“Sweet,” Delaney scoffed, “is generally a euphemism for idiotic. Did I consider logistics of traveling for work or whether I’d even like this place permanently?” He shook his head. “I made the least logical decision ever ’cause I was all up in my feels.” He shot me a look and muttered, his voice so low I almost missed it, “Not the only time I’ve done that.”
I wondered if he was talking about the kiss, or the camper fire, or something else entirely. Maybe impulsiveshouldbe in my top ten Delaney words.
But to me, the decision to stay here didn’t seem illogical. Especially not after hearing the Peru story and seeing how his face had softened when he spoke of the community there and their little rituals. The realization that Delaney Monroe—prickly, perfectionist Delaney—might be lonelier than he let on made something in my chest ache.
“Maybe you wanted connection,” I suggested. “Community.”
Delaney wrinkled his nose, then shook his head. “Nah. Doesn’t sound like me.”
I pressed my lips together to hold back my grin, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t hide the warmth in my eyes. “Do you regret it?”
Though it was hard to tell in the dim light, I’d swear he blushed. His eyes held mine for a beat too long, and the air between us thickened.
“I…” He looked away. “I don’t know. Ask me again after the renovation is done,” he said with some of his usual asperity.
Delaney set down his wine and stretched his arms high, like he was loosening his muscles, the movement causing my sweatshirt to ride up his thighs. Then he relaxed and fixed me with a steady look. “My turn.” He rubbed his hands together. “What to ask, what to ask…”
“Fuck,” I muttered. Just to throw him off, I said, “I knew I was gay when I was thirteen. I don’t know how many guys I’ve slept with—not because there’s a lot, just because I don’t keep count. My mom died seven years ago. My hero was my grandfather, who taught me all about building and carpentry. I’m not close with my family, except my cousin Hayes, who’s like an annoying little brother. I didn’t go to college. I have a teacup collection, which was actually my grandmother’s that I inherited, but I guess they’re mine now, so… whatever. Hawaii is the best place I ever traveled. And you already know about the musicals.” I dusted my hands together. “There. Now, go ahead and ask me about authors and ice cream.”
Delaney laughed out loud. “Oh my God. You’re adorable.”
“Me?” I blinked. “That’s a new one.”
“Is it?” He bit his lip and directed an incredibly distracting look at my chest. “Maybe you only let the adorable show when you’re drunk and the power’s out.”
I swallowed hard. I was pretty sure it had more to do with him than the alcohol or the electricity.
Before I could think up an easy response, Delaney spoke again.
“Tell me abouther.” He nodded toward Teeny. “Specifically, why’d you acquire a dog the size of a small horse when you lived in a camper and why’d you saddle her with such a lame name? I mean, seriously, Teeny? ’Cause she’s enormous? You couldn’t at least go for, like, Biggie Smalls or something?”
I felt the smile spreading across my face. Whether he knew it or not—and I was pretty sure he did, which meant I owed him one—he’d given me an easy out. A gimme.
I shifted my position, stretching my legs out and leaning my weight on one arm, which brought me close enough that our shoulders touched. Delaney didn’t move away.
“I didn’t acquire her on purpose. I was doing a kitchen renovation for an elderly couple, the Harrisons, a few years ago. They’d gotten her when she was first weaned and named her Queenie.”
From her spot by the fire, Teeny recognized her name, lifted her head, and looked around sleepily.
Delaney didn’t move or flinch, except to clench his fingers around his bent knees. I lifted my own hand to reach out and take his?—
You were doing so well, Brewer.
—but stopped myself at the last minute.
“The Harrisons weren’t able to take care of her properly. By the time I met them, her fur was all matted, and she was underweight?—”
“Wait.” Delaney’s brow furrowed. “They neglected her?”
“No. Not intentionally. They loved her. But I think they didn’t know what they were in for, having a Newfoundland. Mr. Harrison had Parkinson’s, and Mrs. Harrison couldn’t handle walking or grooming a big dog, especially not a giant, excitable puppy. I found out pretty quickly they were renovating because they were planning to sell the house and move to an assisted-living place?—”
“Ugh.” He stared at the dog, who’d gone back to sleep. “I know it’s not their fault, but it wasn’t hers either. And that was her home, too!”
Delaney might not like my dog, but he seemed ready to fight for her.Andto make sure she got Kitchen-Couriered dog biscuits while he did it.
My stomach twisted and flipped, sending more alcohol sloshing through my system, and I had to take a deep breath before I could continue.
“It, ah, it worked out okay. For both of us. Teeny needed more than they could provide, and…” I hesitated, the alcohol making me more honest than I might have been otherwise, “well, I needed a best friend, I guess.”
