by S. L. Scott
Standing on the other side of her door, I knock. Delilah finally looks up and points at the light. It’s green. I shrug, but then make the lame twist of the wrist roll-down-your-window motion with my hand because I have a feeling she might not understand if I pretend to push a button to roll it down.
“Get back in your car, Jason,” she says through the glass.
“No. Roll down your window.” To sugarcoat it, I add, “Please.”
I can see her eyes through the lens. “Why?”
“What do you mean why? I want to talk to you, and I don’t want to shout through the glass.”
Huffing, the glass slowly slides down. “What is it?” She keeps her hands on the steering wheel, and her grip seems to tighten just a bit.
When her eyes settle on mine, I say, “I want to see you.”
“You’re seeing me, Jason, so if that’s all there is, I’ll be going now.”
The glass starts to roll up, but I clamp my palm over it. She releases the button and looks up at me. “I don’t know what happened the other day, what turned your mood so quickly, but I’d like another chance to talk.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea, actually.” I can see the smile tugging itself free. I grin in response. “All you have to do is say yes.”
“No.”
My smile tilts into a smirk. “You haven’t changed much.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” She sighs. “Red light.”
“I have three minutes to change your mind.”
“Why do you want to talk, Jason? Just let things lie the way they’re meant to be.”
Meant to be . . .
She and I were once meant to be. Maybe that’s why this notion keeps making itself known. Is there still something between us? “I want to come by this afternoon. I’ll bring lunch.”
Shaking her head, she looks down at her lap. “I can’t.”
“Delilah.” Her eyes return to mine, and the glass is level with the car again. I rest my hands on the door and lean down. “Let me see your eyes.”
Another car pulls up behind her car, and I wave. It seems like the courteous thing to do.
Her body gives her debate away, her chest rising and lowering—her breath deepening. She gives in and moves her sunglasses to the top of her head and looks into my eyes. “What are you doing, Jason?” she whispers.
“Is that you, Jason Koster?” a woman calls out, sticking her head out of the car window.
“It is. Good morning, Mrs. Robertson.”
“You’re going to make us late for church if you don’t get a move on.”
“I’d love to get a move on and not be late for the Lord, but Ms. Noelle has refused me the pleasure of her company, so I thought I’d see if I could change her mind.”
Delilah’s blush spreads across her face and starts down her delicate neck. I know where it’s heading, and the memories of her bare chest against mine cause me to shift.
“Jason, please?” Her voice is so quiet as if she wants to say yes without anyone hearing, except me.
I don’t care what’s happening around us. As I stand here, it’s just me and her—our worlds colliding again.
Matching her tone, I say, “Please what, honeysuckle?”
“I’ve not been your honeysuckle in a long time.”
“But it was so good when you were.” She stares ahead, trying to pretend her body doesn’t react to me like mine is reacting to hers. Leaning even closer, I rest my arms on the door. “We can play games all damn day, but you and I have unfinished business to tend to. So how about that lunch or better yet, dinner tonight?” A car horn blares, causing me to look back. Mrs. Robertson shrugs, but it wasn’t her honking.
It was the car behind hers. That’s when I notice a trail of them stacked behind us. The horn is honked again, and then my mom leans out the window and shouts, “Cool it, Janice. You’ll survive if you don’t get there in time to flirt with the choir director.”
Go, Mom.
I have to see who this Janice person is, and I recognize her the minute I see her. She’s one of the gossip girls my mom was talking about. When I turn back to Delilah, a finger tapping on her thigh has her appearing anxious. But I can stand here all day long if that’s what she prefers. “We’ve got quite the lineup of anxious churchgoers.”
She looks in her rearview mirror and then back at me. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“Nope.” I tap my watch. “The service starts in two minutes. Do you really want to be the cause of a church delay?”
Sighing loudly, she gives me a glare. “Dinner. One less thing I’ll have to worry about if you’re bringing it over. Seven o’clock and don’t be late.”
She should know me better than that. I’ve never been late when it came to her. Tapping the roof of the truck lightly, I smile from ear to ear. “You got it. See you at seven, honeysuckle.”
I return to my mom’s car to the sound of applause. When I sink into the seat, I check the mirror again and see Delilah smiling. Prettiest sight I ever did see.
My mom says, “You sure know how to give them something to talk about. You’ve stirred up all kinds of trouble.”
She’s totally worth it. “She’s single. I’m single. There’s no harm in us being single together tonight.”
The cars pulling into the church parking lot late causes a bigger stir. Grumbles are heard as a large part of the congregation finds a seat. It’s really quite amusing. Even my mom struggles to hold in her laughter. At one point, she leans over, and whispers, “It’s good to have you home. You’re just what this town needed.”
The moment Delilah walks in, the sun shines a little brighter through the stained glass windows that line the sides of the church. I watch her move down a row and sit between two families. I can’t imagine she doesn’t know them since everyone knows everyone in this town, but she keeps to herself.
Although I’d rather stare at her, being here in a holy place has me recounting my sins. I don’t have as many as I carry the burden of, but the few I have are major. When everyone lowers their heads to pray, I don’t. Instead, my eyes find the only other person who remains the same.
