Chapter 30 Deli
Deli
I’m dead, Deli thought. I’ve died and I’m dead.
Her head was throbbing. She rubbed her eyes and cursed as the skin on her forehead tugged painfully. A knock on the door bounced around the inside of her skull, and she glanced at the window. It wasn’t even light outside.
“What?” Deli whined.
Aunt Mo opened the door slowly and poked her face into the slit. “Good morning, Sunshine. You’ve got to be dressed for a day of farming.” Deli stared at her blankly. “Some of the sexiest men in Scotland are wandering shepherds. You deserve to have a little fun. And Lachlan’s on his way.”
Deli shot up and instantly regretted changing the location of her brain that quickly. “Can I cancel?”
“Cancel on Cairn?” Aunt Mo’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “Not if you want them to find your body.”
She flopped back onto the bed and pressed the pillow over her face.
Aunt Mo flipped on the lights. “I made breakfast. You can do it.”
Deli had no idea what was going on. She hauled herself off the bed and sucked air through her teeth as her limped into the kitchen with, apparently, an ankle injury. “How can I help, Aunt Mo?”
Aunt Mo spun, spatula in hand. “You can’t.”
Deli hobbled determinedly to the stove. “Can I chop something? Set the table? Wow, that smells good.” She plucked a wooden spoon from the milk jug on the counter.
Aunt Mo slapped it with her spatula-turned-sparring-weapon. “Away with you, girl! Let me feed you.”
Deli’s eye twitched. “I want to help.”
“Tough nuggies, kid.”
“Can I make you a cup of tea?” Deli asked.
“Kettle’s already been on.”
“Can I pour you a—”
Aunt Mo produced a steaming mug from the counter behind her and sipped, raising her eyebrows. Deli let out a frustrated huff. Aunt Mo extended a second steaming mug.
Deli snatched it and splashed a bit of tea on the floor.
“Shit, sorry, I’ll get a—”
A squeaking sound cut her off as Aunt Mo’s slippered toes moved back and forth over the spot.
Deli felt very itchy.
“Breakfast will be ready in five.” Aunt Mo went back to her cooking. “You need to be ready in twenty.”
She turned on her heel and stalked back to her bedroom feeling petulant. Aunt Mo was racking up a long list of favors Deli owed. The sooner she could wipe the slate, the less likely Aunt Mo would be to think Deli was a crappy person.
She threw on clothes and shuffled to the mirror, and her jaw fell open. There was a small cut on her forehead surrounded by an angry purplish halo.
“Aunt Mo?” She squinted and dabbed tinted SPF onto the angry mound. “What happened to my face? I look like—”
Deli opened the bathroom door and promptly froze. Lachlan was there, looking down at her—six foot something, fresh faced, and wearing a bright yellow apron tied around his waist that said Bada Bing.
“I believe—” he said, holding out a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. She took them without speaking. “—you lost a fight with a sink.”
The night came rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The drinks, the talent show, the warmth and laughter, and the proposal. The game. Blair’s face when Lachlan came to the table. Deli’s embarrassing admission about her reason for being there. The tears she’d cursed alone in the bathroom mirror.
Then the fall. Lachlan, pressing his sleeve to her forehead, his golden eyes searching hers in worry. Her stomach folded with fluttering. No, queasiness.
She just needed grease.
She made a pfft sound. “I totally won that fight.”
Lachlan mocked her with a smirk. “The sink didn’t need me to carry it home.”
God, he had carried her across the actual threshold—full damsel in distress style. Deli’s chest flushed red under her sweater.
“If I recall, you insisted on picking me up.”
“I insisted on not having to drive you to the nearest hospital with a broken yankle.”
“Yankle?”
“Yankle.”
“Are you having a stroke?”
“Yankee ankle!” Mo piped up over the sizzling. “And breakfast is ready!”
Lachlan pointed at Mo and grinned, triumphant.
“Oh, good one,” Deli murmured, and she tried to barrel by him with visible conviction, but his hand found her back as he shifted to make room.
She could feel the tips of his fingers where they brushed against her like they were burning.
For a second, she was back in his arms under the stars, feeling weightless.
His eyes—like malted mercury glass—searching hers.
