13. Darcy
Chapter 13
Darcy
F OURTH OF JULY. And a beautiful day it’s going to be. I make myself an iced coffee in my little cottage, spending the morning in solitude while I straighten up around the house, doing a couple of loads of laundry in the tiny washer and dryer stacked in the back, and packing my beach bag for a long day at the shore.
My eyes catch on my tool belt and bag in the kitchen. I can’t believe I’ve been renovating Anthony’s loft for nearly eight weeks. I’ve gotten a lot done, but because Anthony is a bit of a penny-pincher, it’s only me doing the work. I pull my guys Kevin and Jeff in when needed, but that’s been pretty rare, and only when I need some serious muscle. It’s nearly finished, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. I can’t wait to see the finished product. The pool table is coming along too, although not as quickly as I’d prefer. It’s my first one and the learning curve is slowing me down.
At ten, I pull up to Amanda’s place and she runs out, her hair in braids on either side of her head and her favorite Fourth t-shirt on. “Nice shirt,” I laugh, taking it in like the national treasure it is. There’s an eagle on it, but it’s sitting astride a unicorn. The unicorn has red, white and blue stripes coming out of its butt as it leaps across the Grand Canyon. Emblazoned across the top is the phrase: The smell of freedom. It’s entirely hilarious, and I cackle every time she pulls it out.
“Thank you.” She bows her head, then nods at me. “Not bad yourself.”
I laugh. “It’s a new one this year.” It’s much simpler than Amanda’s, with George Washington in sunglasses against the flag and the words It’s only treason if you lose .
“Perfection. Let’s get this show on the road!”
I drive to the beach, which is absolutely packed, but we manage to find a spot. We get settled, and Amanda pulls out a fizzy alcoholic drink. “Want one?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Way too early.”
She lowers her sunglasses and glares. “No such thing on the Fourth, missy.”
I shrug and raise my bottle of water. “I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself.” She pops the can open, pours it into her cup, and takes a sip. “Ah. Happy Fourth, Darcy!”
I chuckle. “Happy Fourth, Amanda.”
“So is Daddy coming?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“My dad? Yeah, later.”
She snorts as she crumples the can and buries it in her tote. “No, Darcy. Daddy. Anthony Hall.”
My cheeks burn as I look for something else to do. “Oh.”
She cackles now, pointing at my blush. “Yeah— oh . So, tell me how that’s going along.”
I groan and cover my face, my hands muffling my voice. “Absolutely nothing is going on.”
“Still?”
“Still.”
She sighs. “When is he going to stop being all uppity about it and bang you?”
I laugh. “It’s not all about being banged.” Even as I say it, the words surprise me. It’s not?
“Sure it is. That man is fine as hell, and even though older men aren’t my thing, we both know that he could do some serious damage to your uterus.”
I pull my hair out of the elastic so I can re-twist it to the very top of my head. “I don’t even know where to start with all that.”
“Oh, shit. You like him, don’t you?”
I hesitate. Do I? Oh no.
Amanda points at me. “Oh, my God. You do . It’s more than just wanting to bang him, isn’t it?”
I hang my head, realization slamming into me. “I’m so down bad for him, it’s stupid.”
Amanda pats my leg reassuringly. “Then I think you need to go after him, my love.”
“I don’t think he wants me.”
“After everything you’ve told me, how could he not? Of course he does. You just have to convince him that the age thing isn’t a big deal.”
“I’m pretty sure I can get him to sleep with me—that’s not the problem.”
“Then make it happen!”
Shaking my head, I twist and untwist the cap of my water bottle. “I want more than that, Amanda. I think. I don’t know.” I groan. “What if he’s so good at it that I get addicted?”
“You should be so lucky,” Amanda says with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Now excuse me while I go flirt with the easy, uncomplicated boys over there.” She stands, then sashays over to where some guys around our age have set up a tent.
In moments, she’s got the invite for us to join them, and I do. There’s no reason that my angst over Anthony should stop my friend from getting her flirt on.
“Hey, gorgeous,” one of them says. He’s wearing an Auburn hat turned backwards, his bare chest golden and taut. He wears a gold chain around his neck, and his grin would normally devastate me with how hot it is.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Derrick,” he answers.
I smile. “Derrick. You’re cute.”
His grin widens as he swaggers closer. “So are you.”
I step back and hold a hand up. “And I’m not interested.”
He quirks a brow. “You sure?”
“Roll Tide, Derrick,” I deadpan, letting him know with that one phrase that my loyalty is with the University of Alabama and not Auburn.
He laughs good-naturedly. “Ugh, fine . But you’re going to let me get you a drink, yeah?”
“Sure thing.”
We spend the next hour with the boys, and Amanda flirts her ass off. She has a great time and gets far more drunk than she needs to be so early in the day. I drag her to the ocean for a quick cool-off, and when we’re done, we head back to our own towels and dig into lunch.
