Page 116 of Coldhearted King

“Mom,” I whisper, hope warring with pain in my chest. “He hurt me so badly.”

She wraps her arms around me. “I know, sweetheart. I know he did. And I know I’ve spent your life telling you to be cautious with men—with giving them your body and your heart—because I didn’t want you to go through the same pain I did with your dad. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to experience great love, and you’ll never know if Cole could be that for you if you don’t take a chance. From what you’ve told me, he didn’t have much love growing up, so maybe he doesn’t know how to express that part of himself. But he’s trying, Delilah. It might take him some practice, and it might take you to show him the way, but I can’t think of anyone better to show him how to love with his whole heart than you.”

I lay my head on her shoulder and let myself cry silently for a few minutes, and then I pull myself together and wipe my eyes. “I don’t even know where he’s staying. I didn’t ask. What if he doesn’t come back?”

She brushes away a tear I missed. “If he doesn’t, then it will just prove you were right and his heart wasn’t in it. But I don’t think you have to worry about that. I think you’ll see him sooner rather than later.” She squeezes my hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

And it’s that hope that I hold on to as I lie in bed, trying to fall asleep that night. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for Cole and me after all.

CHAPTERFORTY-SIX

COLE

Ipull up outside Delilah’s mom’s house and shift the car into park. Since I plan to be here for the foreseeable future, it makes sense for me to rent a car rather than relying on a driver all the time.

The sunset sends warm beams of light through the window as I sit and consider what my next steps will be. I have to recalibrate. Buying things for Delilah’s mom was a mistake. She doesn’t need my money. Give Delilah a few more years, and she’ll be able to buy those things for her mom herself.

Unfortunately, I haven’t come up with another plan yet. Everything I think of involves money in some way. So for now, I’ll just keep showing up. Being near Delilah, even if she hasn’t forgiven me, is far better than spending hours alone in my hotel room. And maybe something will come to me when I see her.

I lock the car and make my way up the path that’s already become so familiar. When I knock on the door, there’s no answer, although Beth’s battered old car sits in the driveway. I walk around to the side of the house and peer over the fence. “Hello?”

Delilah’s mom pops her head around the corner. “Oh, Cole. I’m back here, honey.”

I pause at the term of endearment. Sure, I’ve had women call me that before, when they were trying to be cute or seductive, and it never did a thing for me. But hearing it from Delilah’s mom, spoken with an undercurrent of what seems to be genuine affection, tightens my chest.

I unlatch the gate and make my way to the backyard, where I find Beth kneeling by a small vegetable patch. I’m struck by a sudden vision: Delilah in the backyard of a house she’s designed just for us, digging up carrots she’s grown herself, maybe with a little doppelgänger of her own helping her, just the way I’m sure she would have helped her mom. Pain pierces my chest. It’s something I never would have imagined wanting before, and now the thought of not having it feels like an unbearable loss.

“Delilah will be back in about half an hour,” Beth says, shading her eyes against the lowering sun as she looks up at me. “She went to pick up the ingredients for dinner.”

“She’s hard to catch,” I say.

“She always does better when she’s busy.”

I nod at the vegetable patch. “What are you growing?”

She points them out as she names them. “Green beans, squash, carrots, zucchini, and cucumbers.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

She shrugs as she sinks a trowel into the dirt. “It’s a good way to save some money on groceries.”

I wince internally. That’s not something I’ve ever had to think about. Suddenly I’m ashamed to be standing above her in my designer clothes. “Can I help?”

She squints one eye at me. “You’ll get dirty.”

“That’s okay.” It’s not like I can’t afford a new suit.

A grin spreads across her face. “Okay, then. Kneel here next to me, and I’ll put you to work.”

I do as she says, and she hands me a little spade.

“Just dig holes a couple of inches deep and about this far apart”—she gestures at the holes she’s already dug—“and I’ll start putting the seeds in.”

I dig into the soft dirt. “What are we planting?”

“Beets.”

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