Page 29 of The Edge of Summer
“Oh,shoot. I just can’t seem to…” Carole blows out a frustrated breath. Then she rounds on the only other adult in the building. “Delilah, would you be a dear and take the chief’s photo for me? I want to put it on the Facebook.”
When I allow myself to look at her, I find Delilah trying to suppress a grin. Her teeth snag her bottom lip as the edges of a smile curve her pretty mouth.
“Sure, Carole,” she manages to say, despite the blatant laughter in her eyes.
She sets her purse on the front counter and then takes the device from Carole’s hand. I shift from foot to foot, increasingly more uncomfortable as she studies the screen to line up the shot.
“How do you want me?” I ask.
Delilah’s head shoots up, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say that her gaze heats at my words. “Just like that,” she says. Then, “You gonna smile for me, Chief?”
I raise a brow. “Just take the damn picture, Shutterbug.”
I’m not sure where that nickname came from, and the surprise on Delilah’s face is likely mirrored on my own. Still, she snaps a few pictures and then hands the phone back to Carole. Carole—the woman with a shit-eating grin on her face.
“Thank you so much, Chickadee,” she says to Delilah. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Delilah points to the phone. “When you post that, don’t forget to tag our beloved chief over there. We wouldn’t want him to miss it.”
I roll my eyes. Delilah’s grin only stretches in response. She has a beautiful smile. It makes her eyes turn more blue than grey. Like the ocean, changing with the tide.
And on that note, I need to get out of here before she fully sweeps me away. Because with each passing minute of distraction, my control crumbles. I avert my eyes and say goodbye to Carole before pushing out the front door.
I don’t look back.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
DELILAH
Without really meaning to,I stumble into a comfortable routine in the weeks following our arrival on the island. May bleeds into June, and with every day that passes, it begins to feel more like home here. Being surrounded by people that don’t know the old me is refreshing. I don’t have to pretend not to see the barely-contained pity in strangers’ eyes.
I’ve also taken to spending my lunch breaks down on the beach. The water lapping at the shore mixed with the call of seagulls and the shouts of children down the sand have become my soundtrack as I let the fresh air invade my lungs.
Beside me, resting on my apron, my phone begins to ring. When I notice the Vancouver area code, I debate not answering. So far, my life back home hasn’t followed me here, and I’d really like to keep it that way. I used to get regular messages from my ex, but even those have seemingly stopped. Just as the call is about to drop, my curiosity wins out and I accept.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Delilah?”
“It is,” I say carefully. “Who is this?”
“My name is Tanya. My partner and I bought your family’s home,” the woman says. “I got your number from one of the neighbours. Sorry to cold call you like this, but I finally got around to sorting out the office today and I found something in the desk that I think might belong to you.”
I swallow. “That was my father’s office. It’s probably just work stuff.”
I should know—I was honoured with the painstaking task of clearing it all away. If it was up to me, I would have chucked the whole lot. None of it mattered anymore. But there were some important documents that Dad’s assistant took off my hands.
“This doesn’t seem like work. It was stuck to the top of one of the drawers, so it would’ve been easy to miss. But it looks like it’s a letter addressed to you from your father.”
My mouth goes dry. “What does it say?”
“When I realized how personal it was, I stopped reading,” she says. “I’d be happy to mail it to you so you can see for yourself.”
“Be honest,” I say. “Do I want to read it?”
I wait with bated breath. I’m not sure which answer I would prefer. I just need someone to tell me what to do. I’ve been making it up as I go for months and I’m tired of second-guessing myself. What if she says that I don’t want to read it? Does that mean that he didn’t forgive me for what happened with Mitchell?
