Page 80 of The Last Call Home
She smells of vanilla and something citrusy—not perfume, but her.Skin warmed by a car heater.Lemon tea steeped into the fabric of her coat.The scent of someone who’s braved the cold all day and just stepped into warmth for the first time.
I don’t move.Neither does she.The silence stretches, but it isn’t empty.It hums between us, thick with everything we haven’t said.Everything we haven’t touched.
“Are you going to let me in?”she asks, voice low and laced with something that coils heat low in my spine.
“Already did,” I murmur, fingers still at her waist, reluctant to let go.
But I step back.Barely.Just enough to reach behind her and push the door open.
She walks in slowly, eyes sweeping the room like it might disappear if she blinks too fast.I follow, closing the door with a solid click of finality.Whatever’s out there—Rosalinda, the town, questions we’re not ready to answer—can wait.
“Do you think Mal minds that we’re here without him?”she asks, finally breaking the silence as she shrugs off her coat.
“Not even a little,” I say, hanging her jacket on the hook by the door.“He said we could use it whenever we needed.And today feels like a good ‘whenever’ day, don’t you think?”
I wiggle my eyebrows, smirking just enough to make her roll her eyes—but not enough to hide how damn good it feels to have her here.
“How long can you stay?”I ask, the question scraping closer to want than it probably should.
Lilah gives me a sideways glance and a groan that’s too soft to be a real annoyance.“A few hours.Maybe until before dinner,” she says, crossing the living room.“My mom would know within seconds that I’m up to no good if I’m late.I’m pretty sure she keeps a spreadsheet of my location.Times.GPS coordinates.Probably color-coded tabs for ‘mildly suspicious’ and ‘definitely getting laid’ activities.”
I laugh, the sound spilling out before I can stop it.“You could move out of the house, you know?”
“It’s my house,” she calls out, already halfway to the kitchen.“It’d be weird.”
“What’s going on with her place again?”
“She’s doing renos—one of those ‘stage-by-stage’ things that makes the whole damn place unlivable—for two years.”She pops open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.“Honestly, I think it’s just an excuse to live with me.I mean, Grandma lived with us until she died.”
“Your grandmother lived here?”
She nods as she twists the cap open.“Yeah.Once my grandfather passed, Mom dragged her from California to our sleepy little town.I was seven.”
“Why not go back to California if your father isn’t here?”I ask, frowning.“Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”
“I always asked her that, but she said she liked small towns better.”Delilah shrugs, taking a long sip of water.
But something doesn’t sit right.If Rosalinda’s so attached to family, wouldn’t going back to her roots have been smarter?Why transplant your mother instead of returning to her?
It doesn’t add up.
And maybe it’s none of my business.
Maybe I’ve seen too much—been twisted by too many secrets.Still, part of me wants to dig a little.Not for answers.Just ...understanding.
But wouldn’t it be weird?Investigating the mother of the woman I’m trying to date?
Probably.
Definitely.
Or maybe I’m just jaded as fuck and not thinking clearly.It’s time to divert the conversation.
“I wish my mother had a family,” I say quietly, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed.My gaze tracks Lilah’s every move—the way her hips sway in those jeans, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the bottle as if she’s gripping more than just plastic.“Maybe they would’ve claimed me.Instead of letting me rot in foster care.”
She stills.
Then slowly, without hesitation, she closes the fridge and turns to me.
