Love in the Dark (LarssonSiblingsSeries#1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - DELILAH

DELILAH

"Tim, wait up."

I dash down the pathway to catch up with the postman when he begins to try my agency door, wanting to catch up with him to ask about changing who he leaves our post with when I can't be here.

He spins around and smiles when he sees me. "Good Morning, Delilah. Just in time."

"Yes." I take the mail he hands out to me, spotting a few bills that turn my stomach. "Good Morning to you too. I'm glad I caught up with you. There's something I need to ask."

Ever the friendly guy, he waves at Judy from across the street, so I wait for him before I carry on talking. "Is there any possibility of you changing who you deliver our post to when I'm not at the shop?"

Tim hoists his big red post bag up to his arm so it lands on his shoulder, stumbling back a step or two with the weight of it seeming heavier than it appears to be standing next to him. I put out my arm for him to use, but he ignores it, gaining his balance quickly. "Mr Larsson expressed his insistence on me sending your mail to him. I wasn't aware this would be a problem. I apologise, Delilah."

Hold the phone. "Edward insisted you send my mail to him?"

"Yes, out of the fear of someone abusing the position," he replies, a slightly confused frown slipping into his usually cheerful expression. "I think he's quite protective of you."

More like he wants to keep tabs on me. "Right, well, if you could send my mail to Carpet World at number 36, I would be grateful."

"You got it," he says, nodding as he begins to walk away with his hand buried in his bag. "I'll see you later, Delilah. Give my regards to your dad."

"I will, thank you, Tim, 'bye," I shout after him and then head back to my car, and panic when I see I'm running late for dad's area nurse appointment.

I must be there to let them know that the oxygen tank is playing up that and he's running out of his daily steroid tablets too often. Trying to make every home visit is impossible, but when I have some free time on my hands, then I'm there. I like to be in the loop of his condition, willing to try anything to make dad comfortable.

I jam my key into the lock and try turning it a few times to open the rustbuckets door. It's stiff when I jiggle it about, failing when I persist in getting the car door to open. I silently scream in my head--give me a break.

I step back to give myself enough room to lift my leg so I can plant my foot against the metal frame, hoping it relieves the pressure on the hard-to-crack-lock. "Come on, I can't be bloody late."

The low hum of an expensive-sounding car engine runs behind me, and I turn to see Edward with his window rolled down and his hands wrapped around the steering wheel. Not now. I can't be doing with his smart-ass comments. "You having some trouble there?"

I turn back around and keep trying to get the lock to loosen. "No, I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look it," he says on a chuckle, making my blood pressure sky-rocket.

I ignore him and pray to the Gods to give me some kind of good luck today.

"Do you need any help?" he returns, talking to himself as I continue to pretend he doesn't exist.

I start to pull on the door handle when it seems the only way I'm getting into my car is by breaking the window. I stare off into the distance to take a look at the church clock, realising that I'm going to miss Dad's appointment altogether if I don't hurry up. It only stresses me more.

I can sense Edward's smug stare as he asks, "Do you need a lift?"

No.

I don't need anything from him.

A while passes with me getting angrier by the second with my car door and he waiting patiently for my answer. And, then he questions, "Are you ignoring me, Dee?"

"I'm in a hurry," I say over my shoulder, overlooking the fact that he just used my nickname.

.

"Let me take you to where you need to be then," he replies, reaching across his seats to open the door to his growling Range Rover.

I swallow my pride when the church clock strikes to remind me it's half-past the hour. "Do you mind?"

"No." There's a moment where his eyes soften and it forces me to look away when I climb inside the truck. It goes up for miles before I get my butt in the comfy leather seats. He turns to me. "Where do you need to be?"

Just as the address to dad's house slips from my lips, the car is zooming down the road, intimidating anything in its wake. It feels like you can see the whole town as we cruise through the streets. The interior is luxury at it's finest with matte black leather seats that pump out warm air to heat your behind and a grey tortoiseshell gear stick that complements it all beautifully.

"Are you taking the morning off work?" I say, thinking it's uncomfortably quiet in here.

"No, I'm travelling to see a client."

"Oh, right, okay." I nod, turning to watch the line of trees outside the window.

Edward drums his fingers on the steering wheel, timing it to the beat of the song playing on the radio. "What are you doing when I drop you off then?"

I don't want to go into details about dad's illness with him, so I lie. "Work stuff too."

"Noah told me that he saw you out shopping the other day," he says, totally changing the subject.

I move around in the seat to observe him better, trying not to let the way his fringe curls around his face in an attractive way affect me. "Yeah, I was paint shopping."

Edward nods. "Nice."

"He's a sweet guy," I reply, ripping open my handbag to search for my phone. I need some kind of distraction. "You need to take the next right turn."

"Sometimes he's too nice," he says as we sail around the corner, heading up to the stop sign that everyone seems to ignore, he included.

My hand searches the door for something to grip."You can never be too nice. You were supposed to stop back there, you know?"

Edward flicks his gaze up to the rearview mirror. "Oh, yeah, didn't see the stop sign. Sorry"

Clearly.

"The last person I want to die with is you," I say, messaging my dad to let him know that I haven't forgotten about him.

He lets out a dark chuckle. "Not much a fan of me haunting you up there, huh?"

"I'm not much of a fan, full-stop."

I don't really register the words until they leave my mouth and before I get the chance to apologise because let's face it, he's saving me right now, he's laughing harder. It rubs off on me. It's nice to see the light in him.

"My parents are throwing a party for Betty this weekend. You free to come?" he says, approaching my dad's terrace house.

I blink, thrown by the invite. "Will she be singing? You can pull up here."

He indicates and pulls close to the kerb behind the nurse's car. "Yeah, more than likely. Betty is always singing."

It's hard to form the words. "Erm."

"You don't have to say yes. I just figured because you were her number one fan," he replies, grabbing his phone from the cupholder when it buzzes.

Is he making fun of me?

"Okay, it sounds nice...thanks."

Lost to his phone, he nods at me, not hearing my thanks for the ride. "Richard? Yeah, I'll be five minutes."