Delilah turns and looks at me over the bowed heads dividing us across the church. A little line forms between her eyes as if I’m a puzzle she can’t figure out. Just as I raise my hand to wave to her, the minister clears his throat—harshly—and my eyes meet his irritated ones. “Amen,” we say in unison.
Fully delighted, Delilah finally lets that beautiful smile show. With everyone listening to the minister, I lower my head this time and chuckle before settling in for a long lecture.
After the service, I get tired of nodding, shaking hands, and updating what feels like the entire town on what I’ve been up to. I toss out my regular spiel—traveling around the country and working odd jobs.
Since sinning sends you to hell, sinning in church must get you a fast pass. I tell my mom I’ll meet her at the car and walk out the wide-open double doors into the sunshine. I veer left when I spot the minister ahead, but I’m not stealth enough because I hear, “So glad you could join us today, Mr. Koster.”
I stop and turn around. “I am too, Minister Polk?”
He pats me on the back as he turns us toward the church. “You can call me Stephen. You’re not a kid whose mother forced him to attend Sunday school anymore.”
“All right. Stephen.” I wonder if he detects the sarcasm. “How are you?”
“I’ve been good, son. How about you?”
“Good.”
“We’ve seemed to have lost touch with you for a few years. I’m hoping you carried God with you on your journeys.”
Anger feeds the finger that pulls the trigger. One shot to the head and I know he’s dead without having to shoot again. I’m fairly certain that signs my fate after death.
The bodies differ in size and shape, but their souls are long gone. I don’t think about it anymore. I just act. I g
rab the black plastic from the trunk and get to work.
Another body to hide—when did I become the expert in cleaning scenes? I need to get out of here, to leave this city and this life. Just because I can stomach the work doesn’t mean I should do it. It’s messing with my mind. The guilt digs deep, creating crevices in my soul. I need to leave before my soul becomes blackened from the depravity of my actions. I’m starting to think it’s too late to save me.
“Jason?”
My eyes lift to find the concerned gaze of the minister. I reply, “Yeah? God.” Knowing the crimes I’ve committed, I can’t honestly say I carried God with me.
He pats me on the back again. “We should talk sometime.”
“Okay.”
“Good to have you back.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” I’m an expert at giving the appropriate responses. Although this time, I’ve already found some peace in this one. I’m not sure if Solace Pointe is where I belong, but I’m beginning to want to stay.
8
Delilah
I’m being ridiculous.
I set the prom photo back in the shoebox and put the lid on. Tucking it in the back of my closet, I shake my head at myself. Why am I nervous? Why am I giving hope room to grow? I have so many thoughts about what happened, and they’re muddling together as if to form a new scenario.
How?
He didn’t love me any longer. That much was clear. So why does he want to see me, to talk to me now? More importantly, why did I invite him over for dinner? I know. I roll my eyes at myself. This is a big mistake, one that I could have avoided.
Damn Jason Koster, that cute grin, and the way his voice hums through my body, touching parts of me I thought would never be reawakened again. I always was a sucker for him.
I slip on a pair of flats and then stop to check my outfit in the mirror before dabbing a bit more gloss on my lips. My makeup is light but pretty, my dress cotton and cool for the warm day, and my legs freshly shaven.
Wait, what?
I roll my eyes again and walk away from the mirror with visions of his face years ago coming back like a torpedo. Much like his approach today.
If I’d really looked at him that day, I could’ve seen how broken he was. He promised me we’d be fine, but that was a lie. Jason had no way of keeping that promise, much less making it. I thought he loved me as much as I loved him, but clearly, I was wrong. Someone who loves you wouldn’t make a decision about your future without consulting his or her partner.
Partner.
That’s the problem. I wasn’t a partner in that relationship. I was only a girl holding him back. Taking a deep breath, I try to rid my mind of that memory and the pain I still feel to this day. I grab my phone, head out onto the front porch, and call my sister. I need a new perspective or a reminder of how bad things were.
After texting her earlier about Jason, it doesn’t surprise me when Shelby answers right away. “Hey, sis.”
“Why do you have to live so far away?”
She laughs, but it’s light as both of us are well aware of the reason. “Are you nervous or excited?”
“I’m undecided how to feel about him. On the one hand—”
“Oh, here we go.”
“Hush. It’s true. He hurt me, and that pain is tangible even now, and it has been four years.”
“But?”
“I’m getting there. But he does look good, even better than I remember, and more charming if that’s even possible.” Smelled amazing too, just like he used to. I was tempted to touch that clean-shaven jaw of his, to run the tips of my fingers over the veins in his hands as he gripped my door like I’d escape if he didn’t. He was intense. Determined. On a mission. Powerful. I struggle to swallow, remembering how imposing his body was, and how he leaned in, leaving me no room to say no. I wasn’t scared. God, it was hot. I start fanning myself with—
“Jason Koster could charm a porcupine out of its needles. Your panties never stood a chance.”
