few arrangements from the buckets she’d cut while Deli did the bouquet and archway, but she hadn’t expected her to be so successful.
Her aunt was absorbed into a conversation instantly, so Deli laughed with Douglas and played darts with Cairn and sat in silence with Hannah and arm wrestled with Graham—trying to avoid Lachlan while he was avoiding her. Drinks were poured. People danced and toasted. The fire burned.
When she finally ran into Aunt Mo, Deli squeezed her in a huge hug. “You outdid yourself! The flowers look beautiful!”
Aunt Mo shook her head. “Not I.”
Lachlan came through the doors behind them with his bicep curled around the firewood he balanced on his shoulder. His dress shirt was pulled up so Deli could see a slim line of his skin just above his belt. She looked away.
Aunt Mo smiled at him. “Deli was just saying how incredible the flowers are, and so was I! I didn’t know you had this in you.”
Lachlan surveyed the room over their heads. A shadow of pride flickered across his face. Pride, and something else that hurt enough to cover up a wince with a smile. “I didn’t know I had it in me, either.”
“How did you decide where to put what?”
He hesitated. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I asked myself what Deli would do.” Their eyes ricocheted off each other.
Standing in all Lachlan’s flowers, she thought of the meadow and the garden—his hands leaving the most delicate petals unharmed. She’d marveled at the way he held things she considered precious with reverence. What a rare person he was—always choosing to be kind.
In a room Lachlan had painted with petals like a declaration or a plea, Deli wondered why she’d ever rejoiced in the pain Trey inflicted with his jealousy.
A bud vase with a single stem of bluebells sat alone on the bar.
Have faith, for you will win the one you love.
For a single moment, the woman she’d been becoming overcame the one she’d been. “Lachlan, can we tal—”
“Brother!” William broke through the crowd and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Come on, now! It’s not every day both Scotts are pouring at The Wallflower, eh?”
“Will, I need a minute.” The Lachlan watching her as he answered his brother was the same who’d been sure he’d broken her bones—the one who blamed himself for his mother’s scars. She felt a knife in her throat at his shame.
“I know the bride’s your ex, but no moping at the party.”
William tugged on Lachlan’s free bicep until he stumbled toward the bar, a silent plea in his eyes.
“Oi, William, don’t be a right wee dick!” Graham called as he stepped into the room from the back, and Deli caught the glow of light and the sound of laughter from where he’d come. As far as she knew, it was only a spare bit of space for mingling and an extra bathroom.
She turned to her aunt. “Is there something back there?”
Aunt Mo grinned and handed Deli a glass of red wine she plucked from Hannah’s passing tray with a wink. “The garden was boarded up since his dad died. He’s been working on it for weeks now.”
She moved through the pub, trying not to attract attention, as Cairn issued a challenge to the Scott brothers over who could pour the best pint. Deli had nearly reached the door when it swung into her.
Lorriane and Rosemary strode through with eyes like hawks, and as they found the tall, blonde, Hamish-y object of their desires, Deli’s full glass of wine splashed against her chest and ran down the length of her dress.
She stared down, transfixed by the way the drops of merlot seemed to be making small choices about their paths down her body with each rise and fall of her breath as their trails faded behind them.
Lachlan’s voice almost sounded warped as he called her name, like she was underwater.
Rosemary and Lorraine called for William at the end of the bar, but Lachlan pulled his brother back and obscured their view as he stepped around him.
Rosemary and Lorraine swiveled and finally registered Deli wearing her entire glass of wine.
Deli had never been the poet of her family, but as she stood alone, once again doing a shoddy Carrie impression in a new dress while being stared down by her mother and grandmother, she figured there must be some lesson to learn she kept missing.
Rosemary and Lorraine stood before the exit from the bar with their hands on their hips. Her grandmother’s brow creased in concern, but her mother spoke first.
“Oh, Delilah. Maybe you should just wear black to formal events so you don’t ruin any more dresses with the whole clumsy thing. Plus!” She gave a wide smile. “Black is flattering!”
Then Deli watched in half wonder, half horror as Lachlan loomed behind them and issued a simple command.
“Move.”
Lorraine MacDonald was not used to being told to do things. She started to say, “Excuuuse m—” but was cut off as Lachlan put his hands on her shoulders, physically moved her out of the way, and stepped to Deli.
Deli looked at her dress. “Well, eff.”
“Eff,” he repeated and handed her a clean towel. Her heart leaped at Lachlan’s smile.
William’s shadow fell over his brother as he took in the scarlet stain down Deli’s front. “I always loved a lady in red.”
Something primal passed over Lachlan’s face as Deli scrunched her nose and her mother wrapped a manicured claw around William’s arm.
“Delilah has always been one for drama,” she said with an airy laugh.
Grandma Rosemary pried her daughter’s hand from the famous bicep by the wrist. “She got that from you, darling.”
Aunt Mo appeared beside Lachlan with two new glasses of red. Deli took one and toasted Aunt Mo, then watched her aunt dump her wine down her front.
Grandma Rosemary gasped. “What on earth are you doing, Maureen?”
Aunt Mo winked at Deli. “Following my heart.”
Deli took in her ruined dress and her aunt’s pristine outfit, stained maroon to match.
Her giggle grew into a real laugh as Aunt Mo wrapped an arm around Deli’s waist and joined in.
Aunt Mo’s eyes squeezed shut in joy, and Deli marveled at her face—touched by time and full of grace. She heard her mother sigh.
Lachlan cleared his throat and tried to speak quietly. “If you need anything, Deli . . .”
William made a sort of mocking sound, and Lachlan glared at him before stalking off.
“Oooh.” William wiggled his fingers like a child telling ghost stories. “Scary.”
“Anyway,” Lorraine said, reaching for William again, “as I was saying—”
“Deli?” William ignored her mother as his massive hand wrapped around Deli’s glass and passed it to Aunt Mo, who was happily wearing her own. “Fancy a dance?”
Deli blinked stupidly as William pulled her through the small crowd. Lorraine’s mouth fell open, and her eyes tracked Deli’s path like one of those haunted castle portraits of dead rich people wearing velvet.
Deli caught the flash of Lachlan’s eyes just before his brother led her through the door to the garden with her hand in his.