Chapter 17
DELANEY
‘Ugh,’ I groan, resting my hands on my stomach. ‘I can’t move.’
Nick chuckles. ‘I could throw you over my shoulder,’ he offers. ‘Carry you to the hotel.’
Yes, please.
Ignoring the lusty babe inside my head, I eye Nick curiously, then peer over the terrace to the steep slope below.
‘Maybe you should roll me over the edge like a giant wheel of cheese. You do that in England, right – throw cheese down a hill, then a bunch of morons chase after it?’
‘You mean the Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake,’ he replies.
‘Yeah, that – morons.’
He laughs.
‘You ever done it?’ I ask, propping my chin on my hand.
‘Too dangerous. And just so we’re clear, I’m not a moron.’
‘Nope.’ I shake my head way too hard, stopping when I feel dizzy. ‘Nick?’
‘Delaney.’
‘I’m a little bit tipsy.’
He leans in close and I do the same until we’re nearly forehead to forehead. ‘Yes,’ he says.
I sit back and pretend to scowl at him. ‘Dork.’
He takes a long drink from his water glass and I glance at mine – empty. Without having to ask, he fills it from the bottle of Pellegrino on the table.
‘Thanks.’
‘Course.’
I drink it down in one, then cover my mouth to mask a burp. I’m a shitty date. Only this isn’t a date, Delaney, I scold myself.
But if it is, it’s one of the best dates ever.
Delaney Rae Cole!
Nick’s staring at me, his eyes narrowed in amusement, while the tiny devil on one shoulder and the tiny angel on the other bicker like they’re in a school yard – they’re even sticking their tongues out at each other.
And then I remember what he told me about his family – his parents in particular. That was two courses ago, but I keep coming back to it.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he says.
‘That’s not much – inflation’s a bitch – it’d be more like a dollar.’
‘Or a pound.’
I hold my hand out and he pats down his pants as if he’s looking for his wallet. ‘Dork,’ I say again.
‘I’m going to get a complex.’
‘Sorry.’
I hold his gaze, really wanting to learn more about his family. I can’t imagine that kind of pressure.
‘Just say it,’ he says. ‘Or ask – whichever.’
‘I feel bad for you.’
He winces and looks away.
‘No, not like that – not pity,’ I add quickly. ‘But I hate that your parents don’t see what I do.’
‘Which is?’ he asks, his eyes darting to meet mine.
On the surface, it’s a simple question, but off the back of three intense days together, it should come with a warning label.
Caution: Nice, hot, creative guy fishing for compliments.
Maybe I shouldn’t have led us down this path. But we’re here now, so…
‘Well, you’re obviously successful.’
He scoffs. ‘Not in their eyes,’ he says.
‘That’s all I meant. I know how hard it is to work your way up in this business – and you’re not just a “stunt guy” – you’re in charge.
You’re working with the director, you’re designing the stunts, you’re coordinating entire teams. And your colleagues trust you to keep them safe – you are literally saving lives. ’
‘I never thought of it like that. Could you please tell my mum and dad?’
‘Happily,’ I reply. ‘And, not satisfied with killing it in the stunt world, you’re a really good writer, Nick.
And they’ll get that – once we make this movie and they’re invited to the premiere and we get your dad a new tux and your mom a stylist. We’ll roll out the red carpet for them – literally – then they’ll have to be proud of you. ’
‘I thought you said “no promises”,’ he teases, the twinkle in his eyes restored.
‘That was before I knew we had to impress Mom and Pop James.’
‘Hah!’ he laughs again, the tautness along his jawline giving way to a smile. ‘Thanks, Delaney. That means a lot.’
I shrug it off. ‘Just doing my job.’
‘What, talking a screenwriter out of his self-imposed gloominess?’
‘Oh, you have no idea the shit I’ve had to do to grease the wheels of progress. But that’s a story for another time,’ I say, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Should we head off?’ he asks, checking his watch.
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s gone half-eight.’
‘Ugh, I am such a lightweight,’ I say, throwing my head back and staring up at the sky. ‘Huh,’ I say, ‘look.’
Nick looks up and I study the contours of his handsome face.
‘Oh, wow,’ he says, ‘a full moon. No wonder it’s so bright out here. It’s gorgeous.’
You’re gorgeous, I think, marvelling at him marvelling at the moon. Geez, I really need to stop that. And then it hits me – all these out-of-character shenanigans… not my fault. It’s the full moon.
