Page 98 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

The wattage in her grin betrays her. She’s up to something. Or maybe Delilah is? I don’t let my mind go there. I’ve already overthought my conversations with Delilah more times than is healthy, and I don’t want to rain on my mother’s parade by asking questions. It’s too nice seeing her smile. “I was debating taking a road trip to check out the world’s largest rubber band ball, but I’ll pass this time and call you when I’m close to Windfall.”

“Excellent choice,” she says, keeping her lips neutral, trying to hide her giddiness. Doing a crap job of it. “Have a safe trip.”

I do my best not to let her brightness infect me. But it does. Something’s brewing, and my mind goes where I said it wouldn’t. To Delilah. To us and happily ever after, and I really hope I’m not reading this wrong.

THIRTY-FOUR

My drive into Windfall feels different this time. Instead of furtive and anxious, crouching in my seat to avoid detection, I relax at the sight of the town-limit sign: WELCOME TO PARADISE. I’m not having trouble swallowing, imagining people’s reaction to my resurrected-cockroach self, or slowing down, unsure if the lost love of my life will shoot me in the nuts. She won’t. I don’t know what reception I’ll get, but we’re past nut shooting.

I called my mother as promised, and she gave me nothing. No hints as to why she’s tracking my arrival to town. But yeah. I probably lied about the not-feeling-anxious part. As I park behind my building and realize today will be another tipping point in my life, for better or for worse, I’m decidedly nervous. I stare through my windshield, trying to convince myself to move. It’s not working, but my phone rings.

Delilah’s name on my cell has me fumbling with it, trying to answer quickly. “Delilah, hey.”

“Why are you sitting in your truck?”

I glance out both side windows, then look in my rearview mirror. I don’t see Delilah, but I do see Sandra, standing there, resuming her role as Eighties-Permed Private Eye. “Why are you still using Sandra to spy on me? And why isn’t Candy Cane with her?”

“Candy’s with me. I’ve had her for a few days, and Sandra and your mother offered to help so I’d know when you got back.”

I think about what all this means—Delilah and Sandra narking on me together, Delilah caring for my dog, Delilah reaching out to my mother. That rush of hope grows into a landslide.

“Where are you?” I’m moving as I talk, phone pressed to my ear as I leave my bags in my truck and head for the narrow walkway that leads to the main street.

“By a bench in the town square.”

“Don’t you dare move.”

“I’m not going anywhere, E.” The way she says this, with emotion thickening her words, I can’t help but read into the meaning. I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll never be apart again. Goddamn it, Hope. If you ruin this for me, I will . . .

Nope. No other scenarios are possible.

I strut toward the main street with one thought on my mind: Delilah Moon, Delilah Moon, Delilah Moon. Like I’m in the airport departure lounge again, fixated. Consumed. Desperate for the sight of her. The daylight’s dimming, but I spot her standing by a park bench, phone pressed to her ear. Her curly hair is wild, her intense eyes searching for me. Candy Cane is perched beside her on the grass, sitting like the bestest dog she is.

“Thing is,” Delilah says through our phones when she spots me, rooting me in place. “I thought being with you would be a constant reminder of my worst days. I thought I’d be happier letting you go and starting fresh. But the second you left my apartment, I felt pain so deep it was like I was reliving your disappearance all over again. Except this time it was worse, because I caused it. I’m the one who sent you away, but I still wasn’t ready to believe we could work.”

“Delilah.” I’m not numb anymore. I’m a barrel of emotions on rough waters, my insides sloshing around, ready to spill out and pool around her feet. But she’s still got her phone against her ear, like she wants or needs to say this from a distance. “What about now?” I say, hoarse. “Are you ready to believe?”

She bites her lip. A few cars drive by. I sense a bit of an audience, the town of Windfall always up for a new episode of Edgar Gets Shot Down, except there’s no chance this episode ends with me leaving here alone. I plan to give them the season-ending shocker: “Edgar Gets the Girl.”

Delilah steps closer, still hovering on the other side of the street, talking to me through our phones. “I don’t want to hurt anymore, E. Not like this. And I don’t want to keep hurting you. The way you called and let me talk out everything from my past—it was exactly what I needed. All that opening up pushed me to talk to Maggie and my mom. Unearth issues I didn’t even realize were issues. So I’m done lying to myself, pretending I’ll be happy without you. Because I won’t be. I’m not happy without you. Not in the way a person can truly be fulfilled. I’m sure I’ll have setbacks, and there’s stuff we need to talk out, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. I want to do it together, preferably in your arms.”

That’s it. I’m toast. I’ve never needed anything as badly as I need her right now.

I shove my phone in my pocket, ready to sprint to her. Delilah shifts on her feet, looking equally impatient, but another car drives by, this one crawling at ten fucking miles per hour.

Something in Delilah’s face changes. Her posture straightens, the lines on her brow smoothing out. She hits me with her solar eclipse grin and plants her legs firmly. I know what’s about to happen, and I’m here for it. We’re finally ready for it, but I won’t let this attack hug be one sided. The second the Sunday driver slides past, I’m running. She’s running. We’re two meteors hurtling through space, about to collide in a burst of stars.

I catch her like I always will, crushing her close. Feeling whole for the first time in ten years. No more secrets. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’re here, we’re together, and I’m kissing the daylights out of Delilah Moon. She moans into my mouth. I clutch her closer, swipe my tongue against hers, moving deeper like the greedy man I am—the ending of “Edgar Gets the Girl” is R rated—and I suddenly have no clue why I was nervous. As rocky as our journey has been, our story only ever had one ending, and this is it.

I move to her ear, give her a filthy lick. “You, Delilah Moon, are devastatingly sexy.”

She makes a needy sound that undoes me. “I missed you so much. And since when do you have a beard?”

“This is my I’m-heartbroken face,” I murmur.

She pulls back and runs her fingers through my unkempt scruff. “The beard’s pretty hot, but I was heartbroken too.”

I rub my cheek against hers. “Enjoy it while it’s here, because it’s getting shaved tomorrow. And we’ll never be apart again. Not like this. From now on, we fight together or feel sad together or do whatever we need to do, as long as we’re together.”