8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Delilah
I ’ve made plenty of debatable choices in my life.
There’s that time I let Faye convince me to play the chubby bunny challenge, and because I felt bad wasting the candy, I ended up throwing up intermittently for hours, which also led to not being able to so much as look at a marshmallow without feeling queasy; or that time, around three years ago now, that I went out during a full moon and found myself bitten by a werewolf. I could have stayed home and rewatched The Goonies . I could have baked a batch of those lavender cupcakes I used to make with mom. Instead, I put on a dress I loved, and when I felt like someone might have been watching Faye and I, I shook the feeling away .
But going back to the present moment, I have to say that waltzing toward Cedric’s hotel easily makes puking marshmallows seem like child’s play.
It’s a small–tiny–consolation, that I didn’t have to make it worse by snooping for information about his whereabouts, given there is a single hotel in Fern Port. Why we have a hotel in the first place is a mystery I doubt I’ll ever solve.
The square is busy for the food festival, the familiar bustling and happy chatter settling my nerves.
The truth is, I don’t know why I’m going to him. It’s not that I owe him an explanation for barely saying goodbye earlier today, and Faye would say I’m being too considerate. I guess the real issue is—why couldn’t I wait until tomorrow to see him again?
It’s hard to explain, and probably a bit ridiculous, given it’s not been that long since he’s left the shop. But for some reason, while hanging my apron and closing up, I knew that I would have been restless all evening and night if I hadn’t gone to see him.
Besides, I wouldn’t like to spend my time alone in a place where I had no friends. But Cedric is not exactly the most amiable person, despite how willing he’s been to help me, is he? Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed he’d want to–
With some reflexes I rarely possess, I catch myself before I crash face-first into someone.
“Delilah?”
I freeze, clutching my purse strap.
When I look up, Cedric’s eyes are on me, deep and rich.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” I chuckle.
The corner of his mouth suggests a smile, but I’m either too eager to see it or just plain delusional.
“What are you doing here? ”
Here–outside his hotel, that is. Lost in my thoughts, I must have not even noticed how close I already was, or how quickly I’d been walking. The urge to shamelessly lie is vicious, but because shame is something I know all too well, I decide against it.
“I was thinking, and by the way, feel free to say it’s not a good idea, that maybe we could grab dinner?”
His expression changes swiftly, eyebrows creasing. What a scarce minute ago had been mild surprise, now looks like…confusion?
“I didn’t mean to impose.”
“Are you asking me out, Delilah?”
Oh, damn. Am I? Surely not. I would know if I were. I mean, I obviously did ask him to spend time together, have dinner, but it’s not…not like a date. It’s ridiculous. I realize he’s waiting for an answer, his eyes searching my face, which must have gone vacant like a fish’s.
I clear my throat, toying with the lid of my purse. “What does it mean to ‘ask someone out’ in England? I mean, is it code for something else, because if it is, then I was definitely not propositioning you.”
This is not going well. Why don’t I ever mind my own business? If only Faye were here to get me out of the situation with one of her infamous distractions.
I risk another glance into Cedric’s eyes, and he blinks at me. He’s either messing with me or I am a terrible people-reader. After what feels like eternity, he casually puts one hand in his pocket, the other coming to rest lightly on top of my fidgeting fingers. Something blinding and electric courses through me at the light touch.
“It’s a bit early for dinner,” he says, his expression now unreadable .
I look at him expectantly, not trusting myself not to spit more nonsense.
“How about I stop by yours at eight?” he adds.
My eyes widen, surprise taking over my face. Though he could have a million reasons for saying yes, there’s nothing but seriousness in the intense look he’s giving me.
“Alright,” I say as he removes his fingers from my own, the loss of his touch striking me unexpectedly. “Do you need to write down my address?”
“I should remember, but you should probably give me your number. In case I forget.”
Well played , I think, a smile tucking my cheek. His casual confidence, even more than attractive, is baffling.
I tap my number into his shiny black phone, then quickly explain to him he can follow the path to the cottage. I awkwardly wave goodbye, my mind already sorting through my closet for a possible outfit idea. As I turn around to leave, he calls my name.
“Don’t stress about the clothes,” he says.
I let out a small breath of wonder and smile privately as I make my way back home.
Cedric
I don’t know what is going through this girl’s mind, but I know what’s going through mine.
And that’s bad enough.
I take a deep breath as I get out of my tiny hotel shower, wrapping a towel around my middle. I pass a hand across the fogged-up mirror and take a good look at myself .
“It’s not a date, you dimwit,” I tell my reflection. “Why the hell are you nervous?”
Because the queasy feeling in my stomach can be nothing but nerves–and yes, anticipation. I have just met Delilah, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something… special, about her. Different. In a way I am entirely too eager to discover.
