56. Darcy
FIFTY-SIX
DARCY
I’m wrapped up in a quilt on the porch as the sun rises. I’m wearing what I’d call one of my house dresses, and what Rob would have called “Ol’ Meemaw’s Dressing Gown.” Fucker. I’m cute and I know it. Tiny white flowers dot the flowy sky blue dress. Why can’t I feel pretty while I relax?
Stormy’s been my constant companion through this long night.
It’s Labor Day, but you know, farms. No days off. Mouths to feed, etc.
I couldn’t sleep anyway.
First I tried starting my second draft of my book, but the words wouldn’t come. I typed and retyped what felt like ninety variations of the same sentence before self-loathing kicked in.
Was some mediocre man my muse? Ugh.
This was exactly the predicament I didn’t want to get into.
Stormy looks at me as if to say, “ Don’t call Daddy mediocre ,” because we both know he’s not.
He’s wonderful and life feels shitty without him.
The sun slowly lights the sky, bringing this land that I know like the back of my hand to life. It’s home. It’s part of my DNA.
But home doesn’t feel so homey without Jake. Home isn’t just a place. It’s the people, and the smells, and the food, and some sort of gravitational vortex that connects you to certain situations. Places and experiences that leave an echo inside you, and you spend your life searching for the original sound.
My eyes fill thinking that Jake was an original sound, an indelible part of what makes up home. He’s a piece of home that I’m realizing I might be willing to follow to lands outside of this one.
That fact is at once terrifying, exhilarating, and liberating.
Mostly terrifying.
I decide when I go inside to make coffee, I’ll try to call him. He’s usually an early riser, or at least he was before he left the farm. Maybe he’s a night owl now. I don’t have a good way of knowing.
The Jake I know would take my call at any hour, and that’s the Jake I’m hoping still exists.
I won’t beg for him back. I won’t pressure him for an answer because the quest I sent him on was somewhat vague.
I’ll just see how he’s doing. Hopefully, he’s not living in mental squalor like I am.
Around me, everything is great. Maggie, Bill, and I handle the farm like we’ve always done it together this seamlessly. If you didn’t look closely, you’d never know how sad I am. But I’m devastated, and I did it to myself.
One phone call. I just need to see how he is. I hope he’s better than I am.
My hands quiver as I scoop out the coffee grounds, pouring them into the brew basket. I fill the machine with water and switch it on. As I wait, I pull out my phone for his number.
I love him and I somehow don’t have his number memorized. If you’re this messed up over somebody, shouldn’t you at least know their phone number by heart?
I pick up the cordless house phone and dial. It takes so long to ring that I wonder if I dialed it right.
But it doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voicemail, catching me off guard. It’s one of those combo robot and their voice messages, where their voice is suddenly too loud against the robot. Sorry, JAKE WARREN, is not available. At the tone, please record your message.
My voice cracks when I speak.
“Hey! Hi. It’s Darcy. I just wanted to check in and see if we could . . . catch up. I hope everything’s going good for you. Maybe we can chat and I can make you a bitter cup of coffee?” I hesitate, afraid to say something too sentimental. I don’t want to sway him either way. But I’m weak and I’ve been up all night, so I just spill it out anyway. “I miss you.”
My lips feel like sandpaper when I rub them together. “Hope to talk to you soon. If you want. No pressure if not. I l?—”
A beep announces that my time is up, and through all my rambling, I didn’t get to tell him I love him.
Maybe that’s better for both of us. I don’t want to try to sway him.
All’s quiet upstairs still, but the sound of gravel grinding hits my ears. Someone passing on the main road? But no, it draws closer.
The first drips of coffee smack the bottom of the pot when a flash of red goes past the window. A car door closes. Who the hell would be out here this early?
The farm truck is still outside, along with my car, covered in dust after a summer of not driving it.
I do what every sane person does when there’s an unknown intruder: I grab the rifle out of the mudroom. I keep it lowered as I creep through the house. Stormy’s already at the front door, going nuts. The inner door has a warped old window, and a figure is silhouetted in the low light.
Broad shoulders filling out a canvas jacket. A cowboy hat.
My steps speed up and I fling open the heavy wooden door, eyes rounding as I take in that dreamy guy who is the source of my every worry and fantasy.
He looks down at a fistful of pale white clover flowers, dwarfed by the size of his hand. His gaze is soft when it returns to me. “I know you’re upset, boss, but I’m not sure it’s worth shooting me over.”
