10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Cedric
A s we leave the pub, Delilah is still mumbling about how I shouldn’t have paid for her meal. In truth, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy to do it.
I look up at the star-littered sky, hyper-aware of Delilah walking beside me. Even if I could somehow manage to get this girl to like me, which is off the table as it is, Marcus needs me to be smart. The very idea of dropping every single thing I’ve ever pretended mattered to me in Cambridge and going somewhere else, even somewhere Delilah isn’t, is as impossible as it is thrilling.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Delilah asks.
When I turn to look at her, the words die in my throat. The harsh, bright lights of the pub have been substituted by the warmer, subtle ones of the lampposts; and, as the milky white radiates off the moon and on her skin, the result is nothing short of breathtaking.
“I was thinking,” I start, hands in my pockets and bracing myself for a partial truth, “about my meeting with your mayor earlier.”
“What? Mayor Sawyer talked to you?”
“You say that like it’s odd,” I observe.
“No, it’s just–I guess you could say she’s not…fond of strangers,” she says.
Is that it? Because it seemed that whatever issues she had with me had a lot to do with me personally–and with my acquaintance with Delilah.
“So you don’t have any personal connections to her?”
“Well, she’s a beautiful woman, but she’s not my type.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, looking down at her. “Are you friends? Or related, perhaps?”
Delilah’s expression turns troubled. “Why would you ask that?”
“She was adamant I stayed away from you,” I say casually. No point in withholding this particular piece of information.
To my surprise, Delilah laughs suddenly. If she had any idea what it does to me, she’d be more careful about it.
“She probably thinks you’re some womanizer,” she says, mirth still in her voice, though she seems to regret it as she presses her lips together. I have never known anyone who wears their every emotion so plainly on their face; it’s fascinating, and it makes me like her all the more for it.
“Why would she think that?” I ask, Delilah’s eyes roaming across the square, as if she were looking for something or someone. Let it be anyone except for a boyfriend.
“You know,” she says vaguely.
“I do not. ”
“You look like you ran away from a groom’s fitting,” she says.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s not an insult,” she smiles sheepishly, eyes still fixated on something further along. “I’m sure you carry a few broken hearts in that briefcase of yours.” She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, “ Why don’t I ever shut up ?” and intertwines her fingers in front of her.
“You’d be surprised,” I say, her long hair swishing in the light breeze as she turns to look at me.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she says.
“I know,” I repeat for the second time today. And I do know. I doubt there’s a single malicious bone in her body. But I think that might be enough truth for tonight.
She looks thoughtful as she takes me in, her big eyes flickering across my face in something akin to concern.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re looking for?” I ask then, changing the topic so she doesn’t have to. She shakes her head as she huffs out a small, resigned laugh.
“Come on,” she says, taking off hurriedly, and of course I follow suit, utterly curious as to where we’re headed.
A glance at my watch tells me it’s a little over nine thirty, though the bustling in the town doesn’t look about to wrap up anytime soon. Delilah smiles and says warm hellos to nearly every vendor and person lounging around, their palms curved around cups of–tea?
“It's a special herbal tea made with our white fern,” she says, as if she read my mind.
“That is the most shocking revelation of the night,” I say,
“Ha ha! You wouldn’t be trying to export it if it wasn’t special,” she says as we come to a stop .
At that, a pang of something too close to guilt hits my sternum. I take another look at her, and remind myself I need to stay on track. Not to slip up, to remember exactly why it is that I’m here, or better, who I’m here for. The fact that it doesn’t bring me any joy doesn’t mean I can put honesty before my own blood. I can’t put anything in front of a lifetime of peace–or something like it–for my brother.
“True,” I say.
Something unspoken lingers in the space between us for a few more seconds, though Delilah quickly recovers, or at least pretends to.
“Jaaanek,” she singsongs to the bright red-haired burly man occupied behind his booth. I once again hear the unmistakable crinkle on the embers, the rich smell of roasted chestnut wafting toward me as my eyes nearly water. It’s inextricably linked to one of the few happy memories I have of being little–and naturally, it has nothing to do with my father.
“–get better, they do!” Delilah says happily around a bite, a delicate hand covering her mouth, and I shake the memory away. What the hell is wrong with me? Getting emotional in the middle of the street like a child. She offers me my own carton, the golden chestnuts so glossy they look fake, and I frown at them.
