Page 69 of And Now, Back to You

“You should tell her about the Trash Wheel,” I encourage.

My temporary tablemate immediately starts shaking his head. “No.”

“You could tell her you think she’s funny.”

He looks at me like I’m insane. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Why are you over here?”

He blinks, confused. “I don’t think I know.”

“All right.” This time I do laugh. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”

He nods. “Good. That’s good.” He doesn’t move a muscle.

I raise my eyebrows. “What should I say?”

“What?” he barks, jumping slightly.

“What should I say?” I repeat slowly.

“Oh, ah—” He runs his hand over his closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, still staring in the general direction of the café. He’s probably the same height as Delilah. Maybe an inch or two taller. “You could tell her Dustin says hello and, uh, thank you,” he stammers. “Tell her thank you for keeping me company on my trips away from home.”

With that, he spins on his booted heel and marches off, his shoulders hunched to his ears. Delilah appears with a new tray of snacks approximately twelve seconds later.

“Who was that?” she asks.

I take in the cinnamon bun, pound cake, and three chocolate chip cookies on her tray. “I thought you said you were getting a blueberry scone.”

“I did.” She points to a baked good at the top-left corner. “But then Tom recommended this other stuff, and I had to try it.”

She starts pushing dishes around the table, making room. “Who was your friend?” she asks again.

“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder. Dustin is nowhere to be found. “That was a fan of yours.”

Her face immediately tumbles into a beaming smile. “Really?”

I nod, struck dumb a little bit by the crinkle in her nose and the way her eyes almost completely shut every time she smiles like that. “Yeah. His name is Dustin. He wanted to thank you for keeping him company on his trips away from home.”

“That’s so nice.” She finishes transferring her bounty to the table, then quickly sweeps the remnants of our first round onto the tray. “I like that I keep him company. Like a little pocket-sized Delilah, whenever he needs it.”

I take the cinnamon bun she offers. “Have people always loved you?”

She laughs. “I think you know very well that I’m not universally loved, Jackson.” She collapses back into her chair. “Present company included.”

“I thought we moved past this.”

Her face softens. “Yeah, I know.” She reaches for her scone, then changes her mind and plucks the corner off my cinnamon bun instead. “I’m just teasing you.”

“You’re just—” I nudge the plate closer to her. “Sometimes you feel like a caricature. Something sugary sweet someone whipped up.”

She loses her smile. “Is this your way of telling me we haven’t moved past it?”

“No, no. Listen. I’m—I’m trying to—that didn’t come out the way I meant it.” I reach for her hand and grab it, needing her to understand. To believe me. “You know I struggle when it’s important.”

Her face turns back to mine, hesitant but open. “This is important?”

“It is.” I flip my hand so our palms are pressed together, the length of her thumb lined up against the length of mine. Her nails are painted a pale lavender. The color of the sky in the middle of the summer, right before the sun melts into the horizon. “This is important, Delilah.”