Page 38 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“That he’s a disgraceful human and nothing was your fault?”

I love the vicious undercurrent in her tone, how protective she is of me. Exactly how I feel about her. “I learned that Taylor Swift is a genius.”

She snorts. “First Gilmore Girls, now you’re a Swiftie?”

“Don’t knock Taylor. Like she says, haters gonna hate, and more to my point, selfish pricks are always gonna be selfish pricks. Some people don’t have the emotional capacity to consider how others feel. All they think about is how choices affect them. If one moment doesn’t show their true colors, another will. Whatever choices my father made, he didn’t make them because of anything I did.”

The repercussions still affect my life, but this monologue wasn’t about me. I steal another glance at Delilah, try to gauge if she’s absorbing my intent. What your idiot ex did wasn’t your fault. The asshole steamrolled over your feelings because he’s a steamrolling asshole.

Her eyes are fastened on her “new” fake engagement ring. She runs her fingers over the small diamond, back and forth. “That’s a great way to look at things.”

Truth? I want to ram my truck into Hugo’s house. Show him how it feels to have his walls crumble. But Delilah doesn’t need an avenging knight. “I know we’re in a weird place, that it’ll take time for you to trust me and for us to rebuild our friendship, but I’m still here for you. I’m still the guy who wants to put you first and make you laugh when you’re upset. I hope you give me the chance to really prove that.”

She doesn’t answer right away. I grip the wheel tighter, readying for her to cut me down. Tell me she was wrong and our history is too painful. We can’t be friends after all. As much as I push, the final call is always hers. If she asks me to disappear from her life again, leave her alone for good, I’ll do as she wants, even if it kills me.

I feel her attention shift back to my profile. “I know I’m going to regret saying this, because you are a pain in the ass, but . . . I’m happy you’re back in Windfall. I’m glad you were your relentless self and didn’t let my anger run you out of town.”

I blow out a relieved breath. “Do you still read comics?”

“What kind of idiotic question is that?”

A diversion tactic. A way to get us to happier topics. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Maybe you only read the National Enquirer now.”

“I only read that on weekends,” she says dryly.

“Knew it.” I glance at her again, every stolen glimpse saved for later, when I’ll pull them up in bed, reliving our day in a montage I’ll call “Delilah and Me and Eternity.”

She taps her knee to the rhythm of the music. “You’re still a pest. But, yeah, I still love comics and graphic novels. You got me hooked, and I love the escape, getting lost in a completely different world. Have you read the Gates of Ember series?”

I slam on the brakes and shove my arm in front of Delilah, bracing for impact.

“What the hell, E?”

“There was a large squirrel.” There was a small squirrel, but her question shook me more than the darting rodent. Now my heart’s beating in my throat and my arm’s pressed against Delilah’s soft breasts. I don’t move. She doesn’t ask me to move. And, no word of a lie, she’s arching her back, pressing more firmly into me. Predictably, my body takes notice.

Before this gets weird, I ease my arm back and pull over to the side of the road. I need to be stationary for this conversation.

“I know Gates of Ember well,” I say carefully. “What do you think of it?”

The song on the radio shifts to Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is.” It’s nostalgic and romantic, and I’m suddenly shy, facing Delilah, so curious what she thinks of my graphic novel, worried she doesn’t love my work. Worried she does love my work and I won’t be allowed to kiss her, run my nose up her ear. Whisper how much her opinion means.

“How can you even ask?” Her voice brightens with excitement. “That series is amazing. Like in my top five, for sure. I reread them all the time.”

“And . . . you like the artwork?”

She shifts, angling toward me, her face pensive. “The word like is too small for the art in that series. The work is raw and vivid. Sometimes almost painful to look at, but that’s the point, I think. A lot of the characters represent our darker urges.”

The energy waves just tracked on North Carolina’s Doppler radar weren’t unexplainable atmospheric changes. That was the intense blast of my joy. “I never told you my new name while in witness protection.”

She tilts her head. “You didn’t.”

Instead of explaining who I am, I grab my wallet, dig out my driver’s license, and hand it to her.

She side-eyes me like I’m up to something nefarious, but I’m not crossing off an item on my list or teasing Delilah the way I know she secretly loves to be teased. I watch as she reads my fake name—Brian Baker—and wait for it to click. There’s no reaction at first. It’s a pretty beige name, like everything in my life the past decade. Then her eyes widen. “Brian Baker, as in Gates of Ember Brian Baker?”

I nod.

“Oh my God.” She grips my forearm excitedly, saving me from having to interpret this oh my God. “You’re the Brian Baker.”