The Complete Rixton Falls Series

by Winter Renshaw

  She rests her chin on the top of her hand and gazes through the window toward the backyard.

  “What’s this party you have to go to?” she asks.

  “Every year, the owner throws a kick off party just before camp starts. The players are all required to attend. It’s a black tie thing. It’s pretty lame.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make the most of it.” She lets it go, and despite the fact that she and I both know we’ve had to keep our little arrangement under wraps all summer, it still makes me feel like a giant piece of shit for not being able to take her.

  I bring her plate over and take a seat beside her, watching her tear off soft pieces of waffle as she’s engrossed in some online article about the psychology of advertising.

  Two weeks from now, Delilah will sit here for the last time.

  Three weeks from now, she’ll be gone.

  The reality of that smacks me across the side of the head, weighs me down, and zaps my appetite. I don’t want to eat now. I just want to sit here, watching her, irrationally trying to hold on to the beauty of this present moment before it turns into a future unknown.

  Chapter 31

  Delilah

  “I don’t trust packers. I never have.” Rue tosses some books into a cardboard box Thursday morning, and I hand her the packing tape. “When I moved across the country, they put my stuff in storage in Denver, Colorado for three months, Delilah. Three months!”

  I’ve heard this story dozens of times, but I smile and nod and continue carefully wrapping her knick-knacks and placing them in a padded box.

  “I appreciate your help here,” she says. “I really do. I just don’t trust many people to handle my things with same kind of love and care.”

  “It’s fine, Aunt Rue.” I fold the box corners together and drag the packing tape across until it’s all sealed. This is the tenth box we’ve packed today and we’ve barely made a dent. Aunt Rue’s entire life is scattered about this big house, and we’ve both decided tackling each room one-by-one was the best plan of attack. “This is why I’m here.”

  “How are things with you and the boy?” she asks, peering at me from the top rims of her glasses.

  “He’s been busy this week. Charity events with the Cougars. Team meetings. Physical therapy. Personal training. There really isn’t an off season for those guys.”

  “You sound sad.” She pouts her lower lip.

  “Yeah, well. I’ve had fun with him. And in less than two weeks, I’ll be back home.”

  “All good things come to an end.” Rue sighs. “Oh, to be young again. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to miss somebody who isn’t even gone yet.”

  Rue rises, knees cracking, and claps her hands together.

  “I think we’re done for the day,” she says. “You ready to take a load to the new place?”

  My hand goes to my phone in my back pocket. I pull it out and check the screen for any missed calls or texts from Zane – not that they could have slipped past me. I’ve been clinging onto this thing lately, desperate not to miss another moment with him as our days together dwindle.

  I know he’s been busy, and it’s not like I’m his girlfriend, but I was hoping we could spend time together tonight.

  Rue’s doorbell rings, and I pop up. “I’ll get it.”

  Seconds later, I’m peeking through the peephole, heart lit when I see who’s standing on the other side.

  “Hey.” Zane stands before me, hips wide, wearing basketball shorts and a tank top. “I’m going on a jog; you want to come?”

  “Oh.” I glance down at my yoga pants and bare feet. “I was just finishing some packing. Rue and I were going to drop off a load at the condo tonight.”

  “You guys need help?”

  “It’s a three-hour drive. We won’t get home until late.”

  “That’s fine. I just want to spend time with you.” He flashes a boyish grin, and I melt on the spot. “Even if that means being stuck in a car with Rue Rosewood for a six-hour road trip.”

  “Delilah, who’s at the door?” Rue calls from behind me.

  “Just the boy next door.” I smile at him. He smiles back.

  God, I’m going to miss this.

  “Hi, Zane.” Rue comes out from behind me. “Having a nice afternoon?”

  “Was just about to go on a jog, but Delilah mentioned you’re taking a load to the new place. Mind if I tag along and help?”

  Rue gives him a side-eyed glance and then peers down her nose at him. “You really want to move my stuff?”