Deli had never felt that way—like she could put her whole weight onto someone and trust them to hold her up. Her heartbeat quickened.
It all called for a sausage and some quiet.
Lachlan pulled his hands back and held them up, palms open. He looked timid. “Sorry.”
Deli didn’t trust Lachlan—so cold one minute, so concerned the next. She limped past him, eyes narrowed. “Mo, can I help you?”
“For god’s sake, Deli, sit your ass down before I slap you with a pork link.”
Deli sat reluctantly. She tapped her chipped black fingernails against the wood, looking anywhere but at Lachlan.
“Mo, why don’t you sit and I’ll serve?” Lachlan said.
Aunt Mo glared, gesturing at his body with her spatula. “I only let you set the table because you agreed to put on the apron. Don’t push it.”
“Shite apron,” he mumbled, reaching for the tie behind his back.
Aunt Mo set heaping plates of steaming food in front of them. “Full Scottish.”
“Thank you,” Lachlan and Deli said in unison. Their eyes met, and Deli remembered to glare. His stare changed as he dropped the innocent act.
Aunt Mo placed a basket in the center of the table. “Blair’s bread, Cairn’s butter.”
“Blair bakes?” Deli’s mouth watered at the smell.
“Like an angel.” Aunt Mo settled down with her plate. Whatever catchphrase was on her apron was swallowed up between her chest and belly.
“And Carn—”
“Cairn,” Lachlan corrected.
“Caaiirrnn,” she overpronounced, “. . . butters?”
Aunt Mo spooned beans and egg onto her toast. “Cairn is a man of many mysteries. And Douglas’s brother.”
Deli’s brows shot up. “My god, there’s two of them?”
Aunt Mo stabbed a mushroom. “Very different people, but brothers nonetheless.”
Lachlan sliced a thick slab of bacon with a little too much gusto. He was back to being moodier than a Midwestern teen with a drum set and daddy issues, just like Deli had predicted.
She shoved a bite of baked tomato and poached egg into her mouth and fought the eye roll from the supreme tastiness. “Ohfmygrrd thrsgurd,” she snarfed. Lachlan stared and shook his head. Deli smiled and hoped that there was so much pepper in her teeth.
“Deli, go get your boots on, and be nice to Lachlan. He’s taking the time to be an accomplice in our quest.” Aunt Mo slid Deli’s plate away as she chased her last bite with her fork. “And, Lachlan?” He froze, eyes trained on the table. “Do not abandon my niece in the wild.”
“She’d be with Cairn,” he mumbled.
She snatched away his plate as he toyed with a sausage bit. “Exactly.”
As if on cue, Deli and Lachlan both announced, “I’ll do the dishes!”
Aunt Mo rounded on them. “If you two dinguses don’t learn to let somebody love you, I’ll kill you both! Now, get out of my house.”
Turned out, Aunt Mo’s apron said That’s Showbiz, Baby!
Lachlan stomped to the door and shrugged on his jacket. “I’ll wait outside.”
Deli still had no idea what was happening or why. “Um, Aunt Mo? What exactly am I going to a farm for, again?”
For a second, Deli thought her aunt was looking at her with .
. . pity? Then Aunt Mo smiled a puckish smile.
“Douggie was right, Deli. Men love a little competition, and there are plenty of boys just like that Hamish who’d love to take you out on the town.
” She hesitated at Deli’s face, and her smile softened.
“Hey, pal. You’re allowed to have a little fun.
It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love. ”
“I’m in love with Trey,” she said.
“I know. But I am going to be in planning mode all day, and what else are you gonna do? Peevie doesn’t need any more flower crowns.”
Deli thought to protest, but Aunt Mo was right. Maybe a random farm adventure would get her mind off everything while she waited for time to do its work. She tied her boot as tightly as she could stand. “Okay, I’m off.”
“Take my jacket,” Aunt Mo said. “It will be freezing.”
“I’ll be fi—”
“Delilah MacDonald, what did I just say about being a dingus?”
The prickle that crawled over Deli’s skin as she pulled the leather jacket from its peg didn’t feel angry, but it didn’t feel good. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, buddy. I hope you get to ride a sheep with a lover into the sunset!”
Deli sighed and climbed into the beat-up Defender, once again alone and at Lachlan’s mercy.