17. Chapter 17
Dane
I shouldn’t have gone off on her like that. I realized it the moment she turned toward the window with misty eyes. I don’t know where all of Daria’s issues stem from, but it’s clear she struggles to form close relationships. It’s clear she’s lonely .
Jamie and Briar are the only two people I’ve ever heard her talk about, and despite her bluff at the wedding reception, I’ve never witnessed her go out with a guy, so why did I feel the need to hit her where she likely hurts the most?
Because she knows exactly where to strike at you , my subconscious tells me. And man, I’m tired of her always thinking the worst of me. I think enough ill of myself; I don’t need her to remind me of my shortcomings every time we’re together.
We finally pull up to my parents’ house and I put the car in park. Awkward silence envelops us, neither one of us moving to get out. I need to clear the air now, because who knows what might happen once we’re the target of Mom’s never-ending line of questions.
“Daria, I’m sorry.” My voice seems to echo loud in the small space, even as rain begins to steadily hit the windshield.
“You don’t need to keep apologizing to me, Dane.” She turns and meets my eyes. “I’m nothing to you.”
Her declaration hits me like a sucker punch. I want to fire back with something like, that’s not true , but…is it? Aside from being temporary roommates, I’m not sure what we are. Almost friends? Almost… more than friends ? Enemies?
She’s made it obvious in almost all of our interactions in the last month that she isn’t interested in having any kind of relationship with me.
And sure, it hurts, but I’m tired of trying to prove myself to her.
If she wants to believe that I’m a player, that I’m not worth knowing, so be it.
After tonight, she can do her own thing without any interference from me whatsoever.
She can even leave the lid off the jam jar all frickin’ day, for all I care. My eye begins to twitch at the thought.
“Well?” She crosses her arms under her chest. “Are we doing this or what?”
A heavy sigh seeps out of me. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I hop out to get the door for her, but of course she beats me to it. When we make it to my parents’ front door together, I turn to her before knocking. “Listen, I know I’m your least favorite person right now, but if you could just–”
“I get it. I’ll smile and nod and talk you up in front of your folks.”
My brows knit together. “That’s not–”
The front door flies open before I’m able to finish my sentence or even raise my fist to knock. Should’ve known that Alex Kent has secret superpowers for knowing when her sons are hanging out at her front door.
“Finally!” she trills, opening the door wide enough for us to enter. “You’re late.” When I start to apologize, she waves me off and reaches for Daria. “It’s so good to see you again, D.D.”
A breathy oh squeezes out of Daria as Mom hugs her tightly. “Um. Actually, it’s just D.”
Mom rears back and studies her. “I thought your last name started with a D.”
“Oh, um, yeah. It does.” Daria’s gaze flits to mine for a split second.
“Then I’ll call you D.D.” With that, Mom spins around and heads toward the kitchen as if she didn’t just give Daria a new nickname.
I open my mouth to apologize for Mom’s impertinence when Daria laughs. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
Feeling my own smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, I say, “You have no idea. But you’re about to find out.”
After I’ve made all the necessary re-introductions, we shuffle into the dining room and take our seats.
We’re seated right next to where Jamie and Parker usually sit, opposite Mom and Logan.
Daria politely offered to help Mom set out dinner, but likely because we were late, everything was already neatly laid out.
“We say grace at this table, D.D. I hope you don’t mind. .” With a smile aimed at Daria, Mom clutches Dad’s hand, then Logan’s.
“Not at all.” Daria’s responding smile is suspiciously bright as she lays her open hand out on the table and blinks her long, dark lashes up at me.
I grit my teeth and mentally prepare myself to make contact with her skin.
Her smooth, silky soft skin. And I only know this because of the run-ins we’ve had since she moved in.
The day I fell on top of her in her room, I had to think of flight patterns just to rid my brain of the way her skin felt against mine.
She wiggles her fingers, spurring me on.
Finally, I slip my hand into hers. Warmth as potent as an electric current runs through me at the simple touch, just like I knew it would. Daria’s eyes widen just before she looks away.
“Very good,” Mom says, ducking her head low. “Let us pray.”
Dad says grace, as usual. But instead of focusing on the words like I know I should, all I can think about is making sure I don’t skate my thumb along the top of Daria’s hand. It takes so much mental energy just to keep my fingers in check I almost miss Dad’s softly spoken amen .
The food is passed around right after, and when it gets to me, I offer to make Daria’s plate. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, or so Mom would say. If I tried to simply pass her the bowl of mashed potatoes, Mom would call me out on it.
