The whisper of your name is what calls me home.
The memories of our time, spent in the mountains…”
When I’m done, I dare to look at Delilah across the table, half-expecting her to burst out laughing or tell me that it’s a crock of shit—just like Valerie, Drew, and Brad did when I shared some of my recent work with them.
“That was amazing.” Her eyes mist over. “Truly. You’re so talented.”
“It could do with some tweaking.” I scratch my head. “I don’t think my record label would like it, but your opinion is the only one that truly matters.”
“I love it.” She gestures to the paper in my hand—a piece of my soul etched into the page. “It’s a perfect gift.”
“It’s not a holiday or a designer purse or…” I rack my brain for other gifts that I guess many women want.
“I already told you, I don’t need any gifts. All I need is for you to be… well, just you.” She looks at me as if she’s staring right through me, the bakery kitchen suddenly fading away. She takesmy hand, her thumb grazing tenderly over a scar on my knuckle from a childhood fall that the cameras always airbrush out. “You were enough before I knew who you really were. The band, the record label, the money. None of that ever mattered to me.”
My heart sings. After a lifetime of feeling like my worth is measured by fame, it’s everything I need to hear. I’ve wasted so much time, losing myself to meet other people’s crippling expectations.
“Delilah…” My voice is strained. “I’ve been a fucking idiot.”
“I know.” She smiles back. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep sharing your work with me.”
“That I can do.”
While I’m still in the process of discovering the true artist I want to become, knowing she likes my work gives me an added confidence boost. Maybe I don’t even need the band. With her support, anything feels possible.
“Woah, is that the time?” She casts a look at the clock up on the wall. It’s just past 11pm. “I should be getting back to Stella House.” As she pulls on her cardigan, disappointment sweeps through me. “I have an early class tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss the last bus.”
“I can dr?—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupts me. “I like the bus.”
“I can walk you to the stop?”
“And be seen out in public with me?” She shakes her head. “That’s not a good idea. You know what happened the last time we were seen. Kady is still burned out from all the strings she had to pull to get those photographs taken down.” She laughs. “Besides, you can see the bus stop from the bakery window, if you’re that concerned.”
We stand, and she plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, making me forget how to breathe for a second as her scent floods my senses. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Thank you for coming.” I dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from kissing her again. “I’ll be watching until you get on that bus, and I want you to text me as soon as you’re home.”
“I’m not a celebrity who gets hounded by the press.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll make it back to SVU just fine.”
“Still,” I insist as we pause at the bakery door. “I need to know you’re safe.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Good night, Jagger.”
The bell jingles as she leaves into the cold night. I stand watching her, forehead pressed against the cool glass, wishing I could go with her. I watch until the tail lights of the red bus disappear into the distance before I turn to clear up.
I pick up the napkin she used to dab her mouth, lightly smeared with lipstick, then tuck it into my pocket. I can’t bear to throw it away. After letting her go once, every shred of her feels like something I should cling to.
The heavy fog that’s followed me around feels like it’s starting to lift, like a cloak is being taken from my back. Tonight was a start. Instead of the empty cavernous feeling in my chest, I feel a shred of hope.
Things might work out after all.
THIRTY
Tae
“Crap!” I dash back to the oven and peer into it. “It looks like it’s burning!”