  “If I’m being honest, I just want to spend time with your niece before she leaves. These are precious hours we’re burning up here.” Zane pulls his shoulders back, unshaken by Rue’s eagle-eyed stare. He lifts a bicep, curling his arm until the muscle pops out. I giggle. “I’ll do all the heavy lifting of course. You ladies won’t even have to break a sweat.”

  Rue tries not to smile. “No sense in me tagging along. I’d just be the third wheel. You two run along. Take your little road trip. Delilah, the keys are hanging up in the kitchen. The address is programmed into the navigation system in my car.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come along?” I ask. I feel bad. Although I’m sure there are a million other things she’d rather do around here.

  “Nah. I’ll head down to the clubhouse. Maybe have dinner with Ethel and the girls.”

  “Ooh. Dinner with the new president. How fancy,” I tease.

  “You drive safely now, you hear?” Her gaze is pointed at Zane.

  He places his hand over his chest. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

  Two hours later, we’ve loaded every square millimeter of space in Rue’s Lexus with cardboard boxes and we’re jetting down the highway toward Palm Beach with two hours remaining on our drive.

  “Eleven days.” Zane taps his palm against the steering wheel to the beat of the Cuban music playing faintly over the speakers, singing along under his breath. “Ay, candela, candela . . .”

  “Yeah.” I lean my head against the cool glass, counting palm trees that we pass. I’m up to one-hundred and sixty-eight so far, though I’m sure I’ve missed some along the way. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter 32

  Zane

  “Very nice.” I drop a box – gently – by the front door of the Palm Beach condo. This place is spic and span, literally unlived in, and fancy as hell. Everything’s white and shiny and futuristic. When I’m seventy-five, I hope to be half as cool as Rue Rosewood.

  “Shall we show ourselves around?” Delilah takes my hand and leads me from room to room, flicking on lights and checking out closets.

  “Why so many bedrooms?” I ask after the third one.

  Delilah stops in the hall, turning to look at me. “Rue’s passing the condo on to me and my siblings. She wants us to use it as a kind of shared vacation home, and she wanted extra bedrooms so we can bring our own families someday.”

  Her voice tapers off.

  “How funny would it be if . . .” She stops, refusing to finish her thought. “Never mind. That’s insane. It would never happen.”

  Standing across from her, getting lost in her warm brown eyes, I try to picture an older version of this beautiful woman, another man’s ring on her finger, her belly swollen and a couple small children running up and down these halls.

  My chest tightens.

  Someday Delilah Rosewood will be married to some asshole who doesn’t deserve her, and I’m just going to be some summer fling. A distant memory, growing more faded with every new and exciting milestone Delilah reaches in her life.

  It’s been well over a month since Delilah freaked out in my kitchen, declaring her heart confused and wondering what happens after this. She hasn’t said a word since. Not a single peep. She doesn’t complain or ask questions or muse about the future when she’s lying naked and breathless in my arms.

  “I’m going to check out the kitchen.” She bites her lip, po
inting down the hall, and within seconds she’s sauntering off, humming a quiet tune under her breath.

  I follow, standing aside and watching her pull open drawers and examine appliances.

  For the last five weeks, she’s been playing the part of the perfect fuck buddy. Sweet. Sassy. String-free.

  And me? I’ve been playing the part of the man, secretly and foolishly falling more in love every time I see her.

  The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, begging to be spoken.

  Needing to be spoken.

  Love.

  You.

  I clear my throat, my pulse racing and my vision growing blurry. It’s been years since I’ve said these words, and if I’m going to say them, I want her to hear them here and now. I don’t want to wait or I might chicken out.

  “Delilah, I . . .” I pull in a deep breath, and the ground beneath me feels a little unsteady, but in the most amazing of ways.

  Delilah screams and jumps a good foot or two off the ground, the bloodcurdling pierce sending a dull ache to my eardrums. Scrambling, she dives into my arms, taking a fistful of my shirt and pulling me toward the door.

