I stare at her profile for maybe too long.
Because yeah, she's hot. Obviously. But it's so much more than that now. I like this woman. Like, genuinely enjoy being around her. Even when she's being a pain in my ass—which is like 85% of the time.
The way she laughs, though. Fuck. When I actually get her to laugh—that real laugh, not the sarcastic one—it feels like scoring the winning touchdown. Like I've won something nobody else gets to have.
“I'm in trouble,” I mutter, not meaning to say it out loud.
“What?” She glances up, that focused-Delilah haze clearing from her eyes.
“Nothing.” I recover quickly, but my chest feels tight.
She looks at me suspiciously, but I just grin and nudge her shoulder with mine.
“Hey,” I say, a little softer. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
Her fingers still on the keyboard. “Working. Probably at the bookshop. CC's has me on standby if someone calls in.”
“That's depressing.” The thought of her stuck serving coffee while the rest of us are stuffing our faces makes me irrationally angry.
She shrugs. “It's fine. I don't really...do holidays.”
“You're coming home with us.” The words come out before I can overthink them.
Delilah cocks her head to the side. “What?”
And there it is—that look. Like she can't believe someone would actually want her around. Like she's waiting for the catch. It makes me want to find everyone who's ever let her down and explain to them exactly how badly they fucked up.
Instead, I just hold her gaze, letting her see I'm serious.
“Me and Tara. You’re coming with us for Thanksgiving,” Isay. Yeah, this is a great idea. “If it’s not too much. If you want to. Of course, it’s up to you,” I add.
She’s quiet, like, really quiet.
I don’t push. Not yet.
Delilah stares at the screen like the Google Doc’s going to give her an out. I begin wondering if I’ve messed everything up this year. I asked my dad not to come. Texted him when I was angry after seeing photo of him pop up on Facebook, something like“I think it’s better if it’s just the three of us this year.”Fully braced for guilt-tripping, a dramatic speech, or at least some passive-aggressive emoji.
Instead, I got.“Okay. Got it. Have a good one.”
And... yeah. That sucked more than if he’d argued. At least if he’d fought me on it, it would’ve meant something. Instead, he just... backed off. Like he was waiting for an excuse to.
And look, I know it was the right call. Every time we do the family thing, we end up in some weird standoff, either silently judging each other from opposite ends of the table or passive-aggressively debating politics like it’s foreplay for disappointment.
So yeah, it’s probably better this way. Less awkward. Less pretending.
Still kind of makes me feel like a jerk, though.
But then I look at Delilah, still frozen, still staring at the screen and I think,Maybe this year doesn’t have to suck.
And just as I’m wondering if I’ve scared her off for good she sits back on her heels and exhales, hard. That kind of exhale you only let out when you’ve been holding your breath for years.
“I mean it, I don’t reallydoThanksgiving, or any other holidays,” she says eventually.
I glance at her. “Because of work?”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly.”
There’s a pause.
