20. Lizzy
Lizzy
We walked back to Amor Inn. Emma and Knightley jogged ahead, but Darcy and I strolled at the same pace.
We were sodden and dripping but in high spirits, bumping elbows and knees and hips, pretending we weren’t walking so close together.
Pretending we hadn’t noticed how much of our bodies were touching.
I tried not to sneak glances at his broad back, his veined forearms, his muscled thighs pressing out his shorts.
“I feel like a kid again.” He grinned and tugged playfully at my hair.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?”
“You make everything fun.”
“Oh.” Was he kidding? Except for the hay baling and a few other small moments, he’d been critical and rude. No wonder I was wary of him.
A faint, earnest crease drew across his brow.
“You do, you know. You’re a breath of fresh air, joining in with the dancing that first night, taking the time to find out everyone’s story, getting stuck into the farmwork one hundred percent, always ready to get outside.
Playing with Oodles, you’re completely unselfconscious, not worrying about your clothes or how you seem.
You enjoy the moment and participate in life’s fun.
” He slapped a hand over his face. “Oh God. Participate in life’s fun.
That sounds like a directive I’ve prepared for my company’s board. ”
I laughed, but now I was starting to believe he was genuine.
“You don’t have much fun?” I asked, worried I was about to break the spell by reminding him of all his responsibilities.
I expected him to lash out, be annoyed at my question.
Maybe say, of course he had loads of refined fun in London at restaurants and bars and the theater or wherever.
That this was kid stuff—country bumpkin stuff.
He rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. I never realized I didn’t. But my face feels kind of sore from laughing and smiling, like it’s a new expression for me, so I guess not.”
His answer felt real. As if maybe he was speaking with me more honestly than he spoke with friends. Friends who didn’t make him smile until his face ached. Mine heated at the knowledge.
“You might have to do something about that,” I said with a gentle bump against his shoulder.
He gave me a sly side grin and bumped me back with his hip. “Yes, I was thinking I need to spend more time with you, to get used to stretching my face into a smile and breaking out into laughter.”
Was he joking? I checked his face again.
Amusement slipped from his features, and now he was looking at me with a fresh intensity, his usual composure cracked.
His blue eyes darkened with longing, then went almost black with molten hunger.
I startled, then despite the wet and cold, my body tingled warm under his attention.
I’d never before seen a man looking at me like that, never before felt that aroused under a man’s steady stare.
My cheeks blushed hot. I should have been shivering, a blanket of goose bumps, but instead, I burned.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, attempting light flirtation as we walked. “To spend more time with me?” Or was I reading his intensity wrong?
He rubbed his thumb back and forth along his bottom lip and stared at my mouth. As frustrating as he was at times, I suddenly craved his thumb running along my bottom lip.
“I think it’s a necessity.” His voice was low and rough, sending shivers through me.
But what did I think of this man? He’d shown a different side of himself this afternoon, kind and hardworking and vulnerable about his fear. Then…fun. Now he was someone who seemed to be physically attracted to me and wasn’t afraid of showing it.
Unsure what to say, we walked the rest of the way in charged silence.
Knightley was standing by the inn’s front door with towels—for us or the dogs, I wasn’t sure.
He waved and indicated he’d left them on the love seat.
When we reached the front door, Darcy handed me one of the towels, and we both crouched and dried off our dogs, peering up at each other. I couldn’t get the smile off my face.
He ran a finger slowly along my jawline. I startled.
“Smudge,” he said.
Strangely, I wanted to turn my head into his finger, kiss his palm, grab his hand, and pull him closer.
One minute, I was irritated. The next, turned on.
But I did want to give him a chance. I felt something for him, even though I’d fought it.
He nodded as if he’d read my mind and focused on my lips, leaning toward me, as if he wanted to kiss me.
Sounds from inside intruded, and we both leaned away. Anyone could come out and catch us in our first kiss. This wasn’t the moment.
Still, I was grinning to myself as we took off our wet shoes outside, and he held the door open for me.
I raced up the stairs in my bare feet, him close behind.
