Page 76 of The Edge of Summer
Something about Delilah makes me want to tell her everything. Lay it all bare. But the risk, if it all went south, is too great. I don’t think I would survive a second time.
When I pull into her driveway behind her car, she shoves open the door and hops out before I can even think of doing it for her. She thanks me for the ride and then goes to shut the door. But she pauses, looks up at me, and says, “I hope you realize one day that you are deserving of love. The right kind of love. One withoutconditions.” She smiles softly. “That’s my wish for you, Luke.”
Then she’s gone. I wait to pull away until I see her unlock her front door and step inside. And then I wait a minute longer just in case.
In another life, I could see myself falling for Delilah. She is undoubtedly a beautiful woman, but that isn’t the only reason why. She shines brighter than everyone else in the room. Every single thing I’ve come to know about her—her sense of humour, her passion, the way she loves her siblings—is another reason why. Another reason why I can’t.
In another life, maybe I could freely admit that I was well and trulyfucked.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
LUKE
July has come and gone,and with it went any remaining hope I had of keeping Delilah at arm’s length. I would say that she’s a friend, but she knows me more intimately than any other friend I’ve ever had. I also don’t make a habit of fucking my friends. No, Delilah defies all descriptions. She’s just…Delilah.
Lines are beginning to blur—if they were even clear-cut to begin with—and I’m not sure I can stop it.
When I enter the kitchen at Haven House for yet another Sunday brunch, I’m surprised to find Delilah at the counter with my parents. Somehow, she has managed to convince Mom to let her help with the food preparation. I place a hand on Delilah’s hip and give it a squeeze in greeting, and then I kiss my mom on the cheek before heading for the table.
Parker is already there, his nose buried in his phone. When I sit down, he doesn’t so much as spare mea glance. He wears his distaste on his sleeve. He isn’t outright rude, but you can tell that he would rather be anywhere else.
When Delilah takes her usual seat beside me, I’m struck with how different this feels than it did that very first Sunday. Back then, I wanted nothing to do with her. Simply because I knew we’d end up here, toeing the line between stable ground and the free fall.
I reach out and grab the corner of her chair, tugging her closer. “Morning, Shutterbug.”
Today, her eyes are more blue than grey. Her irises are ever changing, and this soft hue reflects the happiness she wears on her face. “Morning, Chief,” she replies, a smile in her voice.
I lean back, making a show of inspecting her. “Good day?” I ask.
She grins, though it’s tinged with a bit of shyness. “Carole and I were just talking about the ideas I have for my exhibition next month. I wasn’t sure about them, but she’s totally on board. So I guess you could say it’s been a good day.”
As much as she tries, Delilah can’t keep her emotions from displaying themselves in her expression. Beneath her nerves is a steady thrum of excitement, and fuck, if it isn’t infectious. A feeling both foreign and familiar slithers through my veins, sending a bolt of fear running through me. It threatens to drown out the pride I feel for Delilah. It threatens to send me over the edge of a reckoning I’m not ready to have.
I smile through the feeling. “That sounds great, Shutterbug. I’m proud of you.”
This seems to knock the breath right out of her. She inhales sharply, her eyes searching mine. “You are?”
“‘Course I am. I know how apprehensive you are about the exhibition, but you’re doing it anyway. I admire that.”
I admire you.
Her eyes shine with an emotion I refuse to name. Naming it makes it real. Her lips part, ready to respond, but then her sister comes up beside her. Sophia whispers something in her ear, and Delilah’s expression softens into one reserved solely for her siblings.
“Okay,” she says, “go ahead.”
Sophia rounds behind our chairs and then comes up on my other side, peering shyly up at me.
“Hey, Soph,” I say. “What’s up?”
Eventually, she brings her hand out from behind her back. A bracelet—one of the ones she was making with Abbie—is clasped in her hand. A few different colours of string are braided together and tied off at the end.
She holds the bracelet out to me. “I made you this.”
“Thank you.” I take it from her, turning it over in my palm. “What’s it for?”
She looks down at her feet and mumbles, “A friendship bracelet.”
