Dating Delaney (4 page)

Delaney

I kicked off my shoes as soon as I was inside and got myself
a glass of water. What a strange turn of events tonight. He kept stealing looks
at me the entire car ride home. I don't know what to make of it.

Ginny’s text comes as a welcome distraction.:

How was the ride home?

I laugh out loud. My girlfriends are relentless.

‘Quiet and uneventful. Get your mind outta the gutter.’ I
reply swiping my thumb across the keyboard.

No way! I like it there.

Gross. Go to sleep.

I chuckle at my response and smile as I turn off the phone.

I plugged the phone into the charger, peed, and crawled into
bed. Okay, so maybe Jake wasn't as bad as I thought. He actually seemed nice.
Not that that means anything, I remind myself. Wilson jumps onto the bed and
head-butts me. I scratch him behind the ears and sigh. He has perfect lips.
Jake, not the cat. I wonder what they feel like...what they taste like. When I
close my eyes and drift off to sleep I find myself dreaming about Mr. Attractive
and all the things his lips could be capable of.

The shrill sound of a table saw wakes me and I shoot
straight up. Crap! I’m supposed to be in Wells in an hour to get Claire. How I
slept until noon is a mystery. I jump out of bed and toss on a sweatshirt before
heading to the bathroom.

“Mornin’,” comes a deep voice. It startles me and I jump a
little. I drop my hand from rubbing my eye and find Jake smirking at me just
outside the kitchen. Seriously, why does this keep happening to me? I’m in too
short cotton pajama shorts and a huge sweatshirt that hangs just a bit longer
than the shorts, making it look like I’m not wearing shorts at all, and I’m
sure my hair and face are a disaster. This is mortifying. Again.

“Did you seriously just wake up?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.” My voice is still thick with sleep.

“Impressive.” He chuckles at me.

“Whatever,” I mumble and walk into the bathroom, shutting
the door behind me.

I shower at lightning speed, grumbling to myself the entire
time about my crap luck whenever Mr. Attractive is on the premises, dress and
get ready, making it out the door with five minutes to spare before I need to
be on the road. The forty-minute drive to the Wells exit goes by uneventfully,
thank god. I pull into our designated meeting spot and shut down the car.

“Mom!” Claire shouts and runs to me.

“Hi babe,” I scoop her into a hug. “How was your weekend?”

“Good. Daddy took me to the movies!” she gushes.

“Fun!” I coo.

“Hey.” I nod at Trent as Claire climbs into my car. “How was
she?” I ask.

“Good.” He hands me her bag. “She’s always good.” He leans
into the car and gives her a kiss before shutting her door.

“Good,” I say.

“So, the week of your birthday I’m taking her for the whole
week, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, that would be great,” I state absentmindedly.

“You look good, Laney,” he states.

“Ah, thanks. I still think that calories are tiny little
fuckers that live in closets, making my clothes smaller though,” I joke.

“Well just keep running,” he laughs.

“Okay,” I state, rolling my eyes at him.

“Okay,” he repeats. We wave goodbye and get in our cars.

“Are our rooms done yet?” Claire asks as soon as we’re back
on the highway.

“Not yet, baby, it’s going to be a couple weeks still,” I
reply.

“Boo,” she cries. “I want to sleep in mine tonight.”

I laugh at her excitement and turn up the radio. We spend
the rest of the drive home singing our hearts out together and not caring if
anyone catches us.

When we get home, Claire jumps out of the car and starts
babbling on about some fort while running towards the tree swing in the
backyard. I carry her bag inside, throw her dirty clothes into the washer, and
start chili in the crock pot for dinner tonight as I mentally prepare for the
upcoming week.

Jake

As soon as she was up, she had showered and left in a rush.
I’d spent the better part of the night thinking about her even though I didn't
particularly want to. There was something about her that I couldn't quite
figure out. She was beautiful, sure, but she was hot and cold, too. I seem to
be pulled to her. The more I see her, the more I think about her, the more I
want to uncover all the layers she seems to hide behind. Maybe that’s just it.
She’s hiding in plain sight, but from what, I can’t figure out.