After a while, my dad shows up, and so do Agatha and her daughter Betty. Soon after that, Devon trudges through the sand towards us, with Aaron close behind her in navy blue paramedic gear.
I hug Devon, then ask her husband, “You on duty?”
Aaron nods. “Yeah. The beach and booze never go well together. Add in all these people, and something’s bound to happen. But I wanted to come say hi, see how everyone is before getting back to it.” He nods toward the street, and I see the bright red paramedic golf cart, tricked out with wheels for the beach, with another guy sitting in it. He waves, and I wave back.
Devon leans in. “You know, he’s single.”
Aaron laughs. “Don’t try to pimp Sam out. I have a feeling that Darcy would scare him.”
“Why, because he can’t handle a carpenter?” I shoot at him.
“Because he can’t handle someone as self-assured as you,” Aaron corrects. “He’s still young and stupid.”
“He’s the same age as Darcy!” Devon protests.
“Exactly,” Aaron says. “She isn’t interested.”
I hold my hand up for a high-five. “Damn, Aaron, you’re good.”
He winks. “I know a thing or two.” And his expression makes me think he may know way more than I realize.
He gives his wife a kiss and takes off.
“So,” Devon says, her eyes well and truly on Aaron’s ass as he walks away, “are we really going to do this tournament in a few months?”
“It’s four months away. We can totally do it,” I pronounce. “Sure, we need to practice?—”
“We need a miracle,” Agatha interrupts.
“Fine, we might need a miracle. But so what? It’s fun, right?”
“I’m not doing this for bowling glory,” Amanda agrees. “It’s fun. It’d be more fun if guys our age participated, but whatever. I like hanging out once a week.”
“Definitely a highlight,” Devon agrees.
“I’ve had better,” Agatha jokes. “But miracle or not, we’ll do it.”
Dad pops his head into the conversation. “I, for one, think it’s really neat what you girls are doing.”
I chuckle. “Neat?”
His cheeks tinge pink. “Leave me alone, Darcy girl. I said it’s neat—what’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing,” I say. “In fact, you’re adorable.”
He laughs self-consciously and shoots a sidelong glance at Betty. “Thanks.”
I make myself ignore what that look at Betty might have meant, because that would mean Dad might actually be interested in someone. And while I can’t hold that against him at all, I can totally ignore it because it’s gross.
I never want to think about my dad even so much as kissing someone. Does that make me a ten-year-old? Probably.
It’s probably five o’clock by the time I realize Amanda is utterly and completely obliterated. We’ve spent hours in the sun, with folks rotating up to grab hot dogs and sodas, and without realizing it, I’ve allowed Amanda to drink all her beverages plus mine. I just wasn’t feeling it today, but clearly, Amanda was.
Devon looks at me over her sunglasses. “Pretty sure it’s time to get our girl here out of the sun.” She stands and gestures to Amanda, who is about to fall asleep under the umbrella that Betty and Agatha brought with them.
I stand and brush the sand off, shoving my legs into my jean shorts and sliding my feet into the softened beach flops I’ve had for literally a decade. “I’ve got her,” I wave Devon off.
“You sure?” Devon gives me a dubious look. “I’m sure you can handle her, but she’s…” she laughs. “Absolutely wasted.”
I chuckle. “It’s okay. We’re all allowed to get a little twisted sometimes. She’s safe with me.” I finish packing all our stuff and lean over to her, nudging her awake. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you home.”
Amanda turns a bleary eye on me. “You sure? I thought we’d stay for the fireworks.”
“No way will you make it to the fireworks, my love,” I giggle. “Come on. I’ll get you home and tucked into bed.”
It takes double the time to get to my car as it did to get onto the beach, but half of that is because there are even more people than there were before. Soon enough, I’ve got her buckled up and we’re heading to her house, the windows down and no sound but the wind coming through the open windows.
Another half hour and I’ve gotten her through the shower and tucked into bed, a bottle of water and two Ibuprofen on her bedside table for whenever she wakes up.
I check my watch. I don’t really want to go home, and I’m not feeling heading back to the over-crowded beach for the fireworks. Which, of course, means I’m heading to my secret beach.
Traffic is bonkers, with more people streaming into the area to see the fireworks. And I don’t blame them—I’ve not missed the fireworks in twenty-four years and I’m not going to now.
I finally find a place to park and begin the walk to my sanctuary. As I crest the dunes and look down, it’s easy to see just how high the tide has gotten. The sun has already disappeared, and the sky is steadily turning purple, with streaks of orange and pink streaking through. I exhale, relishing the comforting familiarity of where I am, the beauty of the sunset. Ahead of me, a shadowy figure sits on the thin strip of beach, their back to me and angled towards the spot where the fireworks will go off.
I don’t want to startle them, so I call out as I get closer. “Hey! Sorry—I’m just gonna?—”
The words die on my mouth as the figure turns. It’s Anthony.
Because of course it is.