‘As if,’ I say to myself.
‘What was that?’ Nick asks, lowering his eyes to mine.
‘Nothing,’ I say with a wave. ‘I was blaming the full moon for all the weird shit that’s been happening.’
I purposefully avoid naming the weird shit, because at the top of the list is my crush on Nick that seems to be growing by the hour. Pretty soon, it’ll be so big, I’ll have to give it a name.
He throws me a faux side-eye. ‘Do you really believe in all that?’
‘Hell no,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Too pragmatic.’
This is only partly true. I am a pragmatist when it comes to logistics and schedules – essentially work stuff – but there’s a lot about life that can’t be explained. Like the many coincidences that have led to tonight.
Nick sniggers, staring at me for so long, I worry I have food on my face. I wipe around my mouth, just in case, right as our waiter appears.
‘Caffè? Digestivo?’ he asks as he clears our dessert plates. I look longingly at the flourless chocolate and almond cake that I barely touched.
‘No, grazie,’ I say.
‘Sì, per favore,’ Nick replies at the same time.
The waiter looks between us, Nick’s dessert plate – scraped clean – suspended in the air.
‘Oh, what the hell,’ I say with a roll of my eyes. ‘Sì, per favore,’ I tell the waiter.
‘Ma certo,’ he replies with a warm smile, then leaves us.
‘I thought you were full,’ Nick says, his mouth in a lopsided smirk.
‘But I should try it,’ I retort, sliding the menu nearer to take another look. ‘Nocino – never heard of it.’
‘It’s a walnut liqueur,’ says Nick.
‘How are you so smart about everything?’ I ask.
Hearty laughter shakes his entire body. ‘Please can I bring you home to meet my family? You can be my one-woman PR team.’
‘Dor—’ I stop before I call him a dork for the millionth time. I really need to expand my vocabulary. I’m also trying not to dwell on the whole home-to-meet-my-family thing.
‘What about your family?’ he asks, focusing the spotlight on me.
‘What would you like to know?’ I lob back.
‘Brothers? Sisters? Are your parents still together?’
‘No siblings. And, yes, my moms are still together.’
He blinks, clearly taken aback.
‘You didn’t expect that, did you?’
‘No – and I’m sorry for being— I’m sorry.’
Our waiter returns with espressos and small tulip-shaped glasses filled with dark liqueur, and we pause our conversation.
As soon as he leaves, Nick downs his espresso like he’s doing shots at the bar, but I push mine away.
If I drink it, I’ll be tired and wired – and in my experience, that’s a shitty combo.
‘So…’ I say before taking a tiny sip of the liqueur. ‘Holy shit, that’s good.’ I take another sip and smack my lips. ‘So, anyway – you want to know about my family.’
‘Well, they must be proud of you?’ He frames it as a question but it’s more of an assumption.
‘Yeah, sure, they are in their own way. I mean, they couldn’t give two shits about Hollywood or moviemaking – no, hang on, that came out wrong.
They like movies and they like that I make movies, but they’re not, like, impressed.
They both grew up in LA, and there’s this kind of low-level ambivalence about it all. ’
‘So, they’re in the film industry too?’
‘Hah! No. Mom’s an accountant for a big firm in DTLA. And Mama – she’s the one who was pregnant with me – she teaches elementary school – fifth grade.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Or just a normal, middle-class Californian family,’ I reply, raising my brows at him.
‘Fair,’ he replies with a self-rebuking smile.
He sips his liqueur, turning to face the view. When he licks his lips, a warm sensation blooms deep in my belly. I want to be his bottom lip so badly right now. He puts down the glass, which looks tiny in his big, strong hands – even more so when his forefinger and thumb run up and down the stem.
First I wanted to be a lip and now I want to be a glass – I’m the moron.
‘Sorry,’ he says, smiling at me, ‘we were talking about you – and your family.’
‘Eh,’ I say, smothering another yawn, ‘I might be all talked out for tonight – and I need to pee,’ I add, unexpectedly overcome with the urge. ‘Mind if I…?’ I ask, getting up.
‘No, of course not. I’ll ask about the bill.’
I’m about to walk off, but I hang back. ‘Whatever True North doesn’t cover, we’re going Dutch, okay?’
‘Sure.’