  “There’s a mouse, there’s a mouse, there’s a mouse, there’s a mouse . . .” she repeats over and over until we’re outside. Delilah shakes and shudders, sticking her tongue out as I take the keys and lock the door. “How can there be a mouse in there? It’s a brand new condo!”

  “There’s an empty field across the street. It’s new construction. It happens,” I say.

  “I don’t know how you can be so calm.” Her entire body convulses again, and she sticks out her tongue like she’s about to gag.

  “Come on, let’s get back on the road before it gets too late,” I say.

  Stupid mouse.

  Chapter 33

  Delilah

  Two days.

  Forty-eight hours from now, I’ll be on a plane, flying home to Rixton Falls, and all I can think about is how much fun I’ve been having here and how much I want to stay.

  “I can’t believe you’re back.” I watch my sister get ready for the party tonight. Weston flew her down here to be his date. Tomorrow she’s going to help Rue with a few things, and Monday she’ll fly back home with me. “I mean, I can believe it because . . . Weston.”

  Daphne rolls her eyes with a giant smile on her face. “We’ve been texting and talking ever since I left. He’s so nice, Del.”

  “I know he is.”

  “It’s like, we waste so much time and energy going after assholes and douche bags and the nice guys never get the credit they deserve.” Daphne retrieves her mascara and bevels the wand against her curly lashes. “Screw French men. Fuck hipsters. I’m all about the nice guys.”

  “Glad to hear you’re officially retiring from jerks.”

  “How are things with you and Zane? Any good stories for me?” She flashes me a wink-wink.

  I perch on the closed-lid toilet and rest my elbows on my knees. “I did exactly what you said, Daph. I embraced the complicated.”

  “And?”

  “And everything . . . oddly worked out.” I shrug.

  She spins to face me, lifting her left brow. “Really? I mean, that’s good.”

  “The complicated is still there,” I say. “Believe me. We just don’t talk about it.”

  “Okay, so you’re leaving in two days. Have you two talked about that?”

  “Nope.”

  My sister makes a pinched face. “So you’re just going to hang out one last time and then hop on a plane and never see him again?”

  “We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. There’s no need for some big, productive, emotional farewell.”

  “Yeah, but you should at least discuss how you’re going to handle future contact. Is the door always open? Will there be visits? Will you keep in touch? That sort of thing.”

  I shake my head. “I’m embracing complicated right up to the very end, and I’m seeing it through. Besides, Zane doesn’t like to talk about the past or the future. I learned that very quickly.”

  “Nice. Got to respect a man who can live in the present. It’s not easy.”

  Daphne exits the bathroom and tiptoes back to her room where a slinky peach and gold evening gown is lying across the foot of her bed. She steps into it, zipping up the back, and checks her reflection in a nearby Cheval mirror. The gold flecks in the dress play off her tanned skin and pops next to her platinum hair.

  “You look like a Barbie princess,” I say.

  “In a good way?”

  “Of course.”

  Daphne runs her palms down her sides. “I just hope it’s not too much. I don’t want to embarrass Weston.”

  My jaw hangs. “Embarrass him? Sweetie, he’s going to be showing you off every chance he gets. All eyes will be on you tonight, believe that. And he’s going to be strutting around like the proudest peacock in the bunch.”

  Daphne giggles. “I can’t picture Weston strutting . . . but okay.”

  The doorbell chimes by the time my sister puts the finishing touches on her low chignon, and my heart leaps with empathetic excitement. Up until now, I didn’t care that I couldn’t go with Zane to the party, but now I’m feeling a little bummed.

  “You’re going to have a blast tonight,” I say, escorting her to the front door where Weston stands in an all-black tuxedo.

  His eyes light when he sees her.

  “Hi.” She takes sweet, ginger steps toward him.

  Weston’s gaze is fixed on her. I don’t think he even realizes Rue and I are standing off to the side. He’s completely enchanted, mesmerized by her.

