70 - And So Will I

“Looks pretty good,” Delaney complimented herself in the bathroom mirror.  It wasn’t a shade of brown she’d tried before, but the box bearing the name “Espresso” was just fine.  She would add it to her short list of favorites for next time. 

One of these days, she might even go back to her original auburn just to give Jon the chance to prove his assertion that anybody could tell her and Petra apart, even with the same hair color.  

Flashing a two-dimple grin at herself, she pulled on her oversized t-shirt and yoga pants for a wine date with her souley. 

The coloring process, shower and hair drying took a good half hour, which meant he’d had enough time to get a head start on a bottle of wine, and that was perfect.  A little buzz would make the news of her date – no, meeting – with Hugo go over more easily, even though she fully intended to make this come over as a non-issue. 

Something like, oh by the way, she finally agreed to see what Hugo wanted, and they were meeting in a very public diner.  It would be a quick in and out thing taking a half-hour, tops.  That left plenty of time to deliver Jake’s prom flowers, and if Jon wanted to make the trip to Jersey with her, they could meet up at the shop – or she’d catch an Uber.  Whatever he wanted. 

Then they’d drink wine, cuddle, and go crawl in bed together for the night.

It would be that easy. 

Probably. 

She hiked her shoulders with indifference and turned the bathroom knob.  Easy or not, it would be over in a few minutes.  That’s all she cared about, and Delaney pasted on a smile as she breezed into the living room to get it done. 

Before she could even open her mouth for a greeting, his head snapped up.  “Do you want to get married?”

Skidding to a stop several feet short of the couch, Delaney blinked twice, tilted her head slightly and studied Jon through narrowed eyes. 

He looked perfectly normal kicked back on her sofa with his phone in one hand and an empty wineglass in the other.  Rocking what she considered to be his Hamptons look of shorts and sleeveless t-shirt, he had bare feet and crossed ankles propped on the coffee table, looking very much at home in her living room. 

Eyeing things a little further, she found that there was another empty wineglass next to his right foot – hers, she presumed – along with a half-drained Hampton Water bottle. 

Okay.  Yeah.  He’d definitely gotten a head start, but he usually held his wine better than this.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not fucking drunk.”  The stone-cold sober expression tipped toward annoyance.  “Do you want to get married?”

She blinked again, but there was no twitch of his lips.  No twinkle of humor.   

Flock a duck. 

He was serious. 

“Uh.  Are you asking?”

Please say no.  I love you, but please say no.

The corners of his mouth pulled down briefly as Jon’s feet hit the floor with a thump. 

“Your sister has informed me she’s available to go ring shopping with me any day next week,” he recited flatly while plunking both the phone and glass onto the table.  “And that you’d like to be married in a field of sunflowers, which will be full bloom in September, so I might want to keep that in mind.” 

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, putting a hand over her heart. 

He wasn’t proposing.  Knowing and accepting that they were souleys was one thing.  Marriage was a whole different kettle of fish and stunk like one.  Not that she was soured on the institution of marriage, but holy macaroni.   They were already at Mach 3 in this relationship.  There was no reason to bump it up to Mach 5. 

“That isn’t an answer, Delaney.”

“Sorry.”  Use of her actual name told Delaney he wasn’t a happy camper, and she threw her hands up in innocence.  “That’s all Petra, not me, I swear.”

“So you haven’t discussed marriage with her?  Marriage to me?”

Meeting the eyes that she’d come to learn would both see and show everything, Delaney spoke succinctly.  “No.  I was talking to her and Marilee this morning, mentioning that… you know.  Souley thing.  Her first response was to ask when we were getting married, and I told her the twelfth of never.  Beyond that, no.  Absolutely not.”

He held her gaze another couple of seconds before his nostrils flared with a quiet huff.  “Your sister is a pain in the ass.”

“You think if you say it often enough that’ll change?  Good luck.  Forty-seven years later, it still hasn’t done diddle for me.”  Standing over him, she cradled his still-clenched jaw.  “Did she call you just for that?  I told her to stop using your number, but if you need to block her, do it and don’t be a shizzling bit sorry about it.”

Mosaic blue irises lifted, and she could see giggles dancing in them.  “Shizzling?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Can you rap, too?”

“Pfft.  Can’t everybody?” 

Her hand fell away so that she could start catching up in the wine department, and there was a clink of glass and bottle as she poured a much-needed drink. 

Petra must die.  Or have the doodle biscuits embarrassed out of her.  That would probably be more satisfying and not require another trip to the cemetery.  Duct taping Monistat to the outside of that stupid purse of hers might do the trick, and Delaney wouldn’t even have to go buy any.  There was probably some inside. 

“That’s a joke, right?”

She pushed the stopper back in the bottle and snorted at his uncertainty.   After her impromptu concert on the beach, she supposed he considered it feasible.  “The rapping, yes.  Blocking Petra, no.”

“Nah.  I won’t block her.  Not yet.”  His attention shifted to the birdcage where Nero had just awakened with a showy flap of wings.  “What’s Katya’s last name?”

Settling on the couch, she got a warm fuzzy or two when a bare arm lifted to invite her closer to him.  What kind of fool refused that offer?  Not Delaney’s kind, and she cuddled closer.

“Zawodny.  Why?” 

“I’m having somebody look into her.”

“Oh.” 

“Problem?” he inquired and proceeded to pluck the wineglass from her hand and take a drink – without bothering to return it.

