The glass is wet with condensation; my hands are too cold. I grip the glass tighter, feel the skin stretch over my knuckles. “Mama used to say the brain can lie to you, but the heart always knows the truth.” I shrug. “Problem is, most of us would rather believe the lie than face the truth.”

His burning stare licks over my skin, exposes things I don’t want exposed. “What would you rather believe, Delilah? The comfortable lie or an inconvenient truth?”

I don’t like the way he looks at me, angry and resentful, tense and alert, as if he needs my answer but doesn’t want to need it. There is too much riding on my answer, and I don’t even know what the correct response should be.

“I think that if my heart was ready to hear the truth, no lie my brain could come up with would matter.”

Macon draws in a breath and lets it out, his chest moving with the action, but there is nothing relaxed about him. If anything, he’s tighter now, heavy and tense in the chair.

“I think you’re right,” he says dully and then turns to look out the window once more. “Take some aspirin before you go to sleep.”

Dismissed. I feel it as effectively as if he walked out of the room. But I’m the one who gets up and walks away.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Macon

I wake up hungry. Let me amend that; I wake up more hungry than usual. I want something sweet and creamy. I want to slide my tongue through honey-slick sweetness and eat until my mouth grows tired and my body becomes laden with satisfaction.

Problem is, it isn’t sweets I’m hungry for. Last night, everything became crystal clear. I want Delilah. No one else will do. Sam, the watch, my broken trust—those things are part of the past. If I want a future, I have to let them go.

Delilah might want me, but she clearly isn’t willing to risk any complications. Which leaves me in a predicament. Ignore this increasingly painful need, or tell her in no uncertain terms how I feel and try to find a way to work it out. My gut tells me to fight for Delilah. My head tells me to proceed with extreme caution. Since I’m not certain of anything anymore, I get up and start my day.

After a grueling workout with North, who doesn’t go easy on me despite my bad leg, I head for the kitchen and the promise of a smoothie Delilah texted that she has waiting for me. She stands there, frosty glass in hand, the sunlight that shines through the windows setting her golden-brown hair and tan skin aglow.