  Rue rests her palm over her heart, reaching for me with her other hand. She gives me a good squeeze, and I nod. We’re witnessing something special.

  This is more than a summer fling.

  “Okay, we’re leaving now.” Daphne gives us a wave, slipping her hand into Weston’s. “Don’t wait up.”

  I turn to Aunt Rue, who’s also dressed to the nines. “Where are you going tonight?”

  “Last minute hot date.” She winks.

  “But you’re moving tomorrow?” I fold my arms, smirking, amused at her audacity.

  “So? He’s well aware.” Rue shrugs. “And if he wants me, he’ll know where to find me.”

  Chapter 34

  Zane

  “Kindly loosen your grip,” I say into Carissa’s ear, keeping my voice low and a smile on my face. “I wasn’t aware that coming here tonight with you meant you’d be physically attached to me at all times.”

  We’ve been here forty-minutes already and so far the only time she’s released me was when I went to take a piss, and I didn’t even have to go. I just needed a breather.

  “There’s my beautiful daughter!” Carissa’s mother, Caitlyn Forbes, floats toward us, arms outstretched and Southern drawl in full force. “My goodness, you look radiant, Carissa. And Zane, you look very handsome. I’m sure Carissa dressed you from head to toe. She’s always liked to play dress up with all her boyfriends.”

  Boyfriends?

  “Mother.” Carissa pretends to be annoyed. “Zane dressed himself tonight actually.”

  “Well, my, my.” Her mother pats my hand, giving me a side-grin. “You must know how to stand your ground with this one. I’d love to talk to you later, maybe get some pointers from you. She’s been steamrolling her father and me since the day she was born.”

  Carissa’s father passes through a group of guests, saying hello before taking his place beside his wife.

  “Don’t these two look adorable?” Caitlyn muses. “I could just eat them up. Picture perfect. Oh. That reminds me. I should take a picture of them.”

  “No,” I say.

  Carissa shoots me a look, and Caitlyn wears a quizzical leer.

  “I beg your pardon?” Caitlyn asks.

  Mr. Forbes gives me a dirty look, a notch beyond the one he gave me last time we were this close to one another.

  “I’m just not into pictures,” I s
ay.

  “This would be for our family albums,” she says. “Caitlyn’s our only daughter. We just like to document everything. Goodness, I think I’ve saved every school photo, all her baby teeth, and every last Barbie doll.”

  “Come on, baby. No one will see these but our family.” Carissa massages the underside of my arm, cocking her head sideways and laying on a sweet smile as her parents watch. “It would make Mama so happy.”

  Mr. Forbes clears his throat, giving me the evil eye, and then his gaze passes through me, landing on the far side of the room where their son Taylor stands by the bar, schmoozing a few of the players. I watch him hand over his card.

  Taylor fucking Forbes.

  Not only is he a notorious douche bag and the brother of my criminally insane stalker, he also once tried to swipe Mirabelle out from under me, telling her she deserved better than filthy scum like me. He’ll be forever on my shit list because of that.

  The sad thing is, had she run off with Taylor, she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life in isolation in some assisted care facility.

  Life’s a fucking bitch sometimes.

  The day I saw him leaving Rue’s, I shoulder-checked him on the sidewalk and told him Delilah was mine despite the fact that she very much wasn’t. Maybe I was skating by on arrogance and charm at that point, but deep down, a baser part of me knew something else was brewing.

  “Come on, baby,” Carissa coos into my ear. “Let’s refill our drinks. Be a gent and order me a lemon drop martini, will you?”

  I’m distracted, scanning the room for some kind of clock so I can see how many more hours I have left in literal hell, and when I turn around, Carissa’s standing before me, rising on her toes and bringing her mouth to mine for a lingering, closed-lip kiss.

  By the time I realize what just happened, the first thing I do is glance around the room to make sure nobody saw. There’s a handful of photographers here with press passes, and the last thing I need is the immortalization of this unwanted kiss with a single photo.