Chapter 38 Deli
Deli
Deli could only imagine the sight of her—dipped in mud like a soft-serve cone in chocolate, as horrified as she’d ever been as Kevin winked and blew her a kiss behind Lachlan’s back.
“Can ye give me a lift, Lachlan?” Kevin waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll sit with Deli.”
“Erm.” Lachlan’s cheeks flushed as he ran a hand through his auburn hair. It looked like a fire licking to life where the light caught the rouge strands. “I would, but I’ve got to get her back, and—”
“Actually, Deli, Blair has requested your company. Something about needing baking backup?” Graham squeezed Lachlan’s shoulder. “You are free to ferry our wee Kevin home to his mum.”
Deli couldn’t read Lachlan. He’d been—they’d both been—sort of horrible on the drive over.
But then they’d fallen, and Deli watched his eyes change, like the splintered wood of a shipwreck had swallowed up all their wildflower honey.
Part of Lachlan had been right there, scanning her every movement for signs of pain.
But another part of him vanished into that darkness, like something with claws had dragged him away.
Next thing she knew, she was holding his face in her hands.
When Trey had moments of insecurity, Deli stepped in, too. But Trey’s ego was like being in a room with a snarling animal. She had to step between the man she loved and his own anger. If she were any less practiced, that anger would eat her alive. Deli still bore a few scars.
She knew Lachlan wouldn’t have let her battle the prowling thing she’d seen in him for the world. But Deli glimpsed his suffering, and that was enough. She would have braved anything.
Which was, of course, unnerving.
Now he was back to refusing to meet her eye.
“I hope Blair knows I won’t be appearing on Bake Off anytime soon,” Deli said with a smile. She felt a queasiness at the news that she wouldn’t be riding with Lachlan.
Tension radiated off him as he slammed the back closed and braced himself against it with both hands, breathing thick puffs of air into the cold.
Then he rolled his shoulders and stood with a mask of cool indifference.
“Then there’s really no point for you to be there, but I suspect Blair will figure that out on her own.” He glared at his new passenger. “Get your skinny arse in, Kevin.”
Deli took a small step back at the harshness in Lachlan’s tone. She thought of another man on another day—Trey taunting her with a book over her head and burying his face in her neck a moment later—and she curdled. She was tired of paying the price.
Her voice came out coarse. “Right. I forgot you’re the expert on who Blair does and doesn’t need in her life.”
Graham sucked in a small, sudden breath as Lachlan met her eyes from under his brow. Shadow covered most of his face, but in a sliver of cloud-break light, he burned.
Graham unlocked the van. “Time to go, lass.”
Deli stalked away limping.
“Oi, Lachlan,” Graham called. “A word?”
She slammed her door.
Outside, Lachlan crossed his arms over his chest and looked down while Graham spoke.
When Lachlan responded, palms up in a pleading sort of way, Deli thought she saw the words wallflower and The Highlander on his lips.
Graham nodded, then took a breath and said something else.
Lachlan’s posture went rigid. Graham reached to touch him, but Lachlan walked off and left Graham’s hand hovering in dead air.
Graham walked toward her shaking his head. As he reached for the handle, Deli heard him say, “Eejits, the two of yous,” before Lachlan’s truck roared to life and flung mud from the tires.