“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Delilah said.
The three women froze—Astrid with her brows dipped in confusion and these other two yahoos with their eyes popped wide. Delilah felt a laugh bubble into her chest.
“What is it now?” Astrid asked, immediately irritated.
Under the table, Claire hooked her ankle around Delilah’s, bare leg against bare leg. Claire’s skin was smooth, cool, and made Delilah’s stomach flutter more than she’d like to admit. It did the trick though. She took a deep breath and smiled, lifting her glass to her mouth and looking around as if for the server.
“I’m starving, is all,” she said. “Don’t they bring bread or something?”
Astrid visibly relaxed. “Oh, yeah, I think so.” She flagged down the server who’d been taking care of them and asked for a basket of carbs, which was promptly delivered, along with a homemade honey butter that Delilah wanted to lick right out of the little stainless steel container.
She was on her second piece of warm brown bread when she realized Claire’s ankle was still lightly twined around hers.
The knowledge was like an electrical shock. Delilah’s spine went straight, and she couldn’t keep her own gaze from finding Claire, who seemed to realize at the same time that she was still wrapped around Delilah like a koala. Claire jerked her leg back so quickly, her knee bashed into the table, rattling the plates and glasses and pulling a swear out of her pretty mouth.
“Shit, you okay?” Iris asked, steadying the vase of lilies at the center of the table.
Claire grimaced and nodded, rubbing her leg. “Yeah, sorry. Klutz over here.”
Delilah cracked a smile, which Claire returned, a lovely blush spreading over her cheeks. Watching this beautiful, completely adorable woman under the sinking sun, the whole day suddenly seemed hilarious—the one-room-at-the-inn faux pas, Claire locking herself in the bathroom like a self-conscious teenager, this ridiculous team effort to take Spencer down. As three-fourths of a glass of wine rivered through Delilah’s veins, her smile grew into a laugh she couldn’t hold back.
“What’s so funny?” Astrid asked.
Delilah shook her head, more laughter slipping through her mouth. Next to her, Claire started laughing too, her hand over her face and her shoulders shaking. Iris and Astrid just stared at each other, though Iris wore a tiny knowing smile that made Delilah feel a little less insane. Still, she had to get it together or Astrid would end up pouty and pissed, the opposite of what the three other women were going for.
Well, at least the opposite of what Iris and Claire were going for.
And right now, with the light and the wine and the laughs, all coupled with her own exhaustion, Delilah would give Claire Sutherland just about anything.
“Okay, so,” Delilah said, knocking back another swallow of wine and propping her elbows on the table. She leveled her gaze at Astrid and fluttered her lashes like a school girl at a sleepover. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
Iris choked on her wine, and Claire covered her smile with her hand. Astrid, however, didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes went wide, and she released a nervous laugh.
“What?”
“Spencer,” Delilah said, tearing a piece of bread in half and stuffing it in her mouth.
“Oh,” Astrid said. She picked up her glass and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. It did not escape Delilah’s notice that Astrid’s smile dimmed. Just a little. Just enough.
Apparently, it didn’t escape Claire’s notice either, as her leg nudged Delilah’s once before retreating again. Delilah played along, pressing her thigh back against Claire’s and then decidedly leaving it there. She heard Claire inhale slowly, but the other woman didn’t move.
“We don’t have to talk about him,” Astrid said, waving a hand. “I babble on about him enough.”
“Do you though?” Iris asked.
Delilah rolled her eyes. Iris was about as subtle as a kid on Christmas morning. But then, as Iris seemed to realize her less-than-suave prod and shoved some bread in her big mouth, something occurred to Delilah. A way in. A little gold nugget from her and Astrid’s childhood, one of the few memories she had that wasn’t laced with resentment.
“He’s your Gilbert Blythe, right?” she said, daintily sipping her wine. “Must be a lot to say about him.”
Astrid’s mouth fell open. “Gilbert . . . Gilbert Blythe?”
“Yeah, from . . .” Delilah pretended to be stumped, waving her hand in the air. “What was it?”