Chapter Twenty-Six
MACEY
An email from Macey to her mom, Saturday, October 12, 12:13 p.m.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Update
Hi Mom,
I just wanted to let you know that I signed the lease for the apartment, and I’m moving in today. It feels good to finally have that settled, like I’m taking a real step forward.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot and hope you’re doing well. I’m glad to hear you’ll be out soon—I can’t wait to hug you.
But I want to be honest with you. As much as I’m excited to see you, I’m also nervous. I’ve had those hopes before, the ones where I think this time might be different. That maybe, like you said, you’ll become the mom I deserve. I know you’ve been through a lot, but so have I.
The thing is, I’ve been doing some growing of my own lately, and I’ve realized something important: You were right. I do deserve better. And I hope, for both of our sakes, this time can be different.
I love you, Mom.
Macey
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE LEAVING me,” Amelia whines as she lays a stack of clothes on the bed of my new place.
The past two weeks have been a whirlwind. I finally found an apartment, one that’s not far from her, but one I can afford. Which means it’s kind of a dump. But it’s clean and not bug-infested, and honestly, those were my most important prerequisites.
I have a new roommate named Kinsley, and she seems nice and not like a boyfriend stealer (also on my list of requirements), but I don’t really know her that well, so the jury is still out. Regardless, it’s my own place, with my own room. A new beginning of sorts.
“I’m literally going to be five minutes away from you,” I say to my best friend, who’s now doing a sulking thing and giving me puppy-dog eyes.
“It won’t be the same, though. I won’t get to see you every day. Plus, you’ll be busy with your program now.”
I smile. I will be busy with that, for the foreseeable future. In the best turn of events, Christine gave me my program, and I get the chance to run it next spring. I’ll still need to do my admin duties, but she said she will cut back on those so I have time to work on the program. She even used some of our coveted budget to buy an industrial automatic stapler, so I think she’s very serious about it.
I’ve been on cloud nine, excited I finally get to bring my work to life. And if it goes well, there’s the promise that I’ll get to do more. That’s what Christine said, at least. It turns out all I had to do was show her a little boldness and I’m on my way to doing what I want to do. If only I had tried that earlier.
The me that came back from Pride and Prejudice Park seems to be sticking around. I still fall back into my old ways—apologizing when I don’t need to, and the people-pleasing gene rears her ugly head now and then—but I feel more settled in my own skin these days, and I’m loving it.
“Where do you want this, Mace?” Zane asks, carrying a box into the room, showing off his biceps in a white T-shirt.
“Just put it in the corner,” I say, directing him.
Things have been good with Zane too. Different, but good. Ever since that night when we did the country dance, Pride and Prejudice playing behind us, it’s been better. He’s been going out of his way to talk to me and has slowly started to tease me and even flirt with me. A little whisper in my ear, sometimes a wink. And he’s been finding ways to touch me. Playfully, but still, I’ve noticed.
I’m not sure if it’s old habits, or if there’s more to it. Sometimes I catch a mischievous sort of look on his face when we’re hanging out and wonder what he’s thinking. It’s almost as if he’s got some sort of plan. But he hasn’t done or said anything else to make me think that, so I guess we’ve just settled back into Macey and Zane. And I’m happy about that.
It doesn’t stop me from wishing for more or wondering if I made the wrong decision back at the Park that night. Like right now, as he looks around my place, a soft smile on his handsome face. But it was the right thing to do, even if sometimes I just want to make out with him again. Too bad there are no walled gardens here for us to run away to. It’s probably for the best.
“So, this is the new apartment,” he says.
“This is it,” I say.
“I hate it,” Amelia sulks. “She’s too far away.”
“Oh, come on,” Zane says. “You’ll be forcing her to hang out with you like you always do.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Beats your stupid company,” she says. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-eight and still live with my brother.”
“So move out,” Zane says.
“You move out,” she replies.
“Okay,” I say, looking at the both of them. “How about we get all my stuff in here and you two can argue this out later.”
“Fine,” Amelia says before leaving the room.
Zane lingers behind. “I think she’s going to miss you.”
“I’m literally five minutes away,” I tell him the same thing I told Amelia.
“Yeah, but I get it. I’m ... gonna miss you too,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. He seems sort of vulnerable, the way he’s looking at me right now.
I feel my cheeks warm at his words. “I’ll miss you too,” I tell him, and I mean it.
“But you’ve got lots to do, Mr. Future Business Owner,” I say.
“And so do you, Miss Program Manager,” he says.
“That’s future program manager to you. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He smiles. “I like seeing you this way,” he says.
I shake my head. “What way?”
“Happy.”
“So do I,” I tell him.
Amelia makes a frustrated-sounding noise. “You two are just going to stand here while I lug all of Macey’s stuff up the stairs?”
“Yes, that is the plan,” Zane says.
“Get to work,” she tells him.
