4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Delilah
T he rest of the day is uneventful, though it’s safe to say the morning was eventful enough to last me for a while.
After Myrta leaves, I am left to recall how easily and efficiently Cedric got rid of Dean. How his elegant yet strong hands offered to help me up, and how I wanted to take them, feel the texture of his palms–
Ah, Lila. Seriously, don’t do this to yourself. I shake my head to dispel the thoughts I shouldn’t be having, and I check my list to make sure I’ve taken care of all the plants. Satisfied, I hang my trustworthy green-and-cream striped apron and turn off the lights so I can close up.
As I turn the key in the locket, my ears prickle with the sudden feeling someone is about to approach .
“What do you have a phone for if you never bother to look at it?” Faye asks, her black hair swaying in the light evening breeze.
Thank the stars, it’s her. I don’t think I could have handled any more masculine energy today. And there I go, thinking about Cedric and his silly–
“... the best,” I hear Faye say.
“Sorry,” I grimace, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. “What did you say?”
Faye narrows her eyes as we walk the main square.
“You’re distracted,” she says.
“It’s just been a wacky day, I promise. I’m sure a bubbly drink will lift my spirits.”
Faye makes a distrustful humming sound, and I do my best to momentarily forget about my troubles as we push the doors to Darla’s Diner open.
It’s always been our go-to spot; also, the only spot.
“Girls!” Darla herself calls, balancing a tray as if it were a feather, colorful liquid sloshing precariously from a dozen glasses. “The usual?”
“You got it,” Faye says, shooting her finger guns. And she has the nerve to call me dorky.
“Have you ever seen this place packed at six in the afternoon on a Tuesday?” I ask as Faye walks purposefully toward our favorite table.
“It must be the buzz about the market making people want to leave the comforts of their h–ah, crap.”
“What?” I call as a stray cork collides against my shoe.
“Our table’s taken,” Faye groans.
“We can probably find another one–”
“I’m asking them to leave.”
“Faye, that’s rude! It’s not like we have a reserv–”
I’m cut short when I see the person sitting at our table, his back to us, a navy blazer draped on the back of the chair.
“Hello again,” Cedric says as he turns, forearm propped on the seatback. “Who’s your friend?”
Cedric
The frowning dark-haired girl raises an unimpressed brow at me as she crosses her arms over her chest, a tote bag with a Dracula poster print moving with her arm.
“I’m Faye. And that’s our table,” she says briskly. “Do you know this guy?” she turns to Delilah, apparently uninterested in my reply.
“Hmm,” I say, making sure to check under the table for a fallen note, my fingers skating across the surface. “It doesn’t say so.”
“Then you’re lucky I’m here to–”
“We can find another table,” Delilah cuts in, closing the short distance between them by pulling on Faye’s arm.
“This is our table,” Faye whispers loudly, and as they turn to leave, I hastily stand up, nearly knocking my drink to the ground.
“It’s no bother,” I call behind them. I might not have learned manners from my father, but even if for a short while, I was lucky to have another parent who wanted to make sure I treated women right. Delilah looks somewhat panicked, but Faye regards me, her mouth quirking to the side.
“Sure! Why don’t we join you?”
“Faye,” Delilah hisses, but now it’s her who’s being dragged toward me .
I incline my head and remove my jacket from the back of the chair.
They sit down, Faye with an odd combination of a toothy smile and dangerous eyebrows, Delilah with an ill-concealed sigh and hands resting in her lap. I know I said I shouldn’t be looking for distractions, but I swear, the more I look at Delilah, the more I wonder if her skin is as soft as it looks.
“I’m Cedric,” I say, offering Faye my hand. “I’ll be working in close contact with Delilah for a while.”
“You’ll be what?” Delilah stumbles on the last word, a faint blush coloring her cheekbones. Her distress should not cause me any pleasure–in fact, I do feel a little bad, but I can’t help it. I’ve known her for ten hours, and yet I already find myself eager for every little reaction I can draw out of her.
“Lila, you didn’t tell me you had a new colleague,” Faye says as a green-haired waiter approaches with two drinks entirely too colorful to be edible.