I dry my hair quickly, though the power on the built-in hair dryer is barely enough to do a good job. Walking up to the wardrobe, I sort through the clothes I’ve hung, perfectly pressed suits in various shades of white to blue and the occasional pop of color. The one thing I actually enjoy about my line of work is that I get to wear these, but I don’t want Delilah to see me and think we’re having a business meeting–though if there’s anything Joe tried teaching me, it’s that everything in life is.
But maybe, after I’m done here, it won’t have to be that way anymore. Before I can linger on an all too vivid, impossible image of holding Delilah’s hands as we walk down a cobblestone path, I open one of the two drawers and look through my shirts until I’ve found the one.
I select a pair of midnight blue pants halfway between elegant and casual; the perfect compromise, and my favorite pair. I wasn’t sure whether to pack them while I was getting ready to leave for Fern Port, but now I’m glad I did.
Once I’m fully dressed, I swipe my wallet and phone, and with one more breath, I make my way downstairs.
The reception desk is pointedly vacant, the pale young man that greeted me enthusiastically upon my arrival probably bored out of his mind and occupying his time elsewhere, given I’m the only guest here as far as I could tell. I press my hands to the thick wooden door, a pleasant, warm sort of breeze hitting my skin as I step outside .
I glance at my watch and, ascertained I’m fairly early on our designated time, I don’t rush.
I follow the narrow road that leads to the main square, illuminated by the dim yellow lights on a few lampposts. As soon as I’m back there, the bustling and deep laughs of the citizens of Fern Port explode, as if there’d been an invisible sound barrier. The familiar smell of roasted chestnuts mixed with something spicier, perhaps cloves or some similar herb they grow here, hits me first, my heart thudding louder in response. I wonder how they’re able to harvest them during this time of the year, but decide not to break my brain trying to figure it out. Some of the various stalls are still in mid-construction, though I can tell they will still look spartan in the end; the signs hand-painted, the wood panels rough. I suppose they’re charming, in a way only towns like these somehow manage to be. It’s a completely different kind of noise from Cambridge’s, less chaotic, all about warmth. It’s easy to identify which one I prefer. Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice the two women that all but jump in front of me, startlingly similar, if it wasn’t for the opposite shades of their clothes, one electric blue, the other deep red.
“Hello, handsome,” the blue one says, eyelashes batting at one hundred kilometers per hour.
“You look hungry,” the red one says, and did she elbow the other in the gut?
“Have some cheese,” the blue one wheezes, one hand rising to offer me a cube of provolone stabbed on a toothpick.
“Esther, Elaine,” another female voice says as she emerges from between the two younger women.
“I’m Marise Sawyer, mayor of Fern Port. And you must be our far-from-home guest. ”
Something strikes me about the way she says that, but I will have time to dwell on it later. I offer my hand to shake, which she slowly takes in her own, her grip surprisingly strong.
“Cedric Campbell, ma’am.”
“Right,” she smiles, though it hardly reaches her eyes. “I trust you have been enjoying your time here? Overzealous greetings aside,” she adds, pointedly looking at the two girls who are unsuccessfully pretending not to be eavesdropping.
“Fern Port is… unique,” I say as diplomatically as possible. “Now, if you’ll excuse me–”
“I will excuse you in a minute,” she interjects, her pleasant tone in contrast with her stiff posture. “There are four hundred and fourteen people in this town, you see, and I am responsible for every one of them. Delilah Anders included.”
I would normally quip back easily, but I’m too struck by how she has so keenly noticed I’ve been spending time with Delilah. Why else would she bring her up?
“Forgive me, mayor, but I’m not sure how this… fact , concerns me.”
She looks around us, apparently not worried about the twins hearing this conversation, but careful no one else does. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t you? I’d suggest you worry about that, rather than nice, impressionable young women.”
Her insinuations make something angry spark in my chest, and I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. How dare she make such assumptions about me? I plaster on a good-natured smile, opting not to give in to her bad faith.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I’m fairly sure what I do outside of my job is none of your business.”
She grimaces at that, the expression somehow promising danger .
“Consider this friendly advice, then. Fern Port will always welcome those who need it–though we don’t want anyone getting hurt in the process. Have a good evening.”
She walks past me, the twins after her like a couple of ducklings. I should be the bigger person and let this go, but that surely wasn’t a friendly chat. Was she threatening me? I turn around to ask her as much, but she’s disappeared somewhere between the stalls and small groups of chattering people.
With another glance at my watch, I realize this merry interaction with the first lady of Fern Port has thrown off my carefully calculated schedule. I’ll have to deal with that at a different time.
I raise my eyes at the darkening sky and fasten my pace to reach Delilah’s.