I'm sticking with Delilah. [Continues Delilah's path.]

Before falling asleep, you decide to take your chances and go with Delilah. You couldn't leave her hanging. How could you? You were confident that her feelings were genuine. You were even playing with the thought that perhaps you had found a sense you had long lost.

Around another couple of hours, you spend it sleeping and getting ready, leaving you with an alarming amount of free time. By the time Delilah is off the clock and comes to visit you, you are organizing your gear for the third time. The knocking on the door peeled you off the table, sending you straight to your feet and quickly getting to the door. On the other side, Delilah stood perked and dressed in the same way you saw her before.

"HELL-O!" She says, striking a small pose. "I'm ready to go now if you are ready– ready to uh, I mean–."

"I'm ready to go," you say. "Let's go."

You step out of the bedroom. Delilah isn't as swift as she was earlier that day when you first met each other. She awkwardly steps back as she stammers. Finally, she lets out a soft laugh and looks away. "Yeah! Let's get on the move. But, first, we must stop at my place for some things."

"Oh, I don't think I've been to your house before."

"Hm. Yeah, you haven't. I don't think I've ever invited anyone over even." A laugh comes out of her. "I don't have very many friends here, to be honest."

The tavern, at this hour, is slowing down. It’s considerably different from the last time you were down here. It’s pretty drastic. You follow Delilah out; the evening is fantastic. Summer has steadily lasted its grip to Fall. There hasn't been any snow yet, but it was reasonably dark. Everything was wet, too, from the random rain showers.

Delilah's home was a short walk from the tavern. These buildings were newer additions to the area, so they had the luxury of electricity, indoor plumbing, and new(-ish) locks. You didn't know when they were made, but they were probably erected during the last trading stir with the Canadians from a time you weren't a part of. Delilah's home, or cottage as she put it, was number 4.

She walks up the steps, unlocks the front door, and steps inside. She invites you and grabs a few things off the table. Her room is what you expected it to be. Small, organized, and very minimalist. Her kitchen is small, just as her living room was. There were a few books on her coffee table and some glasses in the sink. "I'll be right back."

You watch her tip-toe towards a closed door, which looks like her bedroom. Something crawls out from under her feet. A cat jumps out and leaps into the couch in the living room. "You have a cat?"

From the other room, Delilah replies. "Oh, ahh, yeah! Her name's Molly."

Molly stares at you, looking uninterested as she loafs down. "Hello there," you say, stepping towards the cat to pet it. She cat closes its eyes and rubs her head against your palm. Delilah comes out eventually and tells you she's ready. She is now wearing some shorts and a loose blouse. You remind her it's cold, which prompts her to cock her head.

"That's what the hot springs are for," she throws you a towel. "Don't get my towel dirty. I only have 4."

"Only 4," you think. You only have 2 in your bathroom. You'll do what you are asked to do, however. You fold it over your arm and follow her out, heading towards the small, independently run hot spring "resort" of the village.