I almost laugh at that. No one has ever accused me of being easy to talk to.
Instead, I find myself saying, “My mom left sometimes too. Not forever, like your dad. Just... days at a time. I never knew when she'd go or when she'd come back.”
The words come out before I can stop them, like they've been waiting to escape.
Troy doesn't say anything, doesn't offer empty sympathy or advice. He just listens. His arm shifts under my hand, and suddenly his fingers are brushing against mine. Not holding, just touching. The contact sends a current up my arm.
“I learned pretty early how to take care of myself,” I continue, voice barely above a whisper now. “How to make sure the bills got paid, that there was food in the fridge. How to not need anyone.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Self-preservation.”
“Exactly.”
The car feels smaller suddenly, the air charged with something I'm afraid to name. His eyes flick down to my hand on his arm, then back up to my face. His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second, but it's enough to make my heart stutter.
In the silence that follows, I become acutely aware of every point of contact between us. The brush of his fingertips against mine. The way our breath seems to sync without trying. The narrowing space as he leans in, just slightly.
The moment stretches, taut with possibility.
Then Troy clears his throat, breaking the spell as he pulls back. His eyes dart to my building. “You should probably get inside before you freeze to death.”
I nod, my hand sliding from his arm, feeling suddenly cold. “Right.”
“It's late,” he adds, like he's trying to convince himself.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
Then headlights flash behind us as a car turns onto the street, the harsh glare cutting through our bubble. The moment shatters.
I reach for the door handle. “I should go.”
Troy nods, his expression unreadable now. “Goodnight, Delilah.”
The sound of my first name on his lips catches me off guard. Not Greer. Not Mittens. Delilah.
“Goodnight,” I manage, stepping out into the cold night air.
I don't look back as I walk to my door, but I can feel his eyes on me. My key shakes slightly in the lock.
Only when I'm inside, door closed firmly behind me, do I let out the breath I've been holding. I lean against the wall, heart pounding like I've been running.
What just happened?
Whatalmosthappened?
And why do I feel like I've just made both the best and worst decision of my life by walking away?
16
DELILAH
The next Monday, after a weekend of studying and working, I’m walking out after my 9 AM class. It’s starting to get cold in the mornings now. The cold nips at my cheeks as I step out of the café and pull my coat tighter. Colorado weather changes fast in fall. I’m halfway down the street when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I check the screen.
Mom.
