Or Delilah.
It could be Delilah, standing right there and watching Claire with a soft look in her eyes, and how Claire knew if she pressed her face to Delilah’s neck, she’d smell like rain and grass.
It could be Delilah and the soon-to-be-empty house behind them. Claire realized with a cold wash of nerves that she owed Tess’s mother a drink. She wanted Delilah to stay. She wanted to be alone with her. She knew it was stupid, knew it could never go anywhere, but ever since their kiss at the spa—no, before that, way before that—she couldn’t stop thinking about Delilah. And it wasn’t just physical either. There was something about Delilah that made Claire’s throat ache, made her want to spill her secrets, made her want to reach out and swipe her thumb over the other woman’s cheek like a lover would. Around Delilah—even just thinking about Delilah—Claire felt young and wild, unbound in a way she hadn’t experienced since before Ruby was born.
Delilah bit her bottom lip as she gazed at Claire.
Okay, maybe in a way she’d never experienced. Not even Josh made her feel this crazed, this desperate just to brush her fingers over the pulse under another person’s ear.
Which was a problem, because Delilah didn’t do anything but physical. Claire knew this—whatever this was—could only ever end, but she couldn’t help it. She still wanted this. She wanted Delilah. Maybe Claire could do casual. Maybe she didn’t need dates and squealing with her friends. Maybe she really did just need a good lay.
Even as she thought the words, though, something flickered in her chest. She ignored it. She could do this. It would be good for her. She could reclaim what was supposed to have been her wild twenties while she was busy changing diapers and pushing swings at the park.
“Want to stay for a glass of wine?” she said, but at the exact same moment, Delilah had also spoken, “So I guess I should go” falling out of her mouth like a bomb.
“Oh,” Claire said, again, at the same time as Delilah’s own “Oh.”
The two women looked at each other, then started laughing. Claire’s cheeks heated, and she was thankful for the dim lighting that covered her blush. At the same time, she wanted to know if Delilah was blushing too.
Probably not. She couldn’t imagine Delilah Green blushing over anyone.
“Sorry,” Claire said. “Do you need to go?”
“Not right away, I guess,” Delilah said. “I’ll take that glass of wine.”
“Oh. Great.”
“Great.”
“White or red?”
“Whatever.”
Claire nodded, then continued to stand there like a doofus as Delilah tilted her head at her. “Right. Yeah, let me see what I’ve got.”
Delilah laughed. “Lead the way.”
They walked inside just as Ruby tore down the hall with her backpack, heading for the front door. “Mom, I’m going!”
“Hey, hang on, Rabbit,” Claire said, walking over to her.
Ruby halted and endured a hug from her mother. Claire smiled into her hair, pressed a kiss to her head.
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay. Have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ruby waved at Delilah and then bolted through the door. Claire stepped outside on the front stoop, watching her daughter walk down the sidewalk to the navy blue bungalow three houses down. When Ruby was safely inside, she stepped back into her own house and closed the door.
The quiet hit her first.
Then the pop of a cork, the glug of liquid into a glass.
She turned to find Delilah in her kitchen, lifting a glass of white wine to her lips.
“I found this already open in the fridge,” Delilah said, angling the pale yellow contents from a bottle of pinot grigio into a second glass. “Hope that’s okay.”
“Totally fine,” Claire said, watching her for a beat. Delilah’s face was her usual calm, but also . . . there was something else there, something in the way she inhaled a slow breath before she took a sip of her drink, the way her cheeks puffed out, just a little, as she exhaled even more slowly.
Was Delilah . . . nervous?
The thought felt like a warm spring rain on a cool afternoon. It opened up a space inside Claire’s chest, made her walk over to the kitchen island and pick up her glass, take a long gulp.
“Does it feel like all we ever do is drink around each other?” Delilah asked.
Claire laughed. “Yeah, a little bit. But, you know, wedding.”
Delilah nodded. “Wedding.”
“And diabolical plans.”