I filled her in one deep stroke, gripping her hip with my hand as she let out a low cry. I forced myself to hold still for a minute, gritting my teeth as her channel rippled around my cock. She didn’t let me stay still for long, not when she pushed back against me.
Drawing back, I stroked into her snug core, my ferocious need for her sizzling through me. She was already at the edge. I could feel it as she clamped around me. Curling over her, I reached around and teased my fingers over her swollen clit.
She came in a noisy rush, gasping my name between broken cries. I could barely hear her when my own release crashed over me.
My breath came in heaves as the intensity subsided, like the tide slowly rolling out. After a minute, I pulled myself together and lifted her into my arms.
Waking up with Delilah was something I could get used to. The last morning before the day she was supposed to leave, I woke before her. The days were already getting noticeably longer here in Alaska. Sunshine fell through the windows in my bedroom in a bright, golden spring light.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I looked down at Delilah. Her dark hair was tangled on the pillow. She was curled on her side with her bottom nestled against my arousal. I was forever waking up with a hard-on with her. My body knew what it wanted.
I loved seeing her asleep because the lines of tension smoothed away from her face, and she looked so unguarded. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and her hands were curled up under her chin. My heart gave a wobbly thump in my chest. I didn’t want tomorrow to come. I didn’t want her to leave.
We had lunch at Firehouse Café. “It’s my favorite place in Willow Brook,” Delilah had said.
She’d arrived only six days ago, yet today, I was realizing just how comfortable I’d become with her presence. On the one hand, it felt as if she’d been here much longer. On the other, it felt as if we’d only had a fraction of the time I wanted with her. My internal calculation of time didn’t matter, not one iota, because she was leaving tomorrow.
Janet stopped by our table to pick up our plates. Her cheeks plumped with her smile as she looked back and forth between us with her brown eyes twinkling. “Now, Delilah, I hear you’re trying to decide between your internship at the emergency department or at the family clinic. What are you thinking?”
Delilah looked startled. Her eyes widened, her mouth parting before she closed it quickly. “I definitely don’t know,” she finally said.
An uneasy feeling slithered up my spine. I knew she didn’t know, but I wanted her to know.
A few minutes later, we climbed in my truck. Delilah was quiet as I started it up and turned out of the parking lot in the direction of my parents’ place, which was on the way home.
Out of nowhere, or so it felt, Delilah asked, “Are you telling people I’m coming back for my internship?”
Fuck. I did not need Delilah getting more squirrelly than she already was about this.
“I haven’t said anything to anyone. I’m guessing you should ask Holly or Rachel about that. Holly is the likely culprit.”
Delilah was quiet long enough that I stole a glance at her. She was looking out the window, those familiar lines of tension around her mouth with her shoulders held stiffly.
“Are you even thinking about it?” I heard myself asking.
I didn’t see it because I looked ahead again, but I felt Delilah’s head whip in my direction. “I don’t know. Obviously with people asking about it, I’m thinking about it. But what are we doing? Alex. It seems crazy to me to move across the country. The only reason I would come here would be because of you.”
I looked her way, practically feeling the burn of her gaze. “I would move across the country for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Delilah
May
I would move across the country for you.
That one sentence from Alex had been spinning a circle in my thoughts for weeks. I felt a little crazy.
I took one last look at my father, who was sound asleep and had been for the entirety of my visit this afternoon, before standing and leaving the room quietly. My mother was in the kitchen planting seedlings in her flower boxes. She would put them out to hang on her deck railings soon.
She looked up, her eyes meeting mine as I crossed into the kitchen. “He still sleeping?”
I nodded. “Oh, yeah. When he’s awake, how is he doing?”
My mother looked down as she carefully used her fingertips to pat the soil. “He’s only awake for an hour here and there. I think he mostly feels tired. They’re giving him enough pain medication that I don’t think he’s in a lot of pain, so for that, I’m grateful.” She looked up at me again as she dusted the potting soil off her fingertips. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Do we have any updates from his doctor or the hospice program?”
“Nothing new. They don’t expect him to make it for more than a few months. That hasn’t changed.”
“Isn’t that what they said when he was first diagnosed?”
My mother stood and crossed to the sink where she rinsed her hands as she replied, “That is what they said. The nurses tell me they’ve seen cases with someone this far along where they dwindle a while before finally passing.” My mother turned and dried her hands on a dish towel before hanging it over the oven handle.
I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay. I just wish we knew more.”
My mother cocked her head to the side. “Do you want to know exactly when he’s going to pass? Hon, life very rarely gives us guarantees like that. We are all guaranteed to die, but precisely when is hard to know. Even with someone as sick as your father.”
“I know, I know,” I replied, idly rubbing my knuckles over my breastbone. There was a burning sensation in my throat and heart.
“Ever since you were a little girl, you always wanted to have guarantees. Every time we moved, you would say, ‘Tell me how long we’re going to stay here. Exactly.’” Her mouth twisted in a sad smile. “Of course, I understand now that the uncertainty you experienced when you were growing up is precisely why you look for certainty now. I didn’t understand it so much then.”
That burning sensation intensified. I turned and quickly walked to look out the windows as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe so,” I said, striving to keep my tone casual and noncommittal.
“How was your trip to Alaska? You haven’t said anything since you got back.” My mother’s voice became louder as she crossed the room to stand beside me.
I scanned the view of Stolen Hearts Valley and my grandmother’s yard. Spring was here. I could see the green shoots from the bulbs coming up in the flower beds, and the daffodils had already bloomed under one of the trees. Everything was becoming lush and green. My mother was already busy with the greenhouse and landscaping business.
“Delilah?” my mother prompted. “Hon, are you okay?”
Sliding my eyes sideways, I shrugged. “I guess. Dad and I were never close, but I’m sad he’s dying.”
It should’ve given me pause that I preferred to talk about my father’s death than answer my mother’s polite question about my trip to Alaska. It’s just her observation about my desire for guarantees in life bumped up against everything I was struggling with around Alex and me.