Gavin blinked to Delilah and then back to the man. “Never mind,” he said slowly, pulling a five from his jeans and handing it to him.
Dave rang up the onion powder wearing a similar haze of confusion, his gaze repeatedly darting back to Gavin like he was sure there was something there to puzzle out.
With change in hand, Delilah and Gavin headed toward the entrance together. “That was so weird,” Gavin said.
“You do know him, then?” Delilah asked.
“He’s only delivered our groceries every week for, I don’t know, the past seven or eight years? How could he not know who I was?”
Delilah followed his gaze to where the man was ringing up the next customer. There was no way to meet Gavin and not remember him, and there was absolutely no way to forget his house.
? ? ?
Ten lunches together and two weekends in between interrupted her time with Gavin. Saturday was the most dreaded day of the week. On Fridays, she’d doodle skulls and torches and severed hands discreetly in class just to distract her from the impending doom of the weekend. Two days at home with her parents: torture.
She wasn’t one to snap. Granted, she wasn’t the most patient when it came to Gavin. She had no idea why, but early on she’d decided he was what she wanted. She wanted those lips to be hers and that forever-long torso, too. She was possessive of his quiet, husky laugh and wanted to know that the fingers he used to play the piano or sketch in his notebook were the same he would use to touch her jaw or her lips or her waist. Until he said no, she was going to be near him as much as possible. He seemed comfortable with her, would ask her questions and reply. But he never shared many details about himself.
“You didn’t bring lunch today,” he said, biting into a mottled red-green apple. He reached into his lunch bag and pulled out a second. “Here, I brought you one.”
“How did you know I wasn’t going to bring lunch?”
“I didn’t,” he said, taking another gigantic bite. It pushed his cheek out, and she could see his sharp canine tooth as he moved the bite farther back in his mouth. “But these apples are really good, and I thought you might want one.”
“Is it from your apple tree?”
He froze, swallowing roughly before he’d finished chewing. “Yes.”
“So, it’s January and your apple tree has fruit?”
“It’s not uncommon for apples to bloom in January,” he said robotically.
“It’s uncommon for Pippin apples.” She knew, staring down at the apple. She’d seen his blossoming, fruit-filled tree and she’d looked up what kind it was, and now he knew she had.
She stared down at the apple in her hand and then rubbed it against her shirt, shining it. She could almost feel him struggling to think of some way to change the subject. Giving up and letting him off the hook, she said, “Do you like when I come here at lunch?”
“Of course.” He dropped his ravaged apple core into his empty lunch sack.
“Do you like me the way I like you?”
He scratched his cheek, ducked to meet her eyes, and finally asked, “What way do you like me, Delilah?”
She looked up at him. He knew how she liked him. She’d made herself completely transparent. Why was he so intent on making her say it? When she saw his dark eyes widen slightly, she understood: Gavin didn’t totally believe that she could feel that way.
“I want you to ask me out on a date.”
CHAPTER SIX
Him
Gavin stared at the girl in front of him, processing what she’d just said. A date, with food and maybe milk shakes, hands coming together, palms pressed tightly later. Maybe even lips and teeth touching later, too, and her quiet girl sounds muted by his mouth.