“You’re here,” I whisper.
Now his lips curve upward in his signature fucking-with-you smirk. “I heard there’s a girl around these parts who makes the worst cup of coffee. Thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.”
Stormy meows at me and headbutts the door, pissed I haven’t opened it yet. I flip the gun’s safety and open the screen door long enough for Stormy to go to her beloved. Jake’s face falls as I turn back into the house.
I rush to put the gun back, then grab a second mug in the kitchen. The pot’s finished now, and I pour us each a cup, sprinkling a little sugar in Jake’s.
Through the screen door, I catch him nestling his cheek against the top of Stormy’s head, having already scooped her up. Barkley’s next to him, begging for pets too. “You my good little kitty?”
The man’s whispering sweet nothings to my cat. She’s eating it up.
I’m eating it up. My stomach is twisted tighter than a garlic knot. I hip open the door and hold out a mug for Jake. “World’s best cup of coffee?”
He lifts a brow and offers the fistful of little wildflowers. “If you say so.”
I take them, knowing those flowers don’t last and he must have just picked them out of the grass. He stoops to put Stormy back on the ground, patting Barkley quickly before taking the mug from me and sitting on his usual step. He sits sideways, one leg straight out in front of him and the other bent to hold him on the step, leaning back against the banister. I set my coffee by my usual spot on the top step and grab the quilt from the porch swing. As I sit, Jake leans forward to wrap it around my shoulders. His eyes move over my clothes.
“Pretty dress.”
I snort. “Thanks. Rob used to make fun of it. Called it ‘Meemaw’s Dressing Gown.’”
Jake rolls his eyes. “If this is what you look like as a meemaw, he should have been thanking his lucky stars.” His gaze steels. “You’re beautiful.”
I blush under his sincere praise. “You look good too, cowboy. I haven’t seen your fall and winter jacket collection.” I tug at the collar of his jacket and Jake’s eyes glow at me. “Suits you.”
Jake’s gaze passes over my features, softening and taking on a certain sadness. His throat bobs and he licks his lips, his next words quiet. “I missed you.”
I grin and take a sip of my coffee, cupping the mug in my hands. “I just tried to call you, actually.”
One of Jake’s dimples pops. “Oh yeah?”
I smile and nod. “Yeah. Wanted to see how you are. I’ve been up all night missing you.”
Jake’s voice is gravelly, his expression serious. “I’ve been missing you too. I just drove through the night to get to you.”
I blink hard. “Through the night? Where were you?”
He looks out at the field where a couple of deer graze, then back at me. “I went home. Couldn’t sleep, so I left my mom a note and took off around 3:00.”
I lift my brows and take a sip. “How was home?”
He snorts and a corner of his lips lifts. “Well, my picker works?—”
“Hey. That’s awesome.” I wiggle his shoulder in my hand.
“Thanks,” he says. “But I think you might have been right about some things.”
I laugh and adjust the quilt on my shoulders, clasping it in one fist. “Do tell. I love being right.”
Jake shakes his head at my pestering and sighs. “I talked to my mom about everything. My dad, my stepdad. The picker and why I did it.” His eyes grow more determined, looking into mine. “You.”
I rub my lips together. “Me?”
His mouth curls up and he looks wistful. “She can’t wait to meet you.”
I grin wide. “Yeah?”
He nods. “And she pointed out all the ways I don’t do anything for me, the picker included. Said a lot of things like you said, like I need to figure out what I want for myself.” He draws a deep breath. “And there’s a lot I still don’t know. But I do know one thing: I want more of you. Deciding on the rest of our lives right now would be a little rushed, so I need more time with you to decide. Being apart isn’t going to help me at all. My gut tells me I’m picking you no matter what, but you know,” he snorts. “I’m a scientist. I need more data to be sure.”
I puff out my bottom lip. “More data?”
“I know Summer Darcy, but I don’t know Fall Darcy, and Winter Darcy, and Spring Darcy. I want to see how we deal with the changes life throws at us. I want to grow together, and not just theorize on what might be if we choose each other. So, I’ve got something to ask you. Because even though you said no before, if your last two weeks were anything like mine, you might be changing your tune.”