We finish bringing everything up, and then Amelia hugs me goodbye like I’m moving across the country, and Zane gives me a hug before they leave me to get things organized.
Just as he’s walking out the door, he gives me a bow of his head. “Miss Bennet,” he says.
“Mr. Darcy,” I say, giving him a little curtsy.
“That’s getting old, you guys,” Amelia says, flatly. It’s still hard to believe she has no idea what transpired between us in England. I’ve wanted to tell her, but I guess there’s no reason to horrify her now.
I can see why our little carryovers from Pride and Prejudice Park annoy her, but that won’t make me stop. It’s one of my favorite things. I hope it doesn’t end now that I won’t be seeing them every day.
I spend the next couple of hours unpacking and hanging things up and trying to make this new space of mine feel like home, but I’m guessing it’s going to take a while to adjust.
When I unfold my bedding to make my bed—the final thing I plan to do today—something slips out and lands softly on the floor. I glance down and see an envelope, its edges slightly crinkled from being tucked between the layers.
“What’s this?” I say to no one, because I’m all alone right now.
When I see my name written on the front, I recognize the writing immediately. Curious, I open it up and pull out the folded paper.
Miss Bennet,
I don’t know if there’s ever going to be a “right” time to give you this letter, so if you’re reading it now, know that either I found the perfect moment or I just couldn’t wait any longer.
You were right about me—I am impulsive. I do things without thinking, and I’m working on that. It’s part of who I am, and I don’t want to lose that completely, but I also don’t want it to hurt the people I care about.
Where you were wrong, though, is thinking my feelings for you were impulsive. Yes, they came on fast, but I didn’t act on them right away. I waited, because I wanted to be sure. And that night, when we kissed? That wasn’t me being impulsive. That was me knowing exactly what I wanted.
My feelings for you have only grown since we left the park. It’s been hard—sitting next to you, pretending nothing’s changed, trying to keep my hands to myself when all I want to do is hold you.
Macey, you amaze me. You’re strong and determined, even when things feel impossible. You have this way of making people feel seen, cared for—even when you don’t realize you’re doing it. And every time I look at you, I notice something new, something that makes me want to know you better, to be better—for you.
If your feelings haven’t changed since we left Pride and Prejudice Park, tell me, and I’ll let it go. I’ll stop bringing it up, and we can go back to being friends, because having you in my life is what matters most.
But if there’s even the smallest part of you that feels the same way—that wants to give this a shot—then meet me tonight at 7:00 p.m. in the place where we first met. (That’s my parents’ backyard, in case you’ve forgotten.)
Your Mr. Darcy,
Zane
I HOLD THE LETTER TO my chest; I’m crying and laughing at the same time.
Zane wrote me a lot of letters at Pride and Prejudice Park, but this one—it’s all him. The real him. And it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve been waiting to hear, everything I’ve been wishing he’d say, even though I’ve been trying to bury those hopes since we got back. I told myself not to think about it, not to wish for something that probably wouldn’t happen. But now it has, and I need to get to him. I need to tell him that I feel the same.
I pick up my phone to check the time: 7:05 p.m. Crap. How is past seven already? How did it take me so long to find his letter? And now I’m late. I hurry and put on some shoes, running my fingers through my hair and tucking the letter in my purse before running out the door. I’ve been unpacking all day, and I probably look terrible, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now.
I run down the stairs and hop in my car, and it takes me fifteen minutes because I hit every light on the way there, but I finally make it to his parents’ house.
I’ve barely put the car in park before I open the door and race toward the back of the house.
I stop in my tracks when I see him, standing by the bench in his mom’s perfectly manicured flower garden. The glow of a small lamppost—one of those decorative ones she put in ages ago—casts a soft light over him, making the whole scene feel like something out of a fairy tale. I cover my mouth with my hand, my cheeks warming as I smile, because he’s dressed just like he was at the park: boots, breeches, a tailcoat, and a white cravat tied perfectly at his neck.
Mr. Darcy, in the flesh. My Mr. Darcy.
“Miss Bennet,” he says, giving me a small bow.
“I just found your letter,” I tell him, wanting to explain.
“I was beginning to think I wasted money on this outfit,” he says, a hand going to his cravat, a sort of sheepish-looking smile on his face.
I walk across the lawn, coming to stand in front of him, less than a foot between us.
“Oh no,” I tell him, reaching up and running my hands along the lapels of his jacket. “You’ll be keeping this one.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyebrows raising. “Does that mean—”
“Yes,” I say, pulling him toward me. I want to tell him that I loved his letter, that I feel the same, that I want to see where this goes, but I decide to just show him instead.
My lips land on his, and it’s soft and gentle for only a moment—before it’s not. His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me tightly to him, kissing me back.
I’ve found my Mr. Darcy, and I think I’m going to keep him. In fact, I’m sure of it.