Delilah Green Doesn’t Care

CLAIRE DIDN’T TALK to Astrid or Delilah for the next two days.

Saturday morning at the campsite had been quiet, all of them except Josh and Ruby either hungover or sleep-deprived or, in Delilah’s case, still zonked out in the tent by the time they were all ready to pack up. Astrid and Spencer left before Josh had even finished making breakfast over the fire, giving Claire and Iris zero chances to talk to her, and then Delilah slept the entire drive back to town.

Now it was Monday evening and Claire felt like she was coming out of her skin. She and Iris had texted a lot over the weekend, but it was mostly about how neither of them could get in touch with Astrid. Claire would’ve driven over to Astrid’s house and confronted her there, but both she and Iris had been swamped with work at their respective shops, making up for the time off they’d taken for the spa and the impromptu camping trip. Plus, she didn’t want to ambush her best friend. It was time to be honest about their worries, yes, but she and Iris agreed that they still had to approach the whole situation gingerly, particularly now that Astrid was clearly avoiding them and wouldn’t make it easy.

All of that stress might have been manageable—after all, she’d been worried about Astrid ever since her best friend got engaged—but now there was Delilah, who had definitely not texted or called or come by the store since they got back from Bagby Springs. Granted, Claire hadn’t called or texted her either. Calling or texting had a decidedly dating tone to it, and they definitely weren’t dating. And since they weren’t dating, reaching out in any form seemed more like a booty call, which didn’t feel right at all.

Nothing felt right.

She knew this was what casual looked like, and she told herself over and over again that she was fine with it. She told herself she was fine with it when Ruby asked if Delilah could come over for pizza on Saturday night and she had to say no. She told herself she was fine with it when she rolled over in her bed on Sunday and could still smell Delilah on her pillow. She told herself she was fine with it as she scrolled through Delilah’s Instagram on Monday evening while she lay on her couch and the rain came down in sheets outside, ignoring how the ache in her chest bloomed bigger and brighter with each beautiful image.

She was feeling particularly broody as she looked at a photograph of a gorgeous Black woman in a formal tulle-skirted dress standing barefoot in the watery rush of a New York City fire hydrant, a graffitied stone wall behind her. The hydrant’s red popped against the woman’s neutral clothes, the gray and muted blues and greens of the wall, the water droplets that looked like bits of crystal suspended in midair.

It was a lovely photograph. Wall worthy. Gallery worthy, even.

She’d just tapped on a new breathtaking image, really settling into her self-pity, when the doorbell rang. She shoved off her cocoon of blankets, cursing Josh for being early for once in his life. He was taking Ruby and Tess to a movie tonight, followed by a sleepover at his apartment, and wasn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes. She pulled up the strap on her tank top that kept slipping down her arm, but didn’t even bother to fix her hair, which she’d put up into a messy bun on top of her head once she got home from the bookstore but had now slowly given way to gravity.

“Ruby, your dad’s here!” she called down the hall as she reached the door.

“Oh my god, he’s early!”

“You hear that?” she said as she wrenched the door open. “You’ve officially shocked your—”

She blinked into the rain at the person standing on her porch under a pink umbrella with ruffles around the edges. A person who was mostly definitely not Josh.

“I’ve shocked my what?” Delilah said.

“Um. No one. I thought you were Josh.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No!” Claire yelled it loud enough that Delilah startled a little. She forced herself to calm down, play it cool. “Sorry. No, I’m not disappointed. Just surprised.”

Delilah nodded, and then they stared at each other for a few seconds, during which Claire became acutely aware that she was in a pair of dirty sweatpants, a tank top with an old mustard stain in the area of her left boob, and her hair looked like a wasp’s nest. She had on some makeup, but with an evening of self-indulgent brooding and drinking boxed wine ahead of her, she hadn’t bothered to freshen up after getting home from the bookstore.

“So, can I come in?” Delilah asked. “I took some photos today that I’d love to show Ruby.”

Claire’s stomach fluttered, but she backed up. “Yeah, sorry, come in. Though Ruby’s about to head out with—”

“Well, hello, ladies.” Josh jogged up the front walk in tight jeans, a plain gray T-shirt dappled with rainwater clinging to his chest and arms. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” Claire said. “Ruby’s almost ready.”

“Cool. Hey, Delilah.”

“Hey.”

“Nice umbrella.”

Delilah glanced up, as though she forgot what the thing looked like. “It’s the only one the Kaleidoscope Inn had to loan me.”

“How very Strawberry Shortcake of them,” Josh said. “What are you two up to tonight?”

“Nothing,” Claire said.

“Nothing at all,” Delilah said.

Josh frowned, his eyes flitting between the two of them. Claire could almost hear his mind whirring, and she just wanted him out of here. Luckily, Ruby came bounding down the hall at the exact right moment, kissing Claire on the cheek and saying hello to Delilah before launching herself into Josh’s arms. Then they were gone in a flurry of Ruby’s green rain coat and duffel bag and Josh’s promise to have her back tomorrow morning by ten.

Claire watched as her daughter got into the back seat of Josh’s truck and buckled up. She left the door open even after they’d pulled away and driven out of sight.

“Sorry,” she said. “Ruby’s staying with her dad tonight.”

“So I gathered,” Delilah said.

“Do you . . . I mean . . . Would you . . .”

She couldn’t get the words out though. She wanted Delilah to stay, but she didn’t want the other woman to think Claire just wanted her to stay for sex. Then again, they’d already established that they were just screwing, so surely, Claire could just ask her to stay without fear. Delilah was the one who’d shown up on her doorstep, for god’s sake.

Still, Claire couldn’t help but want something more right now. Dinner. A movie. Maybe just splitting a bottle of wine out on her covered porch, listening to the rain and talking.

But that was ridiculous.

That was . . . impossible.

“Do I want to what?” Delilah asked, taking a step closer.

Claire shook her head. “Never mind. I just—”

But then Delilah closed her umbrella and set it outside on the stoop and stepped inside. She pushed Claire’s front door closed before crowding into her space, hands on Claire’s hips and her mouth bumping up against Claire’s bottom lip as she spoke.

“I missed you,” she said.

Claire couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare. “You did?”

Delilah nodded and then she kissed her—once, twice, soft and sweet that in no way indicated she was expecting to fall into bed immediately. In fact, this kiss, well, it felt like Delilah expected . . . something more.