“Would you like some?”
Daria’s glares at me. “Yes. But I’m a grown woman who can help herself.
” The tinkling sound of silverware on plates instantly ceases.
I feel every eye at the table zero in on us.
Daria’s gaze ping-pongs between our onlookers, then she smiles.
Too sweetly. “I mean, thank you . For offering. But I’d like to get my own serving. If…that’s okay.”
I return her smile and hand her the bowl. “Of course.” If Mom chews me out for this later, oh well. I’m choosing to pick my battles with Daria, and I draw the line at mashed potatoes.
When the smothered pork chops make their rounds, I hold the pan out to her and jerk my chin toward the slotted spoon. “Go ahead. I’ll hold it.”
She eyes me a little uncertainly but does as I suggest. For whatever reason, I can’t look away as she fills her plate with food and sneaks glances at me all the while. As if she’s taking her cues from me.
“Thanks,” she says, laying the spoon back in the pan.
“You’re welcome.” Something passes between us, something unspoken and likely tentative, but it’s still something . A sliver of trust, perhaps? Maybe I’m just reading into it.
“So, D.D.,” Mom says, gaining all of our undivided attention. “Dane tells us you are his new…” She pauses just long enough to meet my eyes. “Roommate.”
Daria finishes swallowing her first bite of food and nods. “That’s correct. Just roommates.”
Mom's lips pinch together as she pushes the roast around on her plate. “Well, as long as you are living with my son, we want you to come to family dinner.”
Daria’s wide eyes dart to mine. “O-kay.”
“Mom,” I interject, holding my hand up like a stop sign. “That’s really not necessary. Daria has her own life and–”
“Nonsense!” Mom’s grin turns feral. “I feed you once a week. Might as well feed D.D. too.”
I don’t know why she puts so much emphasis on Daria’s new nickname, but I lock eyes with my brother, silently begging for help.
Logan clears his throat. “Um, Mom? You never invited Jay over for dinner when he roomed with me.”
One of Mom’s perfectly manicured eyebrows disappears under her bangs. “That’s because Jay is a pig.” Without another word, she digs into her potatoes.
I bite back a laugh as Logan sputters. “That’s not really fair, Mom. Jay was a good guy–”
Mom lowers her fork and spears Logan with a challenging glare. “He dated Mrs. Nielsen’s daughter, Violet, at the same time he was seeing Mr. Jurah’s niece, Kate. He. Is. A. Pig.”
Logan tightens his mouth into a firm line as he quietly goes back to his food. He knows as well as I do there’s no changing Alexandra Kent’s mind about anything. Besides, she kind of has a point. Jay’s womanizing ways were talked about all over town until he moved last year.
Dad clears his throat. “So, Daria. Do you have any hobbies?” As the designated peacemaker in the family, and Mom’s unofficial handler, Dad expertly changes the subject.
“Um, yeah, actually.” Daria spreads a pat of butter across her roll. “I enjoy going out with my friends, doing yoga at Briar’s studio, and drawing. I also sometimes design and make my own clothes.”
She makes her own clothes ? Guess that explains the sewing machine I’ve heard whirring away in her bedroom. Before I’m able to tell her how cool I think that is, Mom pipes up. “Ah, you are a creative mind. Like Parker and me.” Mom grins as Dad pats her hand and winks.
“I suppose I do have a few creative outlets, though I’m nowhere as skilled at drawing as Parker is.” For the first time all night, Daria’s mouth widens into a genuine smile. “And he’s a truly gifted author.”
“He is, yes. But I’m sure you’re just as gifted.” Mom grins and points her fork toward Daria’s outfit. “Did you make the clothes you’re wearing now?”
A rosy tint colors Daria’s cheeks as she looks down, then up again. “Just the skirt.” She flippantly adds, “I just really like to play around with pretty textiles and fabrics.”
“Oh, it seems like more than playing .” Mom’s thick accent ticks up at the end like it always does when she’s about to work her charm. “You must have quite the skill to make something like that. Have you ever thought about selling anything you’ve made?”
Daria shifts in her seat with a one-shouldered shrug.
“A little. I sometimes make clothes for Jamie and Briar for fun and, well, I’ve tossed around the idea of starting my own clothing line.
” Her eyes flick to mine for barely a second before focusing on the food in front of her like it’s infinitely more fascinating than this conversation. I couldn’t disagree more.
“What’s stopping you?” The question leaves my lips before I have time to wonder whether or not she’ll welcome it.