Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (3 page)

A fishbowl
. That’s exactly what I feel like, even though my parents are gone. They drove their beliefs into my head so strongly that I can’t get out from
under the feeling of being scrutinized. Walking with Janessa is nothing like walking with Ashley, where I’m dissecting every step, every breath, searching for hints that might reveal if she’s into me or not. Being with Janessa is different. Then again, no one makes me feel like I do when I’m with Ashley.

When we come to my street, I stop walking. Janessa stops, too, our arms still linked.
It feels nice to have another friend.

“This is my street. So I guess I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah, sure.” She steps in closer and touches my hip, causing goose bumps to race up my limbs. “Delilah, I know your heart is wrapped around Ashley. I can see that when you talk about her, and that’s such a good feeling. But I’ve also been where you are, with no experience.”

Her eyes are warm
and her touch is caring, not pushy. Even though I’m crossing into new territory by opening up to her, and even though my stomach is more nervous than a fly on a lily pad, I don’t retreat. And I don’t feel like she’s coming onto me, although there is something in her eyes, her touch, the sensual sound of her voice, that makes my breathing become shallow.

“Every woman deserves to feel safe when
she has her first experience and to feel confident when they’re with the woman they care about.” Her eyes never waver from mine. “If you ever want to…you know…
explore
that side without the pressure of doing it right or the embarrassment of feeling inexperienced…”

Ohgodohgodohgod
.

“I’m here for you, as a nonjudgmental friend. My life now is all about Jackie. I don’t have room for anything
more than sharing an intimate night. Or a few. Or whatever. I’m not looking for a girlfriend or a quick hookup. I’m offering to help, and trust me, there’s a big difference between hooking up with someone and overcoming your fears in a safe environment.” She smiles like she hasn’t just sucked all the air from the world, and it’s all I can do to remain erect.

I can hardly believe she’s offering
herself up to me, but more than that, I can hardly believe I’m considering it.

~Ashley~

I SHOULDER MY backpack and shove my hands deep into the front pocket of my hoodie as I walk across the dense sand behind my apartment complex toward the dunes to meet Delilah Armstrong. We’re both artists, although not professionally. I’ve been painting landscapes for about four years, and Delilah sketches. She’s begun teaching me how to sketch. She’s incredibly
talented, and sketching seems to come as naturally to her as painting landscapes comes to me. I used to sleep in, but as Delilah comes into focus, perched high among the dune grass, with the rising sun illuminating her profile, I never want to sleep in again. I have no idea if she knows I’m a lesbian or not, and I can’t tell for sure if she’s straight or not, but even if she is, I’d get up at
the crack of dawn to see her every day if I had the chance. We don’t get a lot of time together because she works a lot of hours at the Taproom, and I work a lot at Endless Summer Surf Shop. But even though we get to share only a few stolen hours here and there, during those times it seems like no one else in the world exists.

She’s leaning over her sketch pad with an intense look in her grassy-green
eyes as I walk up the dune. I’m careful not to disturb her. I like watching her sketch. Her pencil moves swiftly across the page, and every once in a while she smiles, like she’s happy with the shading she’s accomplished or the curve she’s drawn. She’s wearing a thick sweatshirt, shorts, and her favorite black lace-up boots with frilly white socks. Seeing her in those boots always does
funky stuff to my stomach. Only Delilah could pull off black boots with frilly socks, especially in summer.

She lifts her eyes when I’m a few feet away, and her shoulders drop a hair as a smile spreads across her lips. She picks up a to-go cup from beside her and hands it to me. Her eyes sweep over me quickly and she nibbles on her lower lip, then covers her sketch.

“Hi, Ash. I brought
you coffee.”

She’s usually too busy showing me how to sketch to create something herself. As much as I like when she’s leaning against me, showing me the right angle to draw from or the proper shading technique to use, I like when she sketches even more, because it gives me time to drink her in. She’s shy about her drawings, though I don’t know why. They’re always amazing.

“Thanks.” I
drop my backpack and settle in beside her, pulling out my sketch pad and pencil. “It’s chilly this morning.”

