Page 49 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

I leaf through my sketchbook, the personal characters and story filling the pages. I have no interest in selling this project. Delilah wouldn’t want our painful history blasted into the world, and it’s too emotional for me. But I’ve never heard Margot this flummoxed. If she thinks there’s a fallback plan—even a phony one—she’ll bug me less while we wait for Sathya to surface. “I’m actually working on something else. A project I’m doing on my own.”

“A spin-off series?” Margot’s voice perks up.

“It’s more personal than that. Kind of based on my life. Nothing as fantastical as Gates of Ember, but if I get it done soon and we’re in a pinch, we could pitch this to the publisher as an alternative.”

“That’s a nice offer,” she says, decidedly less perky. “But I doubt an illustrated life story will appease them. Just find Sathya and get the work done.”

Sounds like a plan to me.

When we hang up, I call Sathya. No answer. I send her a text, even though I doubt she’ll reply. As I flip over my phone, Delilah comes outside, and my mood lifts. She hums while wiping down a table, seeming more relaxed. She smiles and talks to the older woman at the table across from me. The new customer has taken up the space where the Tom Clancy reader sat. Instead of using a book to camouflage her espionage, she’s knitting, pretending like she hasn’t been watching me.

“Gorgeous day,” Delilah says to her. “But it’s getting cooler at night. I need to buy one of your scarves.”

“I’d be delighted to knit one for you, dear. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” I say loudly. Or is that just mine?

Delilah cuts me a stern look, then turns back to the knitter. “It’s blue, but whatever you prefer would be lovely.”

The knitter stares at me and purses her thin lips.

Ignoring my rapt attention, Delilah waves at Ally, her hospice-fundraising friend, who’s jogging toward her.

“I’ve got the high school lined up for the winter,” Ally says.

Delilah high-fives her. “I found a donor for the balloons. We should ask Celia to DJ.”

“Oh, great idea. Can you take care of that?”

Delilah taps her temple. “Already added to my mental spreadsheet.”

I sip my coffee, marveling at how capable and assured she is. Creative and smart. So goddamn sexy in her confidence.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Ally says. “Any fun plans for tonight?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Delilah’s attention darts to me, then to her shoes, then to every person on the street. “Nothing much. Just, you know . . . wedding stuff. Then a thing after.”

“Right. The wedding.” Ally slides me a perusal, but the scrutiny isn’t as cutting as usual. “Best of luck with all that.”

“Delilah doesn’t need luck,” I say. “She’s the master of her fate. And her life.”

All she has to do is tell me she’s single, and I’m all hers.

Delilah stares hard at me, like she’s trying to read my mind, then she hurries inside.

I munch on my scone, pleased with her initial yes to Ally’s question: Any fun plans for tonight? That yes could only pertain to our impending get-together, which means she’s actually excited to see me later.

Another dog walks by with his owner. The pooch tugs and barks at Candy Cane. My girl sniffs the air and turns her head. Like Delilah, she’s above the antics of desperate, loud men. Which gives me pause. I should try for subtlety tonight. Not overwhelm Delilah with my six-pack and musings on life. Focus instead on reviving her lost spark. As I’ve done often, I mentally rewrite number twenty-three on my list, crossing off “Find a reason to remove my shirt while in Delilah’s apartment,” adding instead “Make Delilah laugh so hard she pees.”

SIXTEEN

Respectful of Delilah’s wedding-planning lies and our agreed-upon meeting time, I spend the afternoon huddled in my apartment, hippocampus deep in my novel. Voices and images crowd my head, like vivid memories of my late teens are in straitjackets, thrashing around, desperate to get out. I’ve never produced work this quickly. I also lose track of time.

It’s 7:45 p.m.

Which is not good.

I planned to shower and shave, eat dinner, and feed Candy Cane, then take her to do her bathroom business before knocking on Delilah’s door. The bathroom business and feeding of Candy aren’t optional, which means my other plans are a no-go.