Jefferson agreed with Florence in having Delilah be seen by Dr. Whale. She looked over at him, saw his expression and couldn’t help but frown. Delilah could see it in his eyes — he was scared. She had probably traumatized him. Jefferson was looking like he wanted to bolt, run as far away from her as possible. Delilah tried not to take it personally, but who wouldn’t?
Clearing her throat, Delilah got up from the ground, avoiding Jefferson’s eyes. She looked to Mary, Florence, and Fran. “No need.” She walked over to grab herself a cup and then headed to the sink, filling the glass with water and took a large gulp. Delilah took in a deep breath and forced a smile. “Really, I’m fine.” She turned back to them, hoping they wouldn’t see right through her lie.
Delilah swallowed hard before looking at Jefferson. “Thanks for your help.” She told him, trying to keep her tone even, willing her voice not to falter. He had helped her through her panic attack and then once she was calm, literally shrunk away from her as if she was fire and he was being burned. “I think I’ve got everything handled.”
That was another lie. She actually did need help. Florence, Fran, and Mary would have to do. “Do you ladies mind running to the market to grab a couple more apples?” She tried not to think of the one Jefferson had carved. The swan. Why it had affected her the way it had, she didn’t know.
“Of course.” They said in unison and then left.
Delilah walked over the counter and went back to rolling the dough, her back to Jefferson. A tear rolled down her cheek and she huffed in frustration, quick to wipe it away.
She hated how emotional she was. Crying when she was sad, crying when she was happy, crying when she was angry, and worse — crying while embarrassed. Because that’s what she was.
Delilah got up from the floor and it took everything Jefferson had in self control to not snatch the scarf up from the floor immediately. Instead, he kept watch over Delilah as she walked to the sink in case she should be wobbly on her feet.
She dismissed the idea of being seen by a doctor—that quack—as Jefferson figured she would. So would he. The ladies looked to Jefferson and he shrugged. What was he going to do? Make her go against her will? Nope. Instead, he bent as casually as he could manage, picked up his scarf and quickly looped it around his neck, safe and secure from sight, and he felt himself calm again. His shoulders relaxed.
As he was tucking the ends of the scarf into his vest above the apron, he heard Delilah address him and he glanced up. Well that a clear enough dismissal. What the hell had he done wrong? Hadn’t he helped? Or perhaps she remembered that it was his fault she had panicked. Maybe he should just leave.
Her companions left on their own mission for more apples and Jefferson wondered what had happened to the apple that he had carved. Looking around for it, he saw the remnants all over the floor. She’d have to point blank make him leave before cleaning up his mess though. “You know, I recall being challenged to help make several pies and I’ve never been one to give up.” There were some brooms in a corner so he grabbed one and began sweeping up the apple mess. “But if you think I have no hope for a future in the dessert business, then I guess my ego can handle it.” He tried not to smile at that, hoping his self-deprecating humor would help ease the awkwardness.
Wait. Was she crying? His fault. Damn it. He bent his head and quickly swept the apple pieces out of the way.