I can’t believe I was so distracted I didn’t notice Delilah paying for them.
“I’m sorry I took advantage of your trance-like state,” she says, not at all sorry. “Now we’re even.”
“You weren’t indebted to me to begin with,” I say as the man–Janek–stares at me expectantly.
“Try them!” he says excitedly, his bushy eyebrows high on his forehead .
I nod politely and pick one perfect chestnut from the bunch. When I pop it in my mouth, I’m seized by the fear I might genuinely cry. Both Janek and Delilah are looking at me, Delilah biting on her own roasted bites of perfection with bright, keen eyes. I’m going to assume she’s only deeply worried my facial expression will betray that I hate the food and upset her friend. I swallow around the last crumble and let the truth easily slip out. “They’re absolutely fantastic.”
Janek’s chest quite literally swells with pride, and Delilah gives him a thumbs up.
“Very good, very good,” he says, an accent that doubtfully makes him a Fern Port native seeping through the words. “Lila, aren’t you cold? You know the night can get chilly,” he adds.
So that makes two people in this town that are, if not protective, interested in Delilah’s wellbeing. It’s difficult not to share the feeling, as little as I may know her, though it’s not difficult to see why.
“I’ll be fine Janek, don’t worry! I’ll see you soon!” she says.
I nod in goodbye at the vendor, and he nods back, though his face is now unreadable enough that I can’t gauge whether it was purely a dismissal or there was some sort of silent warning in the gesture.
At least he didn’t interrogate me about my intentions, which is good.
I can’t be sure what my intentions are when Delilah looks up at me with those eyes .
Delilah
Cedric insisted on walking me home despite the streets being full of people, light, and me knowing every person in town.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said as he accompanied me.
If only he knew I’m the most dangerous thing in a hundred-mile radius. Statistically, how many chances are there for me to be attacked again?
“Can I ask you something else?” I say before I can dwell too much on it.
“Ask away.”
“You had this–I don’t know, wistfulness on your face before, at Janek’s stall. Did I do something that upset you or…?”
He looks at me, eyes dark even in the moonlight.
“I suppose I did a bit of time travel. Memories have the tendency to sneak up on you when you least expect it, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, and though I ache to know more, I still find myself grateful he shared that with me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he offers.
“Sure.”
I don’t know why the insane idea to ask him to come inside popped into my mind, but I’m proud of myself for managing not to blurt it out. He doesn’t look disappointed, either, which is perfect.
“Thank you for your company, Delilah,” he says, eyes lingering on me, pinning me to the spot.
“Don’t mention it,” I smile, hoping not to betray the queasy feeling in my lower stomach at the heat of his stare. I wonder if he does it on purpose or is naturally magnetic to girls with poor self-preservation instincts.
He licks his lips, and with a nod, he turns to leave.
I turn and fish my keys out of my purse, when I hear his voice again.
“Oh, by the way,” he calls. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Uh,” I start, smart as ever. My brain feels like scrambled eggs, and I would love to blame it on the moon, but it’s entirely the deep timbre of Cedric’s voice’s fault.
“I thought you could show me something else around town,” he says with a small shrug.
“I’m sorry, I have a girls night planned with Faye,” I say quickly. My keys are surely leaving a dent in my palm, given how hard I’m gripping them.
“Of course,” he says easily, and the urge to pry his head open and see what’s passing through his brain is extra strong.
“Maybe another day?” I offer.
Something like surprise glints in his eyes when he confirms, “Maybe another day.”
When he leaves and I make my way inside, I can’t shake the feeling that there was something else he wanted to ask. It might be wishful thinking, or worse, he saw right through my lie. There will be no girls night tomorrow, and not because Faye would object.
Tonight was nice–fun, even. So is Cedric, in a quiet, inscrutable way.
And that’s the problem.
Even if tonight wasn’t a date, even if we are not getting to know each other like that, despite what Cedric said, it doesn’t matter. It felt like one. It felt like we were .
I know myself. I know how easily I get attached, and how easily I break my own heart by running toward something I can’t have.
And I can never have Cedric. Not truly, not without guilt or fear, and not without hurting both of us in one way or the other.
I throw my bag on the couch, picking up Blaine as he welcomes me home, and I’m ready for a much-needed cuddling session with the one boy I can always count on.