When she pulled back in an hour later I watched from the roof
as a pretty little girl shot out of her car before she’d even killed the
engine, squealing about something and running around the barn. Not that I had a
good view being so far away, but she looked just like Delaney: beautiful.

Bob and I finished up for the day around five. I’d only seen
Delaney a few times in passing since she’d come home and I was actually feeling
a little disappointed about it. Bob had taken off and I was just finishing
cleaning up. I came downstairs and as I passed the kitchen my mouth started
watering. Something smelled really good. I groaned and my stomach growled.
Delaney’s head popped out from the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, why?” I quip.

“I thought I heard a groan,” she smirks.

I smile, a little embarrassed that she heard that.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing, just reminded me
how hungry I am,” I explain.

“Ahh…makes sense. That’s my chili calling to you,” she
chuckles. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement. “You done for the day?” she
asks.

“Yeah, just loading everything up now,” I tell her while
taking her in. She’s got her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail and she’s
wearing a plain black cotton summer dress, but it fits her well, revealing
nothing and everything at the same time somehow. When she’s like this,
everything about her seems so effortless.

“Can I check out the progress?” she asks, looking excited.
It’s cute.

“Sure.” I set my tool bag down and take her upstairs. She
looks around, checking everything out, which isn't much really. Gaping holes in
the roof for now.

“Wow. This is going to be so awesome when it’s done. Look at
the view and how much bigger it feels already!” she exclaims.

I stand back and watch her. Her enthusiasm is intoxicating.
It will be pretty amazing when it’s done and she’s right: the views from both
bedrooms will be great. She spins around to me, beaming.

“Yeah, it will be really nice when it’s done,” I agree with
her.

“Mooooom! I’m hungry!” yells a small, high-pitched voice.

“I guess it’s dinner time,” she says. We make our way
downstairs and a miniature version of Delaney waits at the bottom for us.

“Hi. I’m Claire,” she chirps happily.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jake.”

“Are you building our rooms?” she asks.

“Yup.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” she pushes.

“Claire!” Delaney scolds.

“What?” she asks innocently. Delaney and Claire exchange a
look before she turns to me. It’s like they’re having a conversation without
talking. How do girls do that?

“Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s no big deal,” she
says. The smell wafting from the kitchen is really inviting but I know she’s
just being polite.

“No, no.
It’s ok. Thanks though,” I answer.
 “Mom made chili though…it’s soooooooooo good,” Claire declares. Delaney lets a
real laugh loose. She’s got a great laugh, the kind that makes you want to join
in just to experience the happiness. “Says the kid who complains the whole time
she eats it,” she says and shoots a look at her daughter and Claire shrugs her
response.

“If you don't want to stay I could wrap some up for you,”
she offers. “I always make too much for just the two of us.”

My brain says “go home, Jake” but my gut says stay.

“Well?” she pushes.

“I can stay if it’s really okay with you.” Gut wins.

“It’s fine. I just need to finish the cornbread.” She
smiles.

I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the island as I
watch her move effortlessly around getting the cornbread mixed and into the
oven. She’s at ease in her kitchen. There’s a small radio playing the oldies
station softly and for a moment I get lost in the sway of her hips as she moves
around. She’s stunning.

“Claire, why don't you set the table,” she calls out to the
living room. Claire comes bounding in complaining about having to do everything
herself.

“Just take these and set the table,” Delaney says sternly.
Another silent exchange passes between them through eye contact only. “Fine,”
Claire pouts and stomps off with our bowls and silverware.

“Sorry about that,” Delaney apologizes.

“Why?”

“Because she shouldn't behave that way in front of guests,”
she says.

“It’s okay. She’s cute,” I say.

“Ha! She is…some days,” she says and winks at me. She winked
at me. Maybe she doesn’t hate me after all.

