Page 61 of Delilah Green Doesn't Care

Delilah choked on her own spit, which caused a coughing fit. She pounded on her chest while Claire’s thumbs flew over her screen.

CLAIRE:Ris! For god’s sake.

IRIS:I said what I said.

“Who are you texting?” Astrid asked, glancing at Claire’s phone white-knuckled between her hands.

“No one,” Claire said. “Josh. He’s... bringing Ruby over to the house.”

Astrid nodded and Claire retreated toward the window, her phone abandoned in the cup holder.

Delilah fired off one final text.

I still hate you both.

AFTER ASTRID HADdropped off Iris and Claire, Delilah remained in the back seat.

“I’m not your chauffeur,” she said as she pulled away from Claire’s house on Linden Avenue. Delilah just stared at the window, taking in the Craftsman that looked exactly like something Claire would love. Small and cozy, with a large front porch and bright white trim, natural stone base and dusky-blue shingled siding. Claire walked up the front walk without looking back, her hips swaying under her tight jeans in a way that made last night rise up in Delilah’s mind like a flash flood.

Christ.

All morning and afternoon, she had tried not to think about it. She’d kissed Claire, felt her up good and proper, and now she could move on. It didn’t matter that Astrid didn’t know and wouldn’t know until after the wedding—or the non-wedding or breakup or whatever the fuck Iris was trying to accomplish—Delilah knew. And Delilah had gotten through life by putting herself first, only concerning herself with what she knew was true, because she’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t control anyone but herself. She couldn’t change anyone’s mind, couldn’t make someone love her who had no interest in doing so, and couldn’t keep someone from leaving her if that’s what they wanted to do. She couldn’t make agents see her. Couldn’t make art lovers buy her pieces.

She couldn’t make Claire feel unashamed over what had happened. And she couldn’t change the fact that she was stuck with thewoman and her lovely hips for another ten days. All she could do was mind her business and take the damn photos.

Except as Astrid pulled away, Claire paused on her porch and turned. She met Delilah’s eye through the window, and Delilah felt it—thatlook—shoot down her legs. It was that same look Claire shot over her shoulder at the brunch. Interest. Intrigue. Fuck, it waswant.

“Hello?” Astrid said.

Delilah swallowed and looked away, sighing heavily. “The inn is what? A mile from here? Just drive and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Astrid released her own sigh. “I asked you if I could see some of the photos you’ve taken so far.”

“Oh.” Delilah rubbed her forehead. She had to get her shit together. It was a kiss. A really good one. Agreatone, but still, it was just lips and tongues. Delilah had kissed a hundred people, heard a hundred people gasp into her mouth like she was the air and they’d been drowning.

Or... well, fine, she hadn’t heard ahundredpeople make that sound when she was kissing them, but surely, she’d experienced it before.

“What the hell, Delilah!”

She jolted in her seat. “God, sorry.”

“Where are you, back in New York?”

Delilah rubbed her hands down her face. “If only.”

Astrid pressed her mouth flat and turned onto Main Street, which was bustling with the predinner crowd. The sky was a marbled gray and white, the promise of rain and an earthy scent in the air.

“That’s Claire’s shop,” Astrid said as they passed by River Wild Books. A few customers milled around inside, a woman with blue hair manning the counter.

“Mmm.”

“You went there a lot as a kid, didn’t you?” Astrid asked.

Delilah leaned her head against the back of the seat. “Mmm.”

“It’s different now. Claire’s turned it all modern and beautiful.”

“Mmm.”