Page 64 of On the Power Play

"Thanks." Delia shoved the pile back on the quilt and sat down in front of it. She crossed, then uncrossed her legs. Then crossed them again. "Thanks for bringing in the cavalry to get us moved in. That was quite the welcome."

Jack ran his thumb over a nick in the door frame. "I couldn't keep them away." He talked himself down. They had a meeting scheduled, that was why he'd driven separately. They needed to talk logistics. Which he could've done by waiting down in the living room, but instead he'd listened when that little string tugged on his chest and led him up the stairs.

Delia tried to cover the pile of bras that were already seared to his retinas. "I can't believe Mary and Tony reached out to you about a location. That was brilliant."

Jack stared hard at the lamp on her dresser. "I was glad they did. This is way better than some of the other options in this part of town."

"Are we close to where you play?"

He nodded. "And close to the studio you're going to be working at. I think. Mary told me it was kind of a triangle between the Saddledome and here."

Delia's eyes narrowed. "How often do you talk to Mary?"

The question caught him off guard. "Not often. Probably once a week or so? Is that—sorry, should I not be?"

She laughed. "No, it's fine, I was just surprised. Mary didn't tell me about your clandestine communication."

"I can tell you when she reaches out in the future."

"No, please. I'm not your babysitter."

Jack shifted on his feet. "I'm sorry you had to disrupt your life to come out here. I tried to figure out how I could make more trips work, but?—"

Delia waved him off. "It makes a lot more sense for me to be here. I can work at any studio."

"But Finn's not here." It was bait, and he knew it.

"Finn can work on digital files. I finished all my recording with him. Now it's just mastering."

It sounded all-business, and the buzzing in his head settled a bit. "Did he work on your other albums with you?" Delia nodded. They had a long history. Jack simply didn’t like the dude. He was too smiley. His hair was a little too perfect. And who wore V-necks?

"You don't like him, do you?"

Jack coughed. "What? No. I don't have enough experience with him to like or not like him." He answered too fast, and Delia raised an eyebrow.

Jack turned back to the hall and picked up her backpack and guitar case. "I brought these up if . . ."

"Oh, thank you. You can set them wherever." Delia searched for something on her phone as Jack set them down next to the suitcases. He backed up and looked awkwardly around the room. "Here. You can—" She shifted to the side, making room for him on the bed. Jack's heart hockey stopped.

It was a place to sit, and he was an idiot. Losing his ever-loving shit over a black lace bra or sitting next to a girl on a floral quilt like he was in grade nine trying to tone down his voice cracks. They were grown-ass adults. He was a grown-ass adult.

Jack sat, and the bed creaked. "You hear from Tony?"

Delia shook her head. The movement sent a breath of air that held a hint of cinnamon his direction. It reminded him of his piano teacher’s mints, and Jack’s jaw tightened.

“I just sent him a text. I’m sure we can meet over Zoom or Google Meet or something if you have to get going.”

“No,” Jack grunted. He scrubbed his hands on his thighs. “I don’t have practice until later tonight.”

“What about your day job?”

Jack could’ve answered that he’d stayed up until past one in the morning to get all of his proposals submitted and emails responded to so he could be at the bed and breakfast when she arrived. He hadn’t worked into the night on purpose, he simply hadn’t been able to wind down. That was becoming more common as of late.

Understandable, though. When Ange died, his therapist reiterated how brains tried to deal with change. After something traumatic, his human lizard-instincts screamed warning messages to every cell in his body. We aren’t safe. Landing a spot in the NHL, having people recognize him in the street, and sitting next to a national superstar who had a pile of dangerously sexy bras behind her sent his subconscious into an equally confusing frenzy. Add in the guilt that dragged him down like an anchor every time he thought about Delia and not Ange, and his body was a chemical soup eating him from the inside out. Strange that he couldn’t relax and get some shut-eye.

Jack looked up to find Delia watching him, a half smile on her lips. He froze. “What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, I’ve just never seen it happen to someone else like that.”

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