Delilah Green Doesn't Care(Bright Falls #1)(109)

“After I left,” she said, “I didn’t have much time to think about anything. The show at the Whitney was coming up, and I knew I couldn’t blow it. I worked night and day getting photos ready, and then, when it was time for the show, time for everything I ever wanted, it didn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Claire frowned. “What do you mean?”

Delilah glanced up at her, eyes clear and bright, almost feverish, like maybe she hadn’t slept very well in a couple of weeks either. “The night of the show was everything I dreamed. But it also wasn’t, because I was . . . I was doing it all alone.”

Claire felt something in her chest start to crack, but she rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin. “I’m sure you could’ve found a date.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could’ve too.”

Claire pressed her mouth flat.

“But I didn’t want a date,” Delilah said. “I wanted you.”

Claire shook her head, but she could feel those all-important defenses crumbling one by one, her eyes already starting to sting. “You left,” she said, because it was all she could think to say. “You left without a single word of explanation.”

Delilah nodded. “I did. And it was a mistake and I’m sorry.”

Again, so simple, those words, but the way her voice curled around them, Claire found herself believing them, which was dangerous.

“And the bet?” she asked. “Did you really try to get close to me to annoy Astrid?”

Delilah watched her, and Claire held her breath.

“Yes,” Delilah said after a second. “It was a shitty thing to do, and I won’t make excuses for it. But I swear to you, Claire, after we kissed that first time at Blue Lily, it was only about you. About us. Probably even before that. You were so beautiful and sweet, but I was never very good with beautiful and sweet. I didn’t know how to . . . I don’t know. Accept it. Treat it well.”

Claire’s eyes filled, and she shook her head. She appreciated the honesty, but it still stung that this whole thing had started out as a game to Delilah.

But it hadn’t ended that way, had it? It hadn’t even progressed that way. Claire knew that was also true, because she felt it, because Delilah was sitting in her bookstore. She’d come back. She’d come back for Claire.

Delilah got up, photo frame still in her hands, and rounded the coffee table until she was right in front of Claire. She sat on the table, their knees barely touching, and leaned into Claire’s space, just a little. Just enough that Claire leaned too, her body instinctively wanting to be closer.

When she was settled, Delilah flipped the frame around so Claire could see the image. It was in full color, a selfie of two women lying on their backs in a bed, dark hair a mess against the white and lavender linens, smiles on their faces, cheeks pressed to cheeks.

Claire and Delilah.

Delilah and Claire.

Claire remembered this photo, that last time they spent in bed before everything went pear-shaped, after their roller skating date and Delilah had spent the night. The next morning, they’d made love and then slipped on tank tops and underwear and eaten bagels in bed. Afterward, Delilah had grabbed her phone and taken photo after photo of the two of them, tickling Claire to get her to laugh, kissing her senseless to get her to be serious.

It was the perfect morning. The perfect way to wake up. The perfect everything.

“This is what I want,” Delilah said. “My whole life, this is what I’ve wanted. A best friend. Someone who gets me, who accepts me. Someone who fights like hell to get me to see that they love me. Someone who lets me love them back. Someone who’s so goddamn beautiful, she makes my toes curl. Someone who calls me on my bullshit. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who makes me look at her like this and looks at me the same way. Someone who . . . who’s my home.”

Tears spilled freely and silently down Claire’s cheeks. “But . . . New York. Your art. You—”

“I can take photos anywhere. I can take trips when I need to. You can come with me. We’ll figure it out.”

“You hate Bright Falls.”

Delilah’s shoulders fell a bit, but she shook her head. “I hated who I was here. How I felt here. But you changed all that. Ruby changed all that. Iris. Hell, even Astrid changed all that.”

Claire frowned. “Astrid? Have you . . . have you talked to her?”

Delilah’s smile was small, a little sad. “She came to New York. To the Whitney.”

“She did?”

Delilah nodded. “And we talked. A lot. She stayed a couple days—not with me, hell no—and we had dinner and worked through a lot. We’ve still got a long way to go, but it’s a start. It’s what I want. She helped me get these photos shipped out so they’d arrive yesterday, and we actually flew back together last night. She let me into the store at the crack of dawn this morning.”

Claire knew that Astrid hadn’t been around for the past few days, but she always responded to Claire’s and Iris’s texts that she was fine, giving nothing away as to where she was or what she was doing.

Claire took the photo from Delilah’s hands. In the image, she was so happy. God, she was happy. She was . . . she was in love. She could admit it now. More than she’d ever been in love with anyone in her whole life. But . . .