“I know, but after a few minutes you’ll get used to it.”

I lean in close and peer at her sketch pad. “Can I see?”

She spreads her hands across the page as if she’s not going to show me. I know she will. She always does this, fights her shyness.

“It’s not very good.” She
points to a boat anchored by the Harborside Pier. “I’m trying to draw that, but I can’t get the waterline right. It looks like a five-year-old did it.”

I want to laugh because the image is so beautifully drawn that it’s almost ridiculous that she worries, but I don’t. I didn’t know Delilah before her parents died, but I wonder if their death somehow undermined her confidence, or if she’s always
doubted her talents. She moved here right after her parents were killed in an accident on the way home from her college graduation, and even though her confidence wavers, she still seems incredibly strong to me. I don’t think she realizes how managing everything she does on a daily basis requires her to be strong. Since the day I met her she’s been dealing with more than any young woman should
have to. As if losing both parents wasn’t enough, she’s also had to learn to run their business, decide about selling her childhood home, deal with attorneys and wills and other things that no one our age should have to think about.

“It does not.” She watches my eyes as I reach for the sketch pad. She does that a lot, watching me. I set her sketch pad on my lap and marvel at her sketch, and
when I feel her eyes leave me, I steal a glance at her.

She has the most flawless skin. Her slightly upturned nose might look snobbish on anyone else, but Delilah’s image is natural. There’s nothing harsh or contrived about her. She’s tall and lean, but not hollow-looking, like many thin girls.

Even though Delilah is strong, she has this shyness, this vulnerability, about her that makes
me want to hold her in my arms and tell her things are going to be okay. We’ve only known each other a short while, but she’s already touched me in ways no one else ever has.

“This is so good, Dee. I wish I could draw this well.” I hand her the sketch pad and pick up my pencil.

“Stay right where you are. I want to see if I can draw your profile.” I hover over my sketch pad and set to work
trying to create her image, but it’s like re-creating the
Mona Lisa.
I know I’ll never come close.

She sets her sketch pad in the sand and sighs.

“Come on, Ash. Draw that boat or something.” She looks down at the sand and bows her neck.

 
“Boats are so boring, and you’re supposed to be showing me how to draw people, remember? Now lift your chin and don’t complain.”
Besides, boats don’t
make me want to kiss them
.

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks plump up with her smile. I’m glad she gives in.

“Tell me about therapy last night—then you won’t think about me drawing you.” I’m trying to take her mind off of the fact that I’m studying her. I know she won’t go into much detail. She never does. But I like hearing the thoughts she is willing to share, and I think it helps her
to talk it over, even just a little here and there. Most people would probably think she’s moving forward just fine. She keeps her emotions pretty close to her chest. But when she does share, I can tell there are struggles she’s not revealing, because along with a thread of sadness, there’s an underlying layer of anger. She buries the toes of her boots in the sand.

“It’s okay if you don’t
want to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine.” She sifts sand through her fingers, and I can see she’s nervous.

I’ve come to know several of Delilah’s nervous habits. If we’re on the beach, she reaches for sand, but when we’re sitting in the grass, she pulls blades apart in skinny strips, and when we’re at her house or at my apartment, she plays with the edges of her shorts.

I go back to
sketching, waiting for her to say more as the sun rises higher into the sky and catches her long blond hair at just the right angle to show off the golden highlights. Sometimes when we’re together it’s hard for me not to reach out and touch her. This is one of those times. I can see she’s struggling to tell me something. Her eyes flick to the water, then back to her feet, and finally she meets my
gaze.

“I spaced out through most of therapy, but I went out with Janessa, the girl I told you about.”

Janessa
. My stomach takes a nosedive as the green-eyed monster sinks her claws into my neck. My hand stills on the sketch pad. Delilah is pretty careful with her emotions, and I’m not entirely sure how to read her sometimes. There are times when I catch her looking at me like she wants
to touch me, or kiss me, and at those times my heart swells with hope. I know I’m probably seeing only what I want to see. Other times I see her gazing off at guys on the beach, and I don’t know what to think. I have no right to be jealous about Delilah going out with another girl, especially since I’m pretty sure she’s straight, but I am jealous, and I have to force myself to push those feelings
aside and act like it doesn’t bother me. I’ve made the mistake of being attracted to straight girls before, and I’m not willing to lose our friendship over my crush on her.

