“I must admit, I’m surprised that Jules is his type,” I whisper back. “I’m surprised that Jules isanyone’stype.”
Delilah laughs, and the waiter returns, placing a math worksheet on a small silver platter in front of me. “Thanks,” I say politely, “but I’d much rather have an éclair.”
“That’s the check,” Delilah explains.
Suddenly it all makes sense: Jessamyn pressing crisp bills into my palm before I left on my date, telling me a gentleman is always the one to pay.
Chris pulls out his wallet. “Let’s split it,” he suggests, scanning the paper.
I wait for Chris to put money on the small dish, and match the same amount. Then I stand, pulling out Delilah’s chair and offering her my hand.
Chris is helping Jules put on her jacket. “I know the most amazing vegan cupcake place,” he says. “We could go there for dessert.”
I think about the éclair I didn’t get. “That sounds wonderful!”
“No!” Delilah widens her eyes at me. “We’re leaving.”
“But Ilikecupcakes. . . .”
She loops her arm through mine. “Then I’ll make you someat home,” Delilah says, and she adds, under her breath, “We’re giving them time alone.” Turning to Chris, she asks, “I’m assuming you can drop Jules off at my house later?”
“You bet,” Chris says.
We walk to the parking lot, and Delilah and I watch them drive off in Chris’s car. “They grow up so fast,” she jokes. Then she grabs my hand. “Come on. Maybe we can talk to Orville before she gets back.”
I let her pull me toward her car. “But you promised me cupcakes. . . .”
When we return to Delilah’s, we almost have the house to ourselves—Mrs. McPhee, who was out when we left, is still out with Dr. Ducharme. Frump meets us at the door and, after an embarrassing show of charades, makes clear that he needs a moment on the privy of the front lawn. Afterward we all convene in the kitchen while Delilah rummages through the cabinets for a box of dessert. She pours powder into a bowl, then cracks two eggs and adds a dollop of oil and some water, insisting that this will materialize into something edible. While the mixture is baking in the oven, Delilah and I speculate on how Jules and Chris are getting along.
“I did not see that coming,” Delilah muses. “The last guy Jules was interested in had tattoos running from neck to navel and owned a pet falcon. By comparison, Chris seems so . . . tame.”
“There’s no logic to the laws of attraction,” I say, grinning at Frump. “I mean, this one’s hung up on Seraphima.”
Frump looks over his shoulder at me and growls.
A bell chimes on the oven, and Delilah takes her concoctionfrom its belly. She cuts me a square and hands it to me as I lean against the counter. It may not be a cupcake but I must admit, it smells heavenly.
“Happy?” she asks.
I put the treat down and lift Delilah by her hips so that she is sitting on the counter and I am standing between her legs. Leaning forward, I kiss her until her arms come around me and Frump starts barking. “Very,” I say, smiling.
By now, Frump has gotten the tail of my shirt between his teeth and is trying to drag me backward. Delilah holds up a hand. “Okay, okay. We’ll get a room.” Jumping down from the counter, she tosses Frump a square of cake. “Speaking of which, let’s go get the book.”
That’s all it takes to remind me that I still need to tell Edgar about his mom.
Frump trots into Delilah’s bedroom, jumps up on his hind legs, and tugs the book from its spot on the shelf. He brings it to Delilah, his tail wagging. “Thanks,” she says, surreptitiously wiping the drool from the book’s spine. “Now. Let’s find Orville.”
I crack open the book, but to my surprise, nothing is where it’s supposed to be. Although we were always in place and ready for the Reader when one came, I seem to have caught the characters unaware. On page eleven, in the enchanted forest, the fairies are braiding each other’s hair. On page thirty-one, the trolls haven’t bothered to rebuild their bridge. The mermaids aren’t evenonpage twenty-seven, having swum off to sun themselves on Everafter Beach.
I realize that when I was in the book, and everything ranlike clockwork, it was because Frump was there barking orders. I glance at him, and he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if to say:Amateurs.
Flipping through the story, I try to find Edgar, but he is nowhere to be seen, which is particularly troubling since—as the main character—he’s supposed to be present on practically every page. We locate Socks, lolling on his back in the unicorn meadow with Humphrey, as they look up at the clouds passing by. “Socks,” I say, and he scrambles to his hooves.
“Hi, Ollie,” he neighs. “Humphrey and I didn’t hear you coming.”
Humphrey sits up, his entire body wriggling with delight. “This is my new best friend. He’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.” He turns to Socks. “I love you.”
Socks beams at this attention. “And I loveyou.”