We sit down to dinner ten minutes later. As we start eating,
Delaney asks Claire how her weekend was and what she did and then moves on to
me, asking how my day was. It felt strangely intimate sitting at the table with
the two of them talking about our days over dinner. And dinner, wow. The chili
was amazing. I actually groaned when I swallowed my first bite. I don't often
cook for myself anymore and frozen food isn't the same as a home-cooked meal,
but I didn't share this with Delaney. I don’t need to hang all my dirty
single-life laundry out there.

“That was great.” I pat my belly when I finish the last
bite.

“Told you!” Claire says as she collects our bowls from the
table and carries them to the kitchen.

“Wow, she clears the table?” I ask in astonishment.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” she beams.

“I’d say so. How old is she?” I question.

“Seven.”

“Must have been tough,” I say, thinking about how hard it
would be to raise a kid alone and be so young.

“What?” she prompts.

“Having her so young,” I state. She stares at me then
wrinkles her nose. Adorable.

“I wasn't
that
young. Twenty-six isn't old but it’s
not young either for babies,” she explains.

“Wait, how old are you?” I ask, stunned. I thought she was
thirty, tops. She laughs at me.

“Twenty plus,” she jokes.

“Twenty plus what?” I ask.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” she laughs and waggles her
brows at me, making me smirk.

“Clever, Delaney, very clever,” I chuckle.

“Please stop calling me that. It’s just Laney. Only my
parents use Delaney.”

“Okay. So? Are you going to tell me?” I ask.

“And risk you thinking I’m not some spring chicken?! No way!
How old are you?” she tries to distract me.

“Thirty-six,” I say. Her eyes go wide and her mouth opens
then snaps closed.

“What?” I ask, curious now at what she’s thinking.

“I just…I don’t know, that sounds old, but you don't look
old,” she blurts. My lips twitch and I feel my laughter bubbling to the
surface. I try and stifle it but it comes out loud.

“So then, you aren't thirty-six, I take it,” I tease.

“No, I’m younger than you...but not by much, really,” she
gives in.

“You really aren't going to tell me, are you?” I ask in mock
astonishment.

There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No, I don't think
I will. Although it shouldn't be hard to calculate, knowing Claire’s age,” she
chuckles.

Jesus, Jake, you really are an idiot. Of course she told you
how old she was when she had her…and how old Claire is now. My idiocy must have
shown on my face because Laney burst out laughing. Quickly I do the math in my
head.

“Thirty-three!” I say triumphantly.

She shrugs her shoulders, winks, and says, “I’ll never
tell.”

Delaney

I finally got Claire to bed and had a few hours to myself to
relax. Dinner had been nice, well, more than nice, actually. Our conversation
had been easy and pleasant. We’d all laughed over our meal and enjoyed dinner.
He had stayed and washed the bowls even though I insisted he not. I stood next
to him the whole time explaining that I have a perfectly fine dishwasher. He
flashed his dimples at me and told me if he didn't wash, then I wouldn't dry,
and if that happened we wouldn't have any reason to touch. I’m sure I turned
fifty shades of red at his brazen compliment. When he finally left I felt kind
of let down that the evening was over. I was just about to start a movie when
Mom popped over.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Hey.” She plops down on the couch next to me. “What’s new?”

“Nothing really. I was just going to watch a movie, what
about you?” I tell her.

“I was just putzing around, Dex is visiting Uncle Mark for a
few days,” she says.

“Jeez, how’d I miss that?” I ask her.

“He only left this morning, you were probably still
asleep
,”
she jabs.

“Har har, Mum, I do not feel bad for sleeping in when I
can.”

“I’m just teasing you,” she explains, although I already
knew it.

“Was Jake here late today?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“Kinda, he finished up at five but I had him stay for
dinner.”

She eyes me with interest but still a little warily. “Oh?
He’s awfully handsome, don't you think?” she probes. I throw my palm up to stop
her.

“I’d have to be blind not to notice he’s handsome, but it
was just a
friendly
dinner,” I declare.

“Uh huh.” She has a smug smile plastered on her face which I
ignore.

“So…movie?” I ask her.

“Sure, why not?”

I pick up the remote, press Play, and Mom and I snuggle into
the couch in comfortable silence together. It’s nice to have a mom you can just
hang with sometimes.

