Page 129 of And Now, Back to You

A door slams. The walls rattle. Silence descends. Confetti blows across the floor like a multicolored tumbleweed, and the three of us stand unmoving in Maggie’s abandoned office.

“Is it . . . always this exciting over here?”

Aiden tosses his confetti canons into the waste bin. “I’d like to say no, but I think that would be a lie.” He claps Jackson on the shoulder. “Come on. You have a poorly disguised interrogation to attend.”

Jackson gives me a faintly pleading look. I laugh and swipe some of the glitter off his glasses, then abruptly drop my hand. I don’t know what he does and doesn’t want from me when we’re in front of other people.

I tuck my hands behind my back, twist my fingers together, and try not to feel embarrassed.

Jackson frowns.

“I’ll see you later?” I ask. But I’m already moving toward the door.

“Yeah, of course you will. But, Delilah, listen—”

I slip out of the office before he can finish that sentence, fixing a smile on my face. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say right now. The more I prolong the conversation where he has to let me down gently, the better.

Just keep smiling, I say to myself as I turn and walk away.

You’re almost there.

A few more minutes.

Just keep smiling.

AIDEN VALENTINE: Would you like to report on the weather?

JACKSON CLARK: It’s not time for me to report on the weather.

AIDEN VALENTINE: Would you like to talk about something else, then?

AIDEN VALENTINE: Maybe a certain brunette weather woman, who was just over here? At our offices?

JACKSON CLARK: That was a work meeting, Aiden.

AIDEN VALENTINE: All work and no play makes Jackson a dull—

JACKSON CLARK: Freezing temperatures will persist for the rest of the week, but chance of snowfall is minimal.

JACKSON CLARK: We’ve officially made it to the other side of the storm, Baltimore.

CHAPTER 33

JACKSON

It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to get back to Delilah.

First I have to deal with Aiden’s bumbling attempts at emotional connection in the booth, then my programmed weather reports, and then a hasty meeting with the corporate HR representative about the promotion Maggie dropped in my lap like a grenade. Any hope of a late lunch after Delilah’s Canton report disappears with school pickup, and then I’m living my waking nightmare.

I’m supervising the girl’s ice-cream date with our mother. In my kitchen.

Adeline decided she wanted to tentatively establish contact, and I decided I could let go of my own hurt and frustration to give the girls what they needed. I told Camille she could have one supervised evening, and we’d go from there.

Letting her in the door had been difficult, though.

“You need to try this time,” I warned her. “You need to listen. You need to be here.”

Her kohl-lined eyes had widened in the yellow glow of the porch light. “Of course I’m going to be here. This was my idea, remember?”