10. Darcy
Darcy
Okay, keep being friendly and make nice conversation. I can do this.
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked her as we walked back to the house for coffee, followed by the romping dogs. Shit, should I have asked that? Was it like referring to beds, which I’d already done last night? “After the interruption, I mean.”
“Yes. You?” Her reply was noncommittal. Better than irritated, I supposed.
“Well as my bedroom was goat-free, I slept pretty well.”
Her head snapped to me, now interested, but wary. “What?”
I actually flushed. Had she thought I was referring to some sort of… Oh God, did she think it was code for some sort of sexual activity? We’d gotten off to such a bad start, everything I said could be construed poorly.
“Seriously, there was a goat in my bedroom before I went to bed the first time,” I said, hoping I was clear. “Eating the curtains.”
She spluttered out a laugh.
I felt myself breaking out into a huge grin. So huge, my face ached a little. This was going well. And when was the last time I’d smiled like that? When was the last time I was silly?
“Yeah, usually if someone mentions a goat in their bedroom, you know they’re joking, but obviously not under Monty and Penny’s roof,” I said.
She peered at me. “How did you get him out?”
“In the end, I had to grab him around the waist and carry him down the stairs. The whole time, he was wriggling and kicking, and he smelled so bad…worse than wet dog.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I can imagine. Oh my God, that is hilarious. I would have given anything to see that.”
“Maybe tonight, there’ll be a command performance. Certainly, this goat did not seem to have boundaries, and he was munching on the curtains like they were Christmas dinner.”
“Even without a nice gravy or cranberry sauce?”
I chuckled at her reply, and the sound came out low and dusty, like I hadn’t laughed in a long time. “Apparently, curtains are a dish best eaten dry,” I said.
Her lips curved into a smile. “That is classic.”
We’d reached the front door, the color of the sky.
“Here we are,” she said, a little breathless.
We. I liked the sound of that word from her lips, for some reason. As I stared at her parted mouth, heat throbbed between us, and my chest ached with a nameless wanting.
“See you inside,” she said. “I need to hose down Oodles first.”
Without knowing why, I wanted to stay close to her.
Which part of her intrigued me most? Her messy self in confidently oversized clothing or those glittering dark eyes peering out of her tumble of hair?
Maybe it was even her eviscerating comments and ready disdain for me?
I wanted to connect with her, and right now, that meant holding her wet, dirty, rebellious dog.
“I’ll keep him still while you rinse him off,” I offered.
“You’re going to get wet,” she said with a slightly surprised smile.
I shrugged, like I was that laid-back, easygoing guy who did shit like this, which I definitely was not. “I was going to have another shower anyway. I got pretty sweaty putting Max through his paces. And as you know, I’ve already had some good practice holding a four-legged creature.”
She laughed good-naturedly and accepted my help.
Oodles wiggled and shook while she hosed him, and I held him as still as possible. Max bounced around us, wanting to play and get wet too, which made Oodles even friskier.
“Max. Sit. Sit.” He wasn’t taking any notice. There was something about Oodles that brought out disobedience and, I had to admit, infinite joy in Max.
In response, Oodles shook and bounced and squealed, making Lizzy even wetter and dirtier. She laughed and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Oh, Oodles,” she said. “You are such a character. I love you.” She gave him a huge hug, leaving her T-shirt completely damp.
She had a natural and unselfconscious way about her I’d never been able to exude. And she was completely in her element, instead of being horrified and annoyed like many women—most people—of my acquaintance. This was a different side to the outraged Lizzy who’d surfaced last night.
I couldn’t look away from her.
Lizzy was turning off the hose when Knightley emerged from the barn with a basketful of eggs. Lizzy explained what had happened, and he laughed. He set down the eggs on a nearby bench.
“You two feel free to go in and change and have a coffee,” he said. “I can run the dogs around outside until Oodles dries off. Promise not to let them roll in more muddy puddles.”
Knightley picked up a stick, calling their names. They ran to him. Both dogs were shaking with excitement at the prospect of chasing after the stick.
“Wait,” Knightley said calmly.
Oodles actually waited, and Lizzy looked surprised. Knightley definitely had a certain authority. Funnily enough, I’d noticed Knightley using that commanding voice on Emma, but it didn’t work with her. At least there was another man who didn’t know what he was doing with women.
We thanked him and walked toward the house.
“You have a twig in your hair,” I said as we stepped inside.
