Delilah Green Doesn't Care(Bright Falls #1)(44)

“Who didn’t swoon over Gilbert Blythe?” Astrid asked, and Claire and Iris both laughed.

Delilah raised her hand. “Gay as hell, remember?”

Astrid gave her a look and leaned forward. “You’re telling me your heart didn’t skip just a little when Gilbert rescued Anne on the river in her sinking skiff when she was pretending to be the Lily Maid or when he turned down the Avonlea teaching position so Anne could have it and stay with Marilla?”

Delilah tapped her chin. “Okay, maybe a little.” Then she held out both of her hands in front of her chest suggestively. “But only if I imagined Gilbert with a nice pair of—”

“Okay, I get the picture,” Astrid said, rolling her eyes.

“My heart did skip a few beats when Anne broke that slate over his head for calling her ‘Carrots,’?” Delilah went on. “I thought, that’s my kind of woman.”

Iris snorted a laugh.

“Okay, but his proposal was amazing,” Claire said.

“Yes!” Astrid said, swallowing more wine. “Twice he proposed! She shot him down, and then he asked her again years later, telling her she was his dream.” She tipped her glass at Delilah. “Come on, even you have to admit that’s romantic.”

Another leg nudge. “Yep. I sure do have to admit that.”

Claire lowered her head, and Delilah only knew she was silently laughing because her body shook a little.

“So how did Spencer do it, then?” Delilah asked. “Was it as romantic as all that?”

Astrid’s smile dipped again, but she covered it with a sip of wine.

“Oh, come on, I haven’t heard this story,” Delilah said, and immediately knew her voice was way too chipper. She sounded like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. Astrid full-on frowned, and Iris just looked at her like she was on drugs. Only Claire seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, her thigh warm and right there and her mouth pressed flat to keep from laughing. Delilah felt her own laughter trying to bubble up from her chest into her mouth, and she took a large swallow of wine to keep it inside. She felt oddly relaxed though, less edges and more rounded corners, that raw feeling from earlier fading at every stolen glance with Claire.

Or maybe it was just the seventy-dollar bottle of wine.

“We haven’t either,” Iris said after throwing both Delilah and Claire a get your shit together look.

“Yes, you have,” Astrid said.

“No,” Iris said. “At the end of March, you texted us to meet you at Stella’s, and when we got there, you showed us the ring and said he proposed and immediately started babbling about wedding plans. You’d even already set a date by the time we found out.”

Astrid’s expression went from questioning to hurt in two seconds flat. Delilah could feel Claire’s worry radiating next to her, the warmth of it like a homemade quilt.

“We were so excited for you, I guess we forgot to ask for proposal details,” Claire said, trying to save the moment. She reached across the table and squeezed Astrid’s hand. “Tell us now.”

Astrid relaxed, but only a little. She sighed and took two gulps of wine before waving her hand through the air. “He asked and I said yes. That’s about it.”

“That’s about it,” Iris said, her voice flat. “And you let him get away with that? You, who once dumped a guy, at prom, mind you, because he forgot to get you a corsage?”

Jesus, Iris did not understand the concept of a gentle hand.

“Oh my god, I remember that,” Claire said, laughing in what Delilah assumed was an attempt to lighten the increasingly darkening situation. “Poor Henry Garrison didn’t know what hit him.”

“A boutonniere in the face, that’s what hit him,” Iris said, and she and Claire cracked up.

Astrid didn’t laugh, but her cheeks reddened, and Delilah didn’t know if she was getting flustered or pissed or if the wine was kicking in. And then, like a storm rolling across a plain, Delilah could see it happening—the famous Astrid shutdown.

“You know, I’m actually a little tired,” she said, scooting her chair back. “I think I’ll head to my room.”

“What?” Iris said. “Our food isn’t even here yet.”

“Yeah, I’m not all that hungry anymore.” Astrid stood, glass in hand, and managed a smile. “Too much bread.”

“Astrid,” Claire said, taking her hand. “Come on, sweetie, sit down. What’s wrong?”

But Astrid shook her head. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all. I’m fine. Just . . . wedding stuff, you know? I’m going to call Spencer and try and get some sleep. See you in the morning for yoga?”

Claire nodded as Astrid kissed her on the cheek, then came around the table to do the same to Iris. Delilah, she completely ignored, and then took the half-full wine bottle with her as she left.

The three of them sat there for a few minutes in silence, letting what happened settle around them as the evening grew darker.

“Well, that was a disaster,” Claire said. Her voice was small, thick-sounding.

“Train wreck,” Iris said, collapsing back in her chair with a sigh.

“Are you both kidding me?” Delilah asked. “That’s exactly what you wanted.”

Claire stiffened, her thigh moving away from Delilah’s. “No, it’s not. We wanted . . . we—”