Page 19 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“That’s the spirit. I’ve got the family covered. They don’t suspect a thing.”

Duping them was the easy part.

We hang up, and I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. I grab my satchel with my laptop inside, shove my sunglasses on my face, and walk toward Main Street.

I keep my head down as I walk. It may be the start of fall, a typical early-September day in Windfall, the perfect balance of warm and refreshing, but my steps are quick and stiff. If Delilah’s best friend, Maggie, sees me, I’m sure she’ll happily stick my face in Big Joe’s grain grinder. Delilah’s mother will probably help her hide my body. Then there’s Mom’s quilting crew and Cal’s friends and Lennon’s friends and Jake’s friends and Desmond’s friends, as well as Ricky and Avett. Yeah, a lot of people will have angry or shocked or confused questions.

If I do get accosted in Delilah’s shop, I have my pat answers prepared.

My first winner is: It’s complicated.

Followed by the brilliant: There was a family emergency I can’t talk about yet.

Genius, right?

Instead of soaking in the quaint charm of this town I’ve missed, I keep my head down and hurry to Delilah’s shop, hoping to avoid detection.

My pulse picks up as I near the small seating area outside Sugar and Sips. By the time I’m at the front door, my short breaths practically fog up the glass. I’m not wearing a gray T-shirt today. Black was the only call, in case my nerves get the best of me again. I wipe my damp palms on my jeans and remove my sunglasses. A mental kick in the butt later, I push inside.

The bell above me jingles. A coffee machine whirs. It smells like espresso and cinnamon and chocolate. My nervous stomach settles, but my focus jumps over every detail.

Delilah’s all around me, in the welcoming pastel-colored decor, the hipster coffeehouse music Lennon would love, the pretty white tables, and the cushy yellow sofa chairs against the far wall. The succulents in the little clear vases at the center of each table are so Delilah. She loved succulents. Said they were resilient and badass, able to grow under difficult circumstances. Blackboards line the wall behind the counter, decorated with drawn flowers and the menu of the day, written in Delilah’s looping script.

A punch of pride hits me at all she’s accomplished, even though this job path surprises me. Delilah loved helping her mom bake when we were growing up, but it was just for fun. She’d turn up at my door with blueberry muffins or lemon scones or my favorite snack bars packed with nuts, dried fruit, chocolate, raisins, coconut, and puffed rice. I called them kitchen-sink bars, because they had everything in them but the kitchen sink. As much as she enjoyed baking, she never talked about it as a career, opening her own place. The last I knew of Delilah’s hopes and dreams, she planned to run a day care or teach kindergarten. Another reminder a lot of time has passed and many things have changed.

Several tables are occupied with people like me, laptop carriers who like to work in a happy place that smells like Candy Land got taken over by Juan Valdez. I don’t see Avett or anyone I recognize, but I still don’t go to the counter. I’m so proud and amazed at what Delilah created that I’m frozen in place.

Then I hear Delilah’s this-can’t-be-happening oh my God.

She’s mirroring my frozen pose, looking stunning and shocked and entrepreneurial with her clipboard and a Sugar and Sips apron over her T-shirt. Abruptly, she swivels and careens through the swinging doors that must lead to the kitchen.

Not the best welcome, but it could have been worse. In that split second before she bolted, I noticed (a.k.a. frantically analyzed) her ring finger, and guess what? Zero engagement ring.

I try to contain my relieved “Yes” and school my features. Of course Delilah had the strength to tell that loser where to shove his ring. Of course she realized she deserves to be treated like the amazing woman she is.

Assuming she’ll come out again, I go to the counter and order a black coffee. Nothing fancy for me. Just dark and strong and robust. I peruse the sweets in the display case and do a double take. There, second row from the bottom, snuggling between the lemon ginger bars and the chocolate salted-caramel bars, are the kitchen-sink bars.

“Add a kitchen-sink bar,” I tell the young man ringing up my order. The fact that Delilah kept the name I coined for her treat pleases me more than it should.

When my order’s up, I collect my goods and head to a vacant table on the quieter side of the store. Assuming Delilah comes back out, I’d like some privacy for our inevitable confrontation. I’m not running to a connecting flight this time. She can’t speed walk away from me, because she owns this adorable shop. Hanging around here also helps me mobilize number one on my Win Back Delilah list: be consistent so she learns to trust me. I’ll show up here every day until she realizes I’m not leaving town and decides it’s okay to sit and talk with me.

I take out my laptop and set up. Not because I’ll be getting work done today. Concentrating while I wait for Delilah to gather the courage to come back out here is akin to concentrating while the president announces our first alien invasion. Instead I scroll through social media, looking at cute animal posts. Honestly, this one of the dog playing with the squirrel and the squirrel jumping on the dog’s nose is adorable. I take a bite of the kitchen-sink bar while I scroll. The chewy goodness is so sweet and nostalgic I have to close my eyes and moan.

“Why are you here?” Delilah’s beside my table, arms crossed, clipboard gone. She still looks shocked and angry and stunning, all that hair of hers piled up on her head, and . . .

Her ring finger’s no longer bare.

There’s a diamond on it, but it’s not the diamond I saw the day of our flight. That one was a run-of-the-mill round-cut diamond. Pretty but unoriginal. This one’s inlaid into the band and is a bit large on her. If I were a betting man, I’d say Delilah borrowed someone else’s ring in the last few minutes so she could pretend to still be engaged.

Interesting.

“I’m here for coffee and this delicious bar and a quiet table where I can work,” I say, incredibly pleased with this turn of events. Lying means feelings. Feelings mean anger, fear, worry, or nerves. Whatever the motivation, Delilah’s in heart-protection mode, which indicates her heart is vulnerable to me.

She bounces her knee. “You’re not working. Sandra behind you already told me you’re doing nothing but looking at animal videos.”

I swivel to see this Sandra character. She has pale skin, a pointy nose, and an eighties perm, and she isn’t even pretending she’s not watching me. Returning to face Delilah, I say, “Actually, I am working.” Sort of. “Animals inspire my art. This is research. Just treat me like any other customer.”

“Most customers,” she says icily, “don’t disappear from my life for ten years, then concoct ridiculous lies when they see me again, proving they’re immature and spineless and a waste of my time.”