With a piqued frown cast over her shoulder, Delaney gave up her niche against him to fill the other glass.  “Not even a little one, rosè robber.  I was just wondering how many people work for you.” 

“I don’t know.”

Snuggling back in against him, she asked incredulously, “How do you not know?”

“It’s a fluid number,” he defended.  “Some are seasonal, some on-demand, others only work the tour.”

“Okay, so what’s an average?”

“More than a few.”

She poked him in the ribs just to hear him complain and doubted she’d ever get used the ways of wealthy.

You’d better get used to it if you’re keeping him.

Well, she didn’t have to get used to it today.  Today, the only thing left she had to do was…

“Remember the paramedic that was trying to get in touch with me?”

‘The sick fuck that stalks ambulance patients?  Yeah.”

She poked him in the ribs again, earning a grunt of annoyance.  “You don’t know that he’s a sicko or a stalker.”

“And you don’t know he isn’t,” Jon countered, tugging at the hair hanging loosely around her shoulders.  “Nice color, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

After finally finding the time and opening to tell him, he was going to blow off her intro and change the subject?  Seriously?  Why was this so difficult?

Because you shouldn’t have accepted a coffee date out of spite.

Well, she might be spiteful, but Delaney wasn’t dishonest. 

“He called yesterday and asked me to have coffee.  I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

The ribcage pressed against hers swelled with his annoyed sigh.  “You were awful damn busy auditioning my replacements yesterday.”

That wasn’t exactly the way she would’ve chosen to phrase it, but there was no denying that’s how it appeared. 

“It was a rough day and agreeing to have coffee is hardly auditioning your replacement.”

“Call it what you want.  The intent was the same.  You were pissed about something I didn’t do, so you accepted a date.  And let a guy grope your ass.”

“Geez Louise, let the groping go already,” she huffed, sitting up to twist and look him in the face.  “I thought we’d moved past that.”

“I thought we had, too,” came his sour retort along with a stubbornly tilted chin.  “But until I get a final body count on your payback attempts, it’s in limbo.”

The back of her hand landed thumped his thigh in admonishment.  “Don’t be a baby.  You had wine with Christie Brinkley.  I’m having coffee with a non-celebrity.  My meeting is tremendously less noteworthy than yours, but neither of them mean a dratted thing.”

“There’s a big difference.  I didn’t have wine with Christie because I got my panties in a twist.”

“You don’t wear panties, and I’m just going to find out what the hey he wants.  I’m tired of dodging him.”

“Don’t dodge him,” Jon advised calmly, reaching to take the last of the wine.  “Give me a name and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

“How?  Are you going to pull in one of your ‘on-demand’ employees?”

“Maybe.”  He didn’t meet her eyes when he let the slowly drawled word slip off his tongue, and it was so Godfather dramatic that she couldn’t take him seriously.

“You’re being father forking ridiculous.  I’m going to meet the man at one.  There’s your courtesy notice, and I’ll be back at the shop by two if you want to ride to Jersey together.  If not, I’ll catch an Uber.”

Lazy eyes glanced over his shoulder and Jon kicked up a disdainful eyebrow.  “I’m going with you.”

Yeah, that wouldn’t be awkward.  The whole thing danced on the edge of weird, anyway, but bringing her souley along for what Hugo considered a date…  Miss Manners definitely wouldn’t approve.

“No you’re not.”

The eyebrow hiked higher in challenge.  “Yes I am.”

His cockiness lit the fuse on her short temper, escalating this from a terse discussion into a heated debate. 

“What happened to not being jealous, Jon?” she demanded hotly.

“What happened to using some fucking common sense, Delaney?”  A spurt of annoyance was displayed when the heel of his hand smashed the stopper into place, even though the bottle was empty.  “You don’t know this guy.  He’s been hot on your ass for what?  Weeks now?  Even if he was legit, the fucker should’ve gotten the hint that he wasn’t wanted.  It ain’t right.”

Frustration hissed out her nose, as Delaney was forced to admit the truth in what he said.  Hugo had been awfully persistent, and her gut had been telling her to avoid him up until the opportune timing of his call.  But now that she’d made the commitment, she wanted to see it done and over.

“It’s a diner in the middle of Manhattan,” she calmly pointed out to both of them.  “There will be a swarm of people around.”

“Including me.”  The crystalline glare dared her to contradict him again.

He loves you.  This is one of his actions, Delaney.  Appreciate it instead of fighting it.

“Fine.  Come have coffee at the next table if it makes you feel better, but don’t play the jealous lover.  It’s beneath both of us.”

He lifted his glass as she put hers on the table.  She couldn’t read the thoughts simmering over the rim as he sipped, but there was no need to wait long. 

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he speculated. 

Exasperated eyes rolled up and to the side.  “Have you seen how many rings I have?  One of which you did get me.  I don’t need or want another a ring.  If there comes a day when – despite my sister – you decide you want an actual show of commitment, get me an apple tree.”

“What in the goddamn hell?”

His utter confusion was comical enough to tilt one side of Delaney’s mouth.  Wealth truly hadn’t refined the Jersey boy.  Not outside the camera’s eye, and it was one of the million things she adored about him. 

“It’s a Greek symbol of love and marriage.  My parents have had one in the front yard since they bought the house.”

“As nice as that is, it wouldn’t prevent shit like this.  A three-carat diamond will tell a guy in no uncertain terms that you’re not available.”   

Leaning forward to capture his chin in her fingers, she peered into the soul that was the other half of hers – antagonism and all – and gently assured, “And so will I.”