Page 136 of And Now, Back to You

DELILAH STEWART: That big winter storm was more of a blip by the time it made it to us, wasn’t it? The snow will continue to melt as temperatures warm, with no other winter events on the horizon.

DELILAH STEWART: A new season is just around the corner.

CHAPTER 34

DELILAH

“Tell me when to start.”

“Okay,” his low voice rumbles over the line, sleepy and slow. I imagine him tucked into his bed on the other side of the city, just like I’m tucked into mine. We haven’t been able to see each other in three days, so we’re doing this instead. Calling each other when we can. Waving at each other forlornly through our respective lobby windows. I liked it so much better when we were sharing two hundred square feet. “I’ll count down from three. Three, two, one—”

I press play on my remote and wiggle down beneath my blankets. My phone is on speaker, tossed on top of my comforter next to a coffee mug generously filled from the bag of M&M’s I found on the hood of my car earlier this week. Unfortunately, that’s about as close as Jackson and I have come to seeing each other in the absolute disaster that is our competing schedules. I always seem to be coming when he’s going, or vice versa. We’re two ships passing in a pothole-laced parking lot, exchanging Post-it notes on cars.

“I don’t want to hear any complaints about movie choice from you tonight.”

His answer is a chuffed laugh that feels like it’s pressed right against my neck. Goose bumps immediately erupt over my skin.

“Who would possibly complain about a film that celebrates the idea of a love triangle?” Jackson muses. He pauses. “Wait. There are three men, right? Love . . . square?”

“It could have been a Why Choose film if Hollywood were progressive enough, and I’m choosing to ignore your tone.” The opening credits of The Philadelphia Story begin to roll. On the other side of the phone, I hear its echo. “You could have picked the movie, you know.”

“I did pick the movie. You said, and I quote, ‘Over my dead body.’”

I laugh. “I’m not watching Transformers before bed! And I don’t think Bumblebee would help you fall asleep either.”

Jackson hums, and I hear the rustle of sheets. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s not the movies that help me fall asleep, Delilah.”

I tuck my smile down into the top of my comforter. He slept over after we destroyed my living room, and my sheets still smell like him. If I close my eyes, I can picture him in the space next to me, one arm pushed under the pillow and the other curled over my thigh.

“How did today ago?” I ask, after we’ve watched Katharine Hepburn drift across the screen with Cary Grant.

Jackson’s sigh is weary. “Fine. I think Maggie forgot I’m the one that put together the station’s onboarding documents. So I’m basically lecturing myself about the requirements of a job I already do. It’s an excellent use of my time.”

He’s been caught up in promotion stuff while I’ve been working through a story on the fate of this year’s cherry blossom bloom. Keith has been surprisingly quiet since we returned from our trip to the mountains, letting me do my job and actually . . . report on the weather. Needless to say, I’m suspicious.

“That’s not what I was asking about, and you know it.”

Another forlorn sigh, this one punctuated with a grunt at the end. He’s quiet for a long time. I pick at a loose thread at the edge of my duvet while he works through it.

“I don’t trust her,” he finally says.

“And that’s okay,” I remind him. “You’re doing a good thing. You’re giving your sisters a chance at a relationship you never got to have. It’s an opportunity for them to explore and find closure with you as their safety net.”

“Doesn’t feel like a good thing,” he grumbles. “Feels like I’m leading the lambs to slaughter.”

I rattle my candies around in my mug, searching for the red ones. “Worst-case scenario, what’s going to happen?”

“She lets them down,” Jackson says immediately. “She breaks their hearts.”

The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, but I hear it all the same.

Just like she broke mine.

“She’s taking them to that leadership brunch at the school tomorrow,” Jackson continues. “Adeline is excited.”

“Penelope isn’t?”

“Penelope is . . . hesitant,” Jackson says slowly. “She’s more like me.”