“My ladies,” the waiter says, gaze lingering on Delilah for a second too long to be casual.
They greet him as he places the glasses on the table, and I learn his name is Ronnie.
“Can you get me a refill, Ronnie?” I ask, offering my glass.
He reluctantly takes his eyes off her, and though I can tell he wants to say something, the look I give him is enough to make him skitter away anyway.
“We are not colleagues,” Delilah says then, eyes darting to me before her lips wrap around the striped straw, her throat bobbing as she gulps down the bright purple liquid. I look away, clearing my throat.
Come on, Ced. Be good.
“He’s here for some plant-related business Myrta’s being real secretive about. ”
“Oh, do tell. Feel free to be specific,” Faye says shamelessly. I have to admit, I appreciate the honesty. I can see the benefits of having a friend like that. Delilah opens her mouth to chide her, but then seems to think better about it.
“It’s a fine town,” I say mildly.
Delilah raises one eyebrow, and I mirror the gesture. I’m not supposed to tell her anything. Her own boss didn’t even warn her of my arrival, which means every part of the deal will be kept under wraps, at least for the time being.
“I was sent here by my–by the trading company I work for,” I amend, clearing my throat. “We want to partake in Fern Port’s resources.”
Faye and Delilah share a heavy glance, as if I weren’t right in front of them.
“Are you talking telepathically?” I ask as the woman I assume is the owner of the pub walks up to us, my refilled drink in hand.
“Here you go, doll,” she tells me. “Everything alright, girls? I didn’t know this gentleman was a friend of yours,” she adds, sounding both suspicious and intrigued.
“He’s not, Darla,” Delilah says, composed. “We met at Myrta’s this morning. He says he’ll distribute some of our plants in–where are you from, exactly?”
“Cambridge. The English one.” I can tell Faye is scrutinizing me up to my last inch of hair.
“Well, sir, if you need a tour of the town, I’m sure any of my fellow citizens will be glad to help,” Darla says.
I’m twenty-nine , I think to myself, exasperated before thanking her. I sigh as Darla walks off to other awaiting customers .
I take a sip of my non-alcoholic mojito, and if I notice Delilah’s expecting, focused gaze shifting to me, I force myself not to bristle.
“It doesn’t sound like Myrta, associating herself with some rando,” Faye says, lips pursed.
“It wasn’t my call to make,” I ignore the jab, putting it vaguely.
“Faye, would you mind ordering me some chips?” Delilah says then.
“Darla was here four seconds ago.”
Delilah’s eyes widen pointedly at her friend. It must be some signal between them, as Faye still doesn’t seem too happy to comply, but grunts in acknowledgement, heading toward the counter–though not before giving me what could be described as nothing less than a warning look.
Something tells me that she wouldn’t think twice about stabbing me in the thigh, should the situation call for it. I’m tethering between annoyed and impressed that I met her ten minutes ago, and I’ve already managed to piss Delilah’s friend off.
Delilah scoots to the chair next to mine, something smoldering in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and I am sure right here and now, aware of how dangerous the mere thought is, that I would let her do anything to me.
Absolutely anything.
“Look,” she whispers, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and I’m all but helpless to track the movement. “I know that we don’t know each other and you don’t owe me anything, but…Will you tell me the truth?”
“Yes,” I say instantly, though it will have to depend on the question. Blame it on the atmosphere and her proximity, but I don’t think I could bring myself to deny her anything .
“You’re not using the plants business to cover how you’re going to bring here a bunch of investors who want to turn Fern Port into some tourist trap, are you?”
Well, that is not what I expected. “That is a very specific scenario.”
Delilah raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Like I said, we don’t get a lot of visitors, especially not that look like you.”
“What do I look like?” I ask, leaning slightly forward. Entranced by this curious, beautiful girl.
She blinks twice, her lips parted. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Not actively, no.”
Something twinkles in her eyes at that, and I could swear she seems relieved.
“To answer your first question, also no, that’s definitely not what I plan to do. I–we need something from Fern Port, as I said. Once that deal is done, no funny business. I’ll be out of your hair sooner than you think.”