“Stop teasing.” I’d like to argue her point, but she’s right on the money. I won’t tell her that, though. She’ll hold it over me because Jason was everything—handsome, charismatic, talented, intelligent, and sexier than any man ever should be. But I thought I was his everything as well, and I wasn’t. So what do I know? “Did you book your flight?”
“Yep. You have one week to clean the house and get that farm back in order.” She laughs. “Do you have a few minutes to go over invoices?”
The sound of tires grinding against the gravel driveway alerts me to a visitor. “Actually, he’s here, so I need to go. We can go over them tomorrow.”
“Call me then and don’t sleep with him tonight.”
“What? There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with Jason. If that’s what he thinks he’s getting for dinner, he’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“How much do you want to wager?”
“I am not sleeping with that man, Shelby.”
“All right. All right,” she replies incredulously. “One of your homemade pies?”
“I’m not sleeping with him.” She’s ridiculous. “Fine. I’ll wager a pie.”
Giggling, she adds, “Good luck, little sis.”
“I don’t need luck. I have the remains of a broken heart as a glaring reminder.”
“Annnd on that note, have a good time and call me tomorrow.”
I hear the judgment in her tone under her laughter. This is no laughing matter, though. “Fine. Talk tomorrow.” At least it wasn’t to my heart four years ago.
But here I am, still running to the bathroom to check my appearance when I hear a knock on the front door. I smack my lips together to spread the gloss while I make my way to answer it. It’s like I don’t have a care in the world despite my whole body and mind caring too much, siding with my sister.
I will not sleep with him, making this the easiest wager in history to win. We’re not the same people than we were four years ago. Considering I’m not even attracted to Jason Koster anymore, I should have bet money. I swing the door open, my confidence still buzzing.
Holy. Hell.
Lord, help me. I’m in trouble.
The color brown was never fitting for Jason’s eyes—vibrant and full of life, joy, and love. Those words always seem to fit his shade better. Those words still light up that color, though I could never pinpoint the perfect descriptors with basic adjectives. Standing with the screen door open and now face-to-face with him, I see a new emotion hidden inside near the darkness of his pupils. I’m thinking it’s life. It gets to us all at some time or another, but his concerns me. What has stolen the light from his eyes?
“Hi,” he says with a smirky grin. Shelby was right. My panties never stood a chance. Poof. Yup, he’s still got it.
I walk out, definitely needing to keep him outside and as far from the bedroom as possible. “Hi there, yourself.” Leaning against the railing, I keep a few feet of distance between us, between me and those eyes and that smile, and from how amazing he smells. “So why did you want to have dinner together?”
His gaze lengthens toward his truck. “Because we have to eat. You hungry, Delilah?”
Honestly, I have nothing to prove, and my sister would never really make me pay up on any wager, fictional or real. But when I hear my name roll off his tongue as though he just tasted the sweetest ice cream he’s ever had, I’m reminded of when he used to say it prefaced by three little words I don’t say anymore. My body and mind remember that deep tone all so well as if it was just yesterday. With my heart jumpstarted, I swear my fingers tighten around that old white wood railing.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Good. Yeah. Fine.” I wave my hands in front of me, but when it looks like flailing, I pretend to swat the air. “Damn mosquitoes.”
Looking around, he furrows his brow. “Oh wow, I didn’t notice. Do you want to go inside?”
“No!” I shout. “I mean,” I add, lowering my voice, “no. Outside is good.”
He’s staring at me. I bite my lip, shake my head, and dash down the steps. “I’m starved. What’d you bring?”
I make it to the truck before discovering that Jason is still standing on the porch, his head tilted down, his eyes watching me while he scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, leaning my hip against the bumper.
“I didn’t intend to make you so uncomfortable.”
“What were your intentions then?” Holding my arms out, I ask, “You made a show of things in front of the entire town.”
He descends the steps with an ease in his body and a confidence in his stride. “To feed you. I can go if you like.” Would I like that? Or should I take this opportunity to get a few things off my chest as well? Walking right up next to me, he stands with his keys dangling around a finger. “Do you want me to go, Delilah?”
What am I doing? “No,” I confess. “I should kick you off my farm and tell you never to return, but I can’t. I won’t. You want to talk? Let’s talk.”
Reaching into the bed of the truck, he holds up a picnic basket. “And eat? I was thinking we could sit down on the pier.”
“That pier is long past safe these days, but I can grab a blanket or chairs for the grass.”
Holding up a blanket, he adds, “I came prepared.”
“Oh, I bet you did,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He walks around to the passenger side door and opens it for me. “Hop in, honeysuckle.”
Honeysuckle.
I wish I didn’t like that so much, but the memories of how I got the name warm my insides, the taste of his kiss still lingering on my tongue after all this time. He offers me a hand, and I take it without thinking. If I had been thinking, I would have prepared for the current flowing between us like a live wire. I would have remembered how my body always came alive under his touch, and I would have remembered to breathe as my body brushed against his. Hell, if I were thinking at all, I wouldn’t have accepted this date. But I wasn’t, so here I am, sitting in the cab of his truck with so many good times flashing back.