Jake stands and looks over the grass, stooping to pluck a dandelion. He cocks his head to ask me to stand too. He reaches for my left hand, and I spread my fingers. He ties the dandelion around my left ring finger and drops to one knee. My heart thuds and my stomach drops below the earth’s crust somewhere. A man on one knee brings up all sorts of emotions. But when Jake cracks one of his scampy dimpled smiles, I know I don’t have any reason to be afraid. “I’m going to ask you one more time: Darcy Rossetti, will you date me?”
What he’s asking for is fair: don’t push a decision on the rest of our lives right this minute. Stop torturing ourselves by being apart. Get to know all the seasons with each other and actively choose, or walk away from, that life.
“Two weeks was awful enough, and I think you’re right. We need more data points.” My face feels like it’s going to splinter and crumble with how hard I’m smiling. “Yes. Yes, of course. I will date the shit out of you.”
I tug on his hands to get him to stand again and we fall into an elated kiss, my hand holding my wrist behind his neck, leaning into him with a foot kicked up. I’m surrounded by Jake again, his scent and his warmth, his tender kisses where he focuses so hard on loving me that I feel it in every stroke of his lips.
“Darcy, who—oh, hi Jake.” Maggie appears in the doorway. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he says, with a tip of his hat.
Maggie takes in the scene, the calculations in her brain almost making an audible sound. “Darcy, I’ll get Bill to help me with the horses,” she says.
“We can get ‘em,” Jake says with a smile. “Gotta say hi to my buddy out there.”
Maggie nods slowly. “That’d be alright. Bill and I’ll just go get some things done down at the barn, stay out of your hair. Y’all take your time.” She widens her eyes at me, then tips her head at Jake. “Really is good to see you again, bub.”
Jake wraps his arms tighter around my back and lifts me, kissing my cheek to my giggle. “Glad to be home.”
“Oh my god,” I whine, stifling the urge to cry and sandwiching his face between my hands. Maggie’s laughter fades into the house. I pepper kisses all over his face and he chuckles.
Jake nudges me steady, rubbing his nose with mine before launching a sweet, soft kiss. “I am home now. With you.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too.”
“Hey, I should tell you something that’s been on my mind.”
Jake lifts his brows. “Okay?”
I let out a shaky breath. “I know a lot of our talks have been around whether you stay here with me, but if it came down to it, there’s a chance I’d go wherever you go. There’s also a chance I could go back to Raleigh, and you’d have better job prospects there.”
He looks stunned, eyes wide and sporting an incredulous smile. “Darcy,” he breathes. “I don’t know what to say. You don’t have to do that.”
I shrug and hold back the smile threatening to split my face. “You’re worth it. But we have time to decide.”
Jake holds me so tight it almost hurts. “I love you so much,” he says into my hair. “We should celebrate! This is a big deal. We’re back on.”
I giggle. “Okay, what did you have in mind?”
He can barely hold in his chuckle. “Some people like champagne, but I don’t think there’s anything better than my woman’s nasty coffee.”
I throw my head back laughing and he presses a soft kiss to the column of my throat. With a hand still on my waist, he leans to pick up his mug off the step. Jake takes a slug of the brown liquid, his whole face seizing up and almost spitting it out. “Christ, did you put salt in that?”
My jaw drops. “I sweetened it! I didn’t want it to taste as bad as you pick on it being.”
Jake cracks up. “If we’re going to stick this out, we’ve got to teach you the difference between salt and sugar.”
“Am I that bad? When I try to be sweet, I’m salty?”
Jake laughs, wrapping me up in his arms again. “I love you that way, darlin’.”
Our kiss is more intense this time and I resist the urge to climb up his body, knowing my aunt and uncle are just inside the house. I’m having trouble breaking the kiss, too obsessed with the joy of having him back.
Finally, Jake pulls away. “Is going to get the horses some sort of code? The auntie equivalent of a sock on the door?”
“Ew!” I say, slapping his chest to his cackle.
“What? Your other aunt had her boobs all over my face! I just figured this was a sex positive environment.”
I huff. “No, my family’s just nuts.”
“And you,” he boops my nose, “are part of your family.”
I drop my jaw. “Hey!”
He hugs me tighter and rocks me from side to side. “Wouldn’t have you any other way, boss.”
I squeal when he swoops under my legs and hitches me up to his waist. “Come on, now. Let’s go ‘get the horses.’”
I fold myself around his shoulders and enjoy his thunderous laughter against my chest.
Safe. Adored. Cherished.
I’m home again.