“They can’t do that.”
“They can if you keep dodging them.” She sighs, and some of the edge softens. “Look, I know you’ve got something going on there. Someone. But this is your career. Everything you’ve built. Are you really willing to throw it away?”
I look out the window at the ocean, at Penelope’s house where she was observing us earlier, and at the empty driveway where Delilah’s car was parked five minutes ago.
“I’ll be there Thursday,” I say.
“Good. I’ll send the details.”
She hangs up. I stand there with the phone in hand while the quiet roar of the waves fills the silence.
Thursday means another trip to LA and another conversation I don’t want to have with Delilah.
I’ll always come back, I told her.
I meant it. I really did. But the doubt in her eyes is still there, stuck in my chest like a splinter, and I don’t know how to make it go away.
SEVENTEEN
DELILAH
The Fiction Nook smells like vanilla candles and old paper, the particular kind of comfort that only comes from being surrounded by stories.
I love this place. The cozy armchairs arranged in reading nooks, the hand-lettered signs pointing to different genres, and the way evening light filters through the front windows and makes everything look like it belongs in a movie about someone with a much less complicated life.
Tonight, though, I’m having trouble appreciating it.
Levi is leaving again soon.
He says he’s coming back. He promised.
“You’re spiraling,” Jo says, appearing at myelbow with a glass of wine. “I can tell because you’re standing completely still and staring at the romance section like it personally wronged you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely not.” She presses the wine into my hand. “Drink this. It won’t solve your problems, but it’ll make them fuzzier around the edges.”
I take a sip. It’s the good stuff, probably from Michelle’s secret stash. “How do you always know?”
“Know what?”
“When I’m falling apart.”
“Honey, you walked in here with the expression of someone who just found out her favorite restaurant closed permanently.” She steers me toward the circle of chairs where the others are already gathering. “Also, you keep checking your phone like you’re waiting for test results.”
“I do not.”
“You do. It’s very obvious.”
I don’t have a defense for that, so I just follow her and try to arrange my face into something that doesn’t scream “emotional disaster in progress.”
The Fiction Nook’s back room has been transformed into book club headquarters.
Jessica has set up a spread on the coffee table with cheese, crackers, grapes, and somethingchocolate that Amber brought from The Salty Pearl. Tally’s handiwork, if I had to guess. The woman is a pastry genius.
Austen, Jessica’s orange tabby, is already stationed on the back of one of the armchairs, watching the cheese plate with predatory focus. He’s been banned from book club snacks more times than anyone can count. It never sticks.
“Delilah!” Michelle waves me over to the empty chair beside her. “I saved you a seat. Also, I have opinions about this month’s book and I need an ally.”