Lizzy reached up and grasped at it ineffectually.
“May I?” I asked, reaching up.
She bit her lip and nodded.
I leaned toward her and plucked it from her curls, but my breathing went shallow.
The fresh mint and eucalyptus smell from her hair filled the inside of my head.
I opened my mouth to say more, maybe something about her wild and wonderful locks or even the endearing way she had about her, but then I worried that was too personal.
Instead, I opened the front door for her. “After you.”
I followed her up the stairs to the bedrooms to change, trying not to focus on how her wet clothes hugged her curves.
As she paused at the doorway of her room, I asked, “Are you going down after this for coffee?”
“Yes.” She looked a bit surprised and even suspicious of my question.
“See you down there.”
“Okay.”
My gaze locked with hers, and my blood heated at the spark in her eyes.
Good God, man, she has sparkly eyes. They weren’t lighting up for you.
Still, I changed my wet and muddied clothes hurriedly, not even knowing why I was racing.
At this rate, I was going to run out of clothes this weekend.
Why was I hurrying? So I could see her again more quickly?
If anything, I should hang back or stay far away from her altogether.
Maybe I was feeling this way because I had to show myself better when filmed—redeem myself.
Because I was eager to improve my impression so that my clubhouse donors would see me in a more positive light.
Still, I found myself buttoning my shirt and pulling on my sweater as I bounced down the stairs, I was so keen to get back down there.
I joined her in the kitchen for coffee. She’d dressed even more quickly than me, in a long, flower-print dress that drifted around her like a late summer meadow.
“Hello there again,” I said, my voice raspy. What was making me so nervous about this woman? I felt like a schoolboy.
“Hello there again,” she replied, teasing me a bit about my formal greeting.
Her ringlets were damp, and it looked like she only had on lip gloss. Her soft, natural prettiness made her even more attractive to me.
My ex, Sophia, had kept an overflowing makeup cart in the bathroom, and I once watched as she applied five different eye shadows on her lids for a walk through the forest. At the time, I’d been in awe of her commitment to her appearance.
I’d assumed she prettied herself as self-care to feel good.
I realized now those textured eyelids had not been created for my viewing pleasure, and all the muss and fuss detracted from her natural beauty.
Next to the coffee machine, Lizzy showed me a note from Trystan saying he was fetching supplies from his van outside and to help ourselves to hot drinks.
He’d left a book propped open next to the blue AGA stove, as though he was mid-read.
The cover featured a colorful illustration of a couple in Regency clothing, looking annoyed at each other.
But what stood out was Lizzy’s name in bright pink as the author.
I nodded toward Lizzy’s book. “A lot of people last night were saying you’re a good writer.”
I poured coffee into two cups and pushed the jug of milk and bowl of sugar toward her. She shook her head. Turned out we both drank our coffee black. That didn’t surprise me, as she seemed to gravitate toward simplicity.
“Yes. That was nice of them,” she said modestly. Her dimples came out of hiding again.
Keep them there, Wainwright. That’s your only job today, man. Show those people on social media that you’re actually a good, fun guy to be around.
“Have you ever considered trying to write a serious book?” I asked. “If you’re such a good writer, maybe you should write something less trivial?”
The dimples retreated, and she pressed her lips together. I’d messed up already.
“Have you even read a romance?” she asked.
“You know I haven’t.”
“I challenge you to read the first three chapters of a romance.” Her tone was defensive and aggressive. “Then come back and tell me it’s trivial.”
“But it’s not life-and-death.”
My tone was brusque, nothing out of the ordinary for me, my usual work tone, but not what I should be aiming for here. Why was I digging myself in deeper like this? I was always honest, and now I couldn’t beat the knee-jerk habit.
“It actually is,” she said. “Because if you’re in love and you can’t see how it will work out, it is like dying.”
Lizzy’s words reminded me of Wills. Losing love last time flattened him. Life or death—that made some sense when I thought of how devastated he’d been. At this glimmer of understanding, resolve further strengthened within me. I had to make sure Jane was good for him.
I cocked my head. “You know this. You’ve experienced it.”
She glared at me, and my gut dropped with dread. “I’m an author. I imagine it.”
Trystan burst into the kitchen, laden with boxes, and I rushed forward to relieve him.
I wasn’t sure if the interruption was good or bad.
“Thanks, Darcy,” he said as I set the boxes down on the counter. “Hey, you guys missed the drama.”