We parted into our rooms with a small smile shared.
I found my room empty and a message on my phone from Charlie.
Hay baling clips already up! Hard-working way to go, woman!
Funny. I hadn’t thought to check. Smiling, I stepped into the bathroom to take a shower.
The hot water soothed my limbs and eased all the muscles pretending I hadn’t used them before.
I ached in a good way because I’d worked hard today at the farm. We all had.
And now I was excited about our makeover.
I wondered what the stylist would put me in, how she’d do my hair and makeup.
And what would Darcy wear? He always looked like he had stepped out of a catalogue, composed and beautifully put together.
Even when he was hay baling, he started out in a dark tee and shorts that looked like a quality fabric and cut, even drenched with sweat.
It was great to see him smiling today, enjoying himself.
He’d even admitted he wasn’t much for having fun.
He seemed to enjoy us throwing ourselves in the river, though.
In contrast, my ex Jake had never noticed anything much about me, hadn’t laughed when he saw me having fun or being silly.
Hadn’t pointed out any of my foibles or habits or what my eyes looked like or my hair.
He’d never observed me properly or expressed the ways I was right for him, or how he wanted to support me.
He’d been a steady person in the background, and I’d thought that was enough.
I’d never found what I’d written about in my novels, that feeling of being special, of being…not perfect, but perfect for one man.
I knew love could be magical and breathtaking, rather than the quite amiable but generic version I’d been settling for. With Jake and me, I hadn’t been worth the extra effort needed to make our relationship work, and we’d drifted from each other’s lives.
But that look Darcy had given me in the river. Terrified then… What was it? Like everything had changed for him. And he was looking at me. Like I’d changed everything for him.
I wanted to write a story about that moment, how one person evolved or even transformed because they wanted to be with the other.
Starting with something small but significant like the rope swing—definitely not a hot-air balloon.
Maybe Susannah, a sophisticated woman about town, learned to love the countryside and do without staff to be with a humble but hot farmer.
Maybe she made finery tailored to the purse of the everyday woman to boost their income.
But there was childbirth in their tiny, remote cottage and the outside toilet.
How could I make that romantic? The privations of their cottage that didn’t spell happily ever after.
But…if Susannah could learn to milk cows and make do, maybe I could forgive Darcy his first night and this morning, try to understand why he’d made such a dreadful first impression, and see where this took us.
I wrapped myself in a robe. Then I joined Jane and Emma in one of the bedrooms that had been vacated for the makeover session.
I opened the door to the sight of a woman I imagined was Poppy.
The makeup, hair, and wardrobe stylist was already showing Jane and Emma clothing options, her tattooed arms swinging the clothing on the rack with authority.
She had a great look—black hair worn teased into a bouffant, and a minidress that was choirboy on top.
Jane and Emma were pros at trying out different looks, so they were already engaging in a lot of excited chatter between them, swapping hair tips and fashion opinions. Thank goodness Harry and his camera weren’t allowed up here.
I joined them at the racks.
“Here she is,” Jane said, and she introduced me to Poppy.
“I need to hear all about your afternoon, Jane,” I said and smoothed out her sleeve.
I stretched out a hand to Poppy. “Hello, Poppy. Nice to meet you.” We shook hands.
“You deal with these two first, and I’ll wait.
I’m not sure what you’re going to do with me.
I wear jeans most days and rarely get a comb through my hair. ”
She rubbed her hands. “Finally. Someone who needs me. These two are quite competently doing their own thing, so you have me to yourself. I have ideas for you.” She eased me into the chair and flapped a black cape around me.
“An emerald-green slip dress, delicate 1920s jewelry, and bejeweled clips in your hair. And high sandals. Unless you want me to straighten your hair? That would be a total change.”
“Thank you, but straightening’s going too far.” I couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting in a chair for the time it would take to flatten my locks. “With my unruly mop, the evening would be over before you’re finished. And I’m not sure if I could walk in those stilettoes.”
She was holding up silver sandals with a high, narrow heel. “These are car-to-bar shoes, or in your case, this bedroom-to-kitchen. I think you can