I narrow my eyes at him.
‘Dutch,’ he reiterates, and only when I’m sure he won’t try and pay the cheque himself, I go and find the bathroom.
While I’m washing my hands, simultaneously checking my reflection for wayward smudges of chocolate, my phone rings inside my purse. Ugh, it’s Nicholas. I take it out and stare at it, paralysed, as it rings four more times, then goes to voicemail.
Am I a bad girlfriend for not wanting to talk to him? Or a pissed-off girlfriend who’s too tipsy to deal with her annoying boyfriend right now?
‘Let’s say the latter,’ I tell myself unconvincingly.
A toilet flushes behind me and an attractive middle-aged woman comes out of the stall. I smile at her in the mirror as she washes her hands, hoping she didn’t catch me talking to myself.
‘Are you enjoying your dinner?’ she asks in a southern accent. I’m not great with accents, but I’d guess Georgia or maybe one of the Carolinas.
‘For sure,’ I reply. ‘We’ve just finished – four courses, each one incredible.’
‘I saw you and your husband out on the terrace,’ she says, making a huge leap. I don’t bother correcting her. Which I’ll revisit later – or maybe never.
I give her a smile, then slick on some lip gloss. I don’t want to leave just yet – she seems nice and I’m happy to talk to her. I also want to play Nicholas’ message.
‘So, who are you here with?’ I ask.
Growing up with two moms, it’s ingrained in me not to assume – like she did.
‘My husband,’ she says, breaking into a huge grin. ‘It’s our thirtieth-fifth wedding anniversary.’
‘Oh, wow, congratulations.’
‘Aww, thank you, honey. Capri was number one on my bucket list, and Marcus surprised me with this trip only last week. And we were so lucky with the timing – a day later and we wouldn’t have made it before everything shut down.’
‘We were lucky too,’ I agree.
‘Oops, forgive me – where are my manners?’ she asks, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Cherie.’
‘I’m Delaney,’ I reply, shaking it.
‘Oh, what a pretty name.’
‘Thanks – it’s a family name,’ I say, not wanting to explain that it was Mama’s last name before she took Mom’s. They’re legally married now – I was the maid of honour – but back in the 90s, when Mama was pregnant with me, they did the official name-change thing at the courthouse.
‘Delaney,’ she says with a tip of her head – and it’s only now that I detect she’s a little tipsy too, ‘would you and your husband care to join us for an after-dinner drink? We can raise a glass to Capri.’
‘He’s getting the cheque, but I’ll ask him. Just need to listen to my messages first,’ I say, holding up my phone.
‘Okay, honey,’ she says with a wink. ‘See you out there.’
She leaves, and I decide I would like to have a celebratory drink with Cherie and Marcus (if Nick does too), but first I want to hear what Nicholas has to say. I tap play.
‘Hiya, it’s me. I’ve been thinking… How about when flights resume, you come visit me in London?
I figure you won’t have a lot of time – you’ll have to jet off to somewhere exotic a day or two later, like always – but I do miss you and it would be nice to see you.
All right, let me know. Bye for n— Oh, sorry – meant to say that the bride-to-be…
turns out she’s a really nice girl. We chatted earlier and she asked me to join her and her family for dinner.
So don’t worry about me on my last night in Iceland.
I’m not a total Nigel No-Mates. All right, bye! ’
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I look like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween when Michael Myers is on approach, butcher’s knife poised to kill.
What the actual fuck?
The low-level anger I’ve been lugging around for months ratchets up a thousand notches and now I’m super pissed.
Why always his turf and never mine? Why isn’t he offering to fly to LA?
And what did he mean by I do miss you? – like it’s a surprise to him.
And nice to see me? Nice? What the hell’s that about?
I stare so intently at my reflection, I could summon a demon from the other side of the mirror. Great, now I’m mixing my horror-movie metaphors.
And why’s he getting chummy with Pippa? Or more to the point, why does that bother me? Especially when I’m fantasising about Nick throwing me over his shoulder, taking me to the hotel, and having his way with me. That’s way worse than Nicholas having dinner with Pippa and her family.
‘Get your shit together, woman,’ I tell myself. ‘Geez!’
Then I go back out to the restaurant to find Nick. We’re celebrating the thirty-fifth wedding anniversary of Marcus and Cherie from frigging Georgia. Or one of the Carolinas – whatever!