Shrugging, I turn and study the restaurant. “I liked it too much. And there you were, glaring daggers at me throughout the party. Seemed safer, easier to ask Xander to switch numbers and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Delilah is silent. A frown works between her brows. “You started dating Sam that night.”

She doesn’t say it, but we both know the truth. Everything changed that night, for the worst. The wedge between Delilah and me grew wider.

“I made a lot of mistakes in my life,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to make more.” Glancing at the restaurant, I take Delilah’s hand in mine. “Do you want me to call Ronan?”

She doesn’t answer immediately but stares at me. “All right,” she says finally. “Yes, please.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you, Macon.” She startles me with a short amused laugh. “I should be giddy at the thought of meeting Ronan Kelly. But all I can think of is that kiss and how I’m so glad it was you and not that dickhead Xander.”

I tug her into a hug. “Yeah, well, I’d rather you think of kissing me instead of thinking about meeting Ronan, so I’m not complaining.” What I don’t tell her is I’m increasingly convinced I want her to be the last woman I kiss, the only one. The fact that she might not feel the same scares the hell out of me. My history of retreating from situations I can’t control has me holding on to her a little tighter.

Don’t fuck this up. Somehow, I’m afraid I will.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Macon

“I’ve come bearing refreshments.” Delilah stops in front of the double-wide lounger I’m sitting on reading scripts.

We spent the morning apart. I wanted to give Delilah time to get used to being with me. It wasn’t easy. I wanted—needed—to know if she was all right. Maybe I just wanted to see if she’d come find me. Yes, I’m a needy fucker.

I move the pile of scripts to the far side of the lounge to make room for her. “Hand it over, and sit,” I say, making her roll her eyes at my order. “What do you have for me this time?”

Delilah often grumps about me comparing her to luscious foods, but I can’t help it. I can’t think of a time when Delilah hasn’t been taking care of the people in her world by offering them food and drinks. For Delilah food is love. Truth is, that more than anything pushed me to take her up on the offer to be my chef; I wanted to be cared for by Delilah even if I received it in the most circuitous of ways.

“Pimm’s cup.” Delilah gets comfortable, bending her tan legs as she leans back. “My favorite lazy-day afternoon drink.”