Chapter 43
But it was getting late, and she should probably head back soon. Spreading her legs around Delaney’s waist, Tara folded her arms below Delaney’s ample breasts. Her dress billowed up around her thighs as she straddled Delaney and admitted, “If I wasn’t staying with my cousin, I’d invite you back to my place tonight.”
At that moment the tide rolled in. Delaney lay back and disappeared under the water. When she reemerged, she spit a stream of saltwater at Tara, who laughed and flinched. Delaney’s curls kinked up around her face in damp corkscrews, and her eyelashes stood out in pretty spikes.
“I’ll do you one better,” she said, thrusting her hips into Tara. This time it was on purpose, in an attempt to get them up and moving. “How about you come back home with me?”
Tara couldn’t argue with that.
* * * *
Delaney lived on the northernmost tip of the island, close to the Hereford Lighthouse in Anglesea. “It isn’t much,” she cautioned Tara as they pulled up to a small brick home. The house was dark, as was the surrounding street, and the beach and ocean beyond. When Delaney turned off the Jeep’s engine, the surf sounded as if it were rolling right up to the curb.
“Who cares?” Tara countered. “You practically live on the beach.”
With a laugh, Delaney said, “Remember that when you see how small it is inside.”
She took Tara’s hand and led the way down a paved path that ran alongside the house, past the front stoop to a pair of side doors. Delaney rented the back apartment, an efficiency with an oceanfront view. The door opened into a small, clean kitchen, counters along one side, a small table and two chairs on the other. Turning on the overhead light, she locked the door behind Tara and said, “Let me give you the tour. Here’s the sink—”
Tara grinned. “Stainless steel, nice.”
“Stove, oven,” Delaney added, pointing out the appliances. “Large enough for a capon but not a turkey. Tried it once, didn’t fit. That was the year I had Chinese for Thanksgiving. Now I go home to my parents’ and sponge off them for the holiday.”
“Oh, me too,” Tara admitted. “I tried cooking a turkey breast one year. Disaster. My mom’s making a whole bird anyway, so why not crash there instead, you know?”
Delaney snagged a hand towel hanging off the oven door and began to dry her still damp curls. “Right? Besides, my folks still live in the city, so instead of watching the parade on TV, all I have to do is look out the window and hey, there it is in the street below. Anyway, moving on. Fridge…” She opened the refrigerator and stood to one side, gracefully gesturing towards the shelves like a showroom model. “Help yourself to a drink, if you’re thirsty. I have lemonade, iced tea, pop.”
Snickering, Tara mimicked, “Pop.”
Delaney stuck out her tongue. “What do you call it?”
“Coke.”
“What if it’s Pepsi?” Delaney challenged. “Or Mountain Dew? Or Sprite?”
Tara shrugged. “Where I’m from, it’s still Coke. I thought y’all called it soda. Amanda does, anyway.”
Now Delaney giggled. “Y’all?” The word came out in a long, exaggerated drawl. “God, that sounds so cute!”
Tara slapped her arm. “Yes, y’all. You all. All y’all—stop laughing at me!” But now she was giggling, too. Even she had to admit all y’allsounded pretty funny.
The kitchen was small enough that it only took one step for Delaney to close the distance between them. Then her arms were around Tara’s shoulders, and she hugged Tara close. Tara’s hands drifted to Delaney’s waist on their own, finding a comfortable spot to rest on her hips. Their clothes were growing clammy and Tara could feel the salt water making her underwear stick to her skin, but she liked the way Delaney pressed against her, here in the amber glow of the overhead light. When Delaney’s lips met hers, her rising temperature had little to do with the warmth of the summer night.
“Pop, soda, Coke, whatever,” Delaney murmured against Tara’s cheek. “If you want some, it’s in the fridge. In the meantime, I’ve saved the best part of the tour for last.”
Tara rubbed her nose against Delaney’s. “What’s that?”
Stepping back, Delaney took Tara’s hand in hers and tugged. “Right this way.”
As if there was any other direction to go but through the entryway leading into the other room, which was the main living area/bedroom. Tara followed Delaney and saw a futon opened into a full-size bed, sheets scattered about unmade from the night before. A closet across the room stood open, clothes crowding the interior on hangers and hooks, more clothing jumbled in baskets and on top of an antique dresser nearby. The television in one corner was the old, bulky kind, with a 36” screen that looked like it weighed as much as Delaney’s Jeep. At least the iPad resting on top of it told Tara that Delaney wasn’t completely trapped in the past.