Delilah hums in vague agreement. Then she fidgets, smoothing a wrinkle in the covers, tucking a lock of her hair back, looking everywhere but at me. “That brings me to my last point.”

“All right,” I say because she falls silent.

She blows out a hard breath as if bracing herself. “If Sam had it her way, you and I would be back to square one. I’d hate you forever, and we’d part as enemies. She actually begged me to leave you. She implied our relationship would drive a wedge between her and me that would never heal.”

I want to protest. Rant a little myself. But that won’t get me anywhere. Even so, my chest is tight and pained as Delilah continues. “She might be right about that wedge.”

No, no, no. She can’t.

“While she ranted and cried, I stood there and thought about never seeing you again . . .”

“Delilah . . .”

“The utter futility of that . . .” She shakes her head in distraction. “As if I could turn away from you and it not feel like the loss of a limb. It was that moment when I realized, without doubt, that I loved you.”

“I . . .” My breath leaves in a whoosh when her words truly hit me. “What?”

Her smile is gentle, shy even. “I love you, Macon Saint. So much.”

Lips numb, I stare at her, unable to say a word, much less think. A loud thud is pounding hard and fast, and I realize it’s my heart.

“Macon?” Delilah starts to frown, raising her hand to touch my bloodless cheek. I’m cold, I know. Then my breath releases, and heat rushes along my tingling limbs.

“No one has ever said that to me. No one.” Not my mother—certainly not my shit father. Not a single person. I’ve never heard those words directed at me. Until now.

Until her.

Delilah.

Delilah loves me.

Shaking, I tug her close, awkward and bumbling as I crush her against my chest and hold on tight, my nose buried in her hair. “I love you too. I love you too.”

With a sigh, she rests against me, her cheek pressed to my heart. “It’s been a long road getting here.”

“We were always on it, Delilah.” I ease my grip, let my hands smooth down the curve of her back. I press my lips to her temple, rest them there, and breathe her in. “Loving you was inevitable. You got under my skin at age eleven and never left.”

Smiling, she pulls back enough to look up at me. God, it’s all there in her eyes. She really does love me. As if she knows that I can’t get over that truth, she cups the back of my neck with warm, kneading fingers. “I’m going to love you, Macon Saint. So long and so hard you’re not going to remember what it feels like to be without love.”