“Was it fun?”
Please say no.

Oh my God. I’m such a bitch
.

She’s looking at me
that
way, like I could lean forward and kiss her and she would be totally into it.
Ugh
. I know it’s my own wishful thinking, but hell
if I don’t think I see it in her eyes. I wish I could just ask her if she’s straight or not, but it’s not a topic you can throw out there.
Hey, check out the sunrise. Are you into girls?
She’s never brought it up to me, either. I figure eventually it’ll come out one way or the other. Either I won’t be able to keep myself from touching her, or she will go out with a guy and that’ll be that. Only
I’m not sure turning off my feelings for Delilah would be as easy as
that’ll be that
.

“It wasn’t really fun, but it was nice.”

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“We went for drinks at the Sandbar.”

“Drinks? You don’t even like to drink that much.” I lower my eyes to keep her from reading what I’m sure my sharp response has probably already conveyed.

“I only had two, but
it was nice talking with her. She’s got a three-year-old little girl, and she’s really nice. You’d like her.” She looks out over the water again.

She has a baby. She’s probably in a relationship
. Relief lifts my eyes to her again.

“Maybe I can meet her sometime.” Even knowing she’s probably straight, I’m still a little jealous that Delilah spent the evening with her. I know she and Janessa
are friends and talk before and after their group sessions, but they’ve never gone out for drinks before. I realize I’m gripping my pencil too tightly and the shading I’m working on is too dark, too angry, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip.

“That would be great. Maybe after therapy sometime?” She reaches for the sketch pad and our fingers brush. “Can I see?”

Her fingers are long and delicate,
and I want so badly to bring them to my lips and press a kiss to their tender skin. It takes all of my focus to resist the urge and release the sketch pad.

“It’s not very good.”

“Ash, this is amazing. You made me much prettier than I am.”

I scoot closer and look over her shoulder. This is my favorite place, pressed up against her with our hips touching. We sit like this a lot when
she’s teaching me sketching techniques or discussing the nuances of drawing. Lame, I know, but I’ll take what I can get, because even if she’s into girls, it doesn’t mean she’ll be into
me
, and I enjoy spending time with her too much to chance losing that.

“You are prettier than I can capture on paper, Delilah.” Our eyes connect, and the air between us pulses with electricity. I brush her
hair from her shoulder, barely breathing, hoping she’ll give me a sign that she wants me as badly as I want her.

“Thanks, Ash. You’re the greatest friend ever.”

My heart sinks. Greatest
friend
ever.

~Delilah~

THE TAPROOM HAS become my safe harbor, a project that fills my head and keeps me from thinking too much about the loss of my parents or my feelings for Ashley. It took a few
weeks for me and Wyatt to get a system down for managing the bar. Luckily, we had Jesse Steele to help us. He and his brother, Brent, own Endless Summer Surf Shop, where Ashley works, and recently purchased a restaurant in town, which they’re renovating. Before buying the restaurant, Jesse ran the Taproom in the off-season, and after my parents died, Jesse stepped in to help us learn the business.
Now we have a system. I handle inventory, ordering, and staffing, and Wyatt manages the accounting and administrative end of things. We don’t have a huge staff, so when someone is out, Wyatt or I often have to fill in.

Today Tristan is working the bar. Charley, one of our waitresses who also fills in as a bartender, is out on a three-day assignment with her other part-time job, and Rusty,
a waiter, couldn’t come in early to cover her shift. It’s just me and Livi handling tables. Livi’s worked here all summer. She’s an excellent waitress. She lost her mother when she was a teenager, so she understands what Wyatt and I have been going through and she’s always willing to talk, although I’m not big on talking about my parents. Sometimes it’s hard to separate how much I miss them with how
much I hate some of the feelings they’ve left me with.