IRIS: You just said we were queens.
Delilah relaxed a little while Claire chugged her water and made uh-huh sounds at Astrid.
CLAIRE: Ris, what are you doing?
IRIS: Um, texting?
DELILAH: What the hell is OSB?
IRIS: Operation Shit Boot
DELILAH: Shit boot?
IRIS: SHIT. BOOT.
Delilah looked at Iris, half irritated and half amused. Iris just smiled, then went back to texting.
IRIS: What’s our next move?
CLAIRE: I think we can wait to talk about this until Astrid isn’t two feet away from me.
IRIS: We could, except we only have ten days and last night did not go as planned.
DELILAH: Last night went exactly as planned.
Claire cleared her throat, and Delilah wanted to roll her eyes. She opened up a thread with just Claire.
Not what I meant.
I know, Claire texted back.
IRIS: Are you two texting on your own?
CLAIRE: No.
DELILAH: Maybe.
Claire huffed out a breath, and Delilah couldn’t help but smile.
IRIS: Okay, no secret conspiring. I don’t care if you two do want to bang each other’s brains out.
Delilah choked on her own spit, which caused a coughing fit. She pounded on her chest while Claire’s thumbs flew over her screen.
CLAIRE: Ris! For god’s sake.
IRIS: I said what I said.
“Who are you texting?” Astrid asked, glancing at Claire’s phone white-knuckled between her hands.
“No one,” Claire said. “Josh. He’s . . . bringing Ruby over to the house.”
Astrid nodded and Claire retreated toward the window, her phone abandoned in the cup holder.
Delilah fired off one final text.
I still hate you both.
* * *
AFTER ASTRID HAD dropped off Iris and Claire, Delilah remained in the back seat.
“I’m not your chauffeur,” she said as she pulled away from Claire’s house on Linden Avenue. Delilah just stared at the window, taking in the Craftsman that looked exactly like something Claire would love. Small and cozy, with a large front porch and bright white trim, natural stone base and dusky-blue shingled siding. Claire walked up the front walk without looking back, her hips swaying under her tight jeans in a way that made last night rise up in Delilah’s mind like a flash flood.
Christ.
All morning and afternoon, she had tried not to think about it. She’d kissed Claire, felt her up good and proper, and now she could move on. It didn’t matter that Astrid didn’t know and wouldn’t know until after the wedding—or the non-wedding or breakup or whatever the fuck Iris was trying to accomplish—Delilah knew. And Delilah had gotten through life by putting herself first, only concerning herself with what she knew was true, because she’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t control anyone but herself. She couldn’t change anyone’s mind, couldn’t make someone love her who had no interest in doing so, and couldn’t keep someone from leaving her if that’s what they wanted to do. She couldn’t make agents see her. Couldn’t make art lovers buy her pieces.
She couldn’t make Claire feel unashamed over what had happened. And she couldn’t change the fact that she was stuck with the woman and her lovely hips for another ten days. All she could do was mind her business and take the damn photos.
Except as Astrid pulled away, Claire paused on her porch and turned. She met Delilah’s eye through the window, and Delilah felt it—that look—shoot down her legs. It was that same look Claire shot over her shoulder at the brunch. Interest. Intrigue. Fuck, it was want.
“Hello?” Astrid said.
Delilah swallowed and looked away, sighing heavily. “The inn is what? A mile from here? Just drive and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Astrid released her own sigh. “I asked you if I could see some of the photos you’ve taken so far.”
“Oh.” Delilah rubbed her forehead. She had to get her shit together. It was a kiss. A really good one. A great one, but still, it was just lips and tongues. Delilah had kissed a hundred people, heard a hundred people gasp into her mouth like she was the air and they’d been drowning.
Or . . . well, fine, she hadn’t heard a hundred people make that sound when she was kissing them, but surely, she’d experienced it before.
“What the hell, Delilah!”
She jolted in her seat. “God, sorry.”
“Where are you, back in New York?”
Delilah rubbed her hands down her face. “If only.”
Astrid pressed her mouth flat and turned onto Main Street, which was bustling with the predinner crowd. The sky was a marbled gray and white, the promise of rain and an earthy scent in the air.