Despite her concerns about Jake and Stella, several weeks flew by, and she had hardly seen either of them. Suddenly, if the pair weren't together in his apartment, they were off somewhere together.

This was good. This was what Stella had wanted. They were together, though Stella had not officially confirmed they were a couple yet. But then again, she spent hardly any time with her sister to say more than two words to each other. As for Jake, she sometimes still glanced at him through the window in the mornings. Other than that, she did not see him.

Things returned to the same mundane routines as before Jake moved in. Delia worked on her novel as much as she could and stayed up late at night to complete her freelance assignments. Stella went to her classes during the week, and on weekends she had modeling jobs. Any free time she spent with Jake.

Her sister, obviously, did not need her anymore. Stella had managed to snag him, and the same could be said for Jake. She still dreaded the day her sister would come to share that they finally had sex. She cringed, remembering all the times Stella would paint a very vivid picture of her escapades in bed with previous boyfriends.

It was, as Stella had bluntly put it, research for her novel. How else would she ever write sexy scenes if she did not experience them? And, sadly, the only way Delia experiences them is through Stella.

Delia grimaced and closed her laptop. How pathetically sad she was. She could count on one hand the number of times she had had sex, and, unfortunately, none of them were worth writing about.

She wondered if Jake was good in bed. He probably was, if it was anything to go by the way he had kissed her. She touched her lips and closed her eyes. She could still taste him.

Her phone rang, ripping her back to reality. She sighed. Stella.

"Yes?"

"Well, hello to you too, D."

Delia rolled her eyes. She could practically hear her sister smirk.

"You only ever call if you need something, Stella. What do you want?"

"I need a favor."

"Of course you do."

"D."

"Okay, what do you need?"

"On the kitchen counter is a pink folder. It's for Jake, and I promised I'd give it to him today. But my classes are running late, and I have a meetup with my agent later. And you know, with Sally, that can go on forever."

"Pink folder?"

"Yes, please, D. It's important."

Delia sighed. "Fine, I'll go give it to him."

"Thanks, D. See you later!" Stella blew kisses into the phone before unceremoniously cutting her off.

*

The pink folder glared at Delia as she stood in front of Jake's apartment door. It had been weeks since she had spoken to him or even come anywhere near his place. She knocked on the door, and almost immediately, it swung open.

The smile on his lips faded when he saw it was her, not Stella, whom he had most likely been expecting.

"Delia."

"Hi, uh, Stella asked me to deliver this to you. She said it was important, so I—well, here." She held out the pink folder.

"Would you mind bringing it in?" He held up his paint-covered hands.

"Oh, sure." She followed him inside. Almost all the flooring in the apartment was covered with plastic sheets, and she carefully watched her footing. "It looks like a war zone," she mused.

Jake chuckled. "I had to turn this space into a temporary studio. I tried to find one to rent, but I gave up when I couldn't find anything suitable."

Once in the lounge, her eyes widened at the canvases in various sizes standing against the walls. "You've been busy."

She noticed one was covered with a white sheet, and she could just see the edge.
"Is that the sunflower field one? Did you finish it? Can I see it?"

Jake rushed past her, blocking her path to the canvas. "I would rather you not."

"Oh." She blinked. He hadn't said it maliciously or rudely, but it felt like he'd stuck a knife in her heart.

"Where-where can I put this?" she asked, turning away from him.

"The kitchen counter is fine."

She nodded, but on her way, her foot caught on a bubble in the plastic sheet, and she tripped, the folder flying from her hands.

"Dammit, sorry," she apologized, falling to her knees to gather the scattered papers. As she picked one up, she frowned. The frown deepened when she realized what the papers were.

"Are these interior drafts? For the studio?"

"Yes."

"The one with the windows?"

"Yes, I bought it about a week ago."

"Oh." Delia didn't know why, but the news stung more than his refusal to let her see the painting. She hurried to gather everything, neatly put it all back in the folder, and dropped it on the kitchen counter. "Stella's drawings?"

"Yes, she has been a really great help."

"Well, of course. She's studying Interior Design, after all. She can't be a model forever."

"Stella is quite smart and talented," Jake complimented, and Delia smiled.

"Yes, she got all the good genes...the beauty and the smarts. I got the brawn," she half laughed. "Stella can't open a jar of pickles to save her life."

"Delia."

"I have to go. Congratulations on the studio." And with that, Delia ran.

*