Dear Enemy

I absolutely loathe being managed or babied. Why should Macon feel any differently?

Cringing, I glance out the window and notice a second restaurant boarded up and overlooking the northwest side of the lot. It’s basically a dilapidated beach shack, but it has great outdoor space with premium sea views. There was a time when I’d dreamed of owning a place like this. A place I could run and be inspired by. I’d willingly put my dreams on hold for Macon. For Sam. For Mama.

“Delilah?” Macon’s hesitant query draws me back to the present and him.

“Yeah?” I whisper before clearing my throat again.

He takes an audible breath. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”

I snort at that, looking down at my scarred-up chef’s hands. “You won’t lose your temper? Macon, you might as well say you’re going to stop breathing and still live.”

He laughs at that, but it sounds tired and weak. “Okay, I deserve that. You’re right; I can’t promise I won’t argue with you.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see it. Even so, I have the weird feeling he knows perfectly well what I’m doing. Maybe it’s because I can all but picture his face, not smiling, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in wry humor, his expressive mouth forced into a hard line. He’d have that expression whenever we’d call a stalemate—because we’d never been able to concede to a truce.

“I won’t lose my temper in that way again,” he says. “I promise.”

Doesn’t every man start by saying that? I shouldn’t even be talking to him. But somehow I am, because I know I, too, would have screamed at him if the tables had been turned. Somewhere inside me, I felt safe enough to take his call. My fingers drum on the steering wheel. For once, he’s utterly silent, letting me take my time replying. Macon can be as patient as the day is long if he is after something he wants.

I glance at the old restaurant. Sometimes dreams shift and change. Such is life. I can drive off, leave this place, chase a new dream, leave him.

“Come back,” he says as if hearing my inward yearnings. “I’ll let you wing another tomato at me.”

My lips twitch. “It isn’t as fun if you aren’t trying to get away.”

Come back. Why do I want to? What is it about him that has me feeling more present than I have in years? He makes me perversely excited. Makes me want to forget about daydreams and live in the right now. Damn it, I want to return. I must be sick. Twisted. A masochist.

With a sigh, I turn away from the view and put my car into drive. “You do it again, and I’m gone. Our deal is considered fulfilled.”

“All right.”

“Fine.” I glance at the phone as though I’ll somehow find him sitting there instead. “But I’m off for tonight. I don’t want to see you. Or hear from you.”

Wry humor colors his voice. “Fair enough.” He pauses. “You’ll see and hear from me tomorrow, then, Tot.”

He hangs up before I can reply. Bastard. Always getting in the last word.

God, I truly am twisted. I should dread going back and facing him. Instead, I find myself driving a little faster.

I never could resist a challenge.

CHAPTER NINE

Macon

I hang up on Delilah before I do something ridiculous like try to chat with her as she drives back home. She’s made it clear I need to go away and leave her be. I’m more than willing to do so; it’s not as though I want to face her right now. I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye.

With a grunt, I maneuver my ass off the wheelchair and attempt to lower myself to the floor. It all goes wrong, and I land hard on my hip. Pain sparks and shoots like fireworks. Something seeps into the back of my pants. Great. I’m on my dinner.

North walks in as I’m reaching around me to pick up shards of a plate.

“Well, this is a sight.”

I don’t bother glancing up. “You need something?”

“No. But it looks like you do.” He crouches next to me and starts putting some of the mess on the dented tray. I bite back the request for him to go. He’s almost as stubborn as Delilah, and the fight has gone out of me.

“What the hell was all that?” he asks.

Wincing, I lift my thumb to my mouth and find a sliver of glass stuck in my skin. “Guess you heard.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard it in Orange County.” North pushes my chair back and slings an arm under my shoulders. No asking with him. Just action. And though it chafes to get help from anyone, I’m no longer in the position to bitch about it.

He gets me in the chair. “Shower time.”