Monday and Tuesday fly by. Claire had started camp and I
locked myself in my bedroom while she was there both days to work on my book,
which I had been seriously neglecting. By the time four-thirty rolled around,
my neck was killing me from hovering over the laptop for hours. I have a bad
habit of forgetting to move when I’m writing. I sit and clickity-clack the
keyboard, zoning out for hours without remembering to eat, pee, or stand up and
stretch. I keep music playing loudly to drown out any distractions and just write.
By Wednesday early afternoon I’d finished the bones of the story and could take
a breather for the afternoon before revisiting it and turning it into an actual
novel.

I walked to the kitchen around one to make some lunch. I was
starving from only consuming coffee and dinner the last few days. “Fancy
meeting you here,” Jake says as he appears from the bathroom. I jump and squeal
like a hog from being startled.

“Jesus, you gave me a heart attack!” I complain.

He throws his hands up in defense. “No harm intended.” He
smiles. “Where have you been this week?” he asks.

“Holed up in my room, working. It’s...ah…too distracting
with you guys working upstairs to sit at the desk,” I tell him.

“What exactly do you do?” he asks.

I dread this question because for some reason I feel like
being a writer, especially writing mostly romance novels, is not an acceptable
career.

“Ah, I’m a writer.” It comes out tentatively even though I
want to be proud of it. He raises an eyebrow at me and grins.

“Like books?” he pushes.

“Yeah. I write novels,” I tell him.

“Anything I’ve read?” Oh boy. Here we go. I can feel the
heat creeping up my neck.

“Probably not, no. I write more chick lit stuff.”

“Chick lit?” he parrots.

“Yeah, like chick flicks, but books,” I shrug at him.

“Ahhh, I get it. Tell me the name of one, I’ll read it.” He
seems genuinely interested but I am not having him read a book meant for a
woman with sex scenes that I’ve written. I can feel my nose crinkle at the
idea. “You wouldn't like them. You don't have to read any,” I say, trying to
put him off.

“Oh come on... I’d like to.” He refuses to give up.

“No, um, I write, you know, romance stuff.”

“Romance stuff...” He waggles his eyebrows at me. It’s cute
and hilarious and I really want to laugh at him but I don't.

“Yeah, so, you don't have to read any,” I repeat.

“I’ll just look you up when I get home if you won't tell
me,” he teases. I groan and feel like throwing up at the prospect of him
reading a love story complete with sex that I’ve thought up and written.

“It’s just, you know, awkward,” I explain.

“Why write if you don't want anyone to read it?” he asks.

“I want people to read them,” I say defensively, “just not
you. It would be embarrassing if you read one.”

He grunts, shoots me a look, and then understanding dawns on
his face.

“Ohhhhhh,” he jests. “You write what you really want in a
man into your books don't you? What you really want a man to do to
you
.
Like your own personal fantasy right?” He looks at me curiously.

“Oh my god, Jake, we are NOT having this conversation.
Please.” I can feel myself getting overly worked up about this, partly because
his guess is a little true.

Without warning, his arm shoots out and wraps around my
waist, pulling me into him hard and knocking the breath out of me. He brings
his face to mine, leaving us mouth to mouth.

“Like this, Laney? Would this be a scene in your book?” he
whispers and I swear the air around us thickens. He’s going to kiss me. He. Is.
Going. To. Kiss. ME! My heart rate spikes and my breath is caught in my throat.
His eyes are staring right into mine and my god...is he actually going to kiss
me?! The arm at my waist tightens slightly as his other hand wraps around the
back of my neck. I can actually feel the red in my cheeks now and I’m pretty
sure my panties just exploded. Before I have time to answer, he lets go and I
stumble two steps backwards, never taking my eyes off his. He cocks his head to
the side and chuckles at me. I’m slightly disappointed--I think I would have
let him kiss me if he had. No. I’m really disappointed and I need to change my
underwear pronto.

“Not funny,” I declare once my breath comes back.

“Oh come on, Laney, lighten up,” he returns with a perfect,
dimpled smile. Easy for him to say.