“Okay, bad joke,” she said with a small shrug. “But I’m sure House wouldn’t object to a few kisses?”
And just like that, Gavin’s brain went from doom and gloom to teenage boy and hormones. “How hard could it be?” he teased. “Google a recipe and boom. Dinner for two followed by kissing. My kind of night.”
Chapter Twenty
Her
Never had a walkway looked so honest and virtuous before: swept clean, steps gleaming. Even Dead Lawn seemed to have put in some effort: It was trimmed at least, and less muddy and brown than Delilah had ever seen it. If the front yard could make a noise, Delilah sensed it would be whistling innocently.
Come on in, Delilah.
Nothing strange to see here.
The effort it seemed to have put in for the dinner date did nothing to quell the nervous twist in her stomach as she stood in front of the door and knocked.
Delilah knew she should have shared her suspicions about the sweater with Gavin, that somehow part of the house had attached itself to it and followed her home. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She hadn’t been sleeping enough lately and had just woken from a dream.. . . She was groggy, not thinking straight. Concluding the sweater was possessed was no doubt a result of her wild imagination, because the alternative was too terrifying to even consider.
Gavin answered with his trademark half smile, motioning her inside. “Hey, Lilah.”
Her palms felt sweaty and she couldn’t shake the unease that crawled up and down her spine, but she put on her best smile—fake as it may be—and beamed up at him. “It smells amazing in here,” she said, slipping off her shoes and shrugging out of her jacket as Gavin slid his hands to her shoulders to help her.
“Thanks,” he said, and turned to hand it to the coatrack. “I, uh. . . I cooked.”
She turned to look up at his blushing cheeks, feeling relief wash through her. It wasn’t that she didn’t think the house could cook; she knew it could. But if it cooked dinner tonight, there would be a part of her thinking, with every bite, that the house somehow slipped rat poison into her portion.
“Good,” she said stupidly, and then added in a rush, “I mean, it’s good practice for you. But not that you need practice, because the house will always be here to cook for you, always. I just mean—”
Gavin put a warm hand on her arm, whispering, “I get what you’re trying to say. It’s okay. Calm down, crazy.”
Delilah blew out a nervous breath and looked around the foyer while Gavin stood patiently just behind her left shoulder, clearly letting her calm down. Back inside these walls, the comfort they shared on their walks around town or alone in the music room at school melted away, and even Delilah’s natural confidence couldn’t press away the jitters.
“House,” he said into the room. “Delilah came back to see us. And like I told you”—he paused and leaned in close to her, meaningfully—“and you,” he added, “she’s very important to me. I’m happy she came.”
There was a small rustle in a plant near the front door—a wave? she wondered—and a lampshade tilted in her direction.
Delilah waved back, lamely, into the room and up toward the stairs. “Hi. Thank you for having me. Um, back,” she added, wincing.
It felt like they were performing for an audience of dissatisfied customers, an audience made up only of overprotective parents. The night was just so loaded.
She looked up at him, wanting to say this out loud, to somehow contrast this moment with every other they’d spent together in the past weeks, walking in easy silence or admitting everything crazy and scary and secretive to each other. But the words died on her lips when he smiled the smile that showed his sharp teeth, which she’d never seen him give anyone but her. Gavin bent and, starting at the corner of her mouth, drew his lips across hers in a slow, soft line. They were parted a little and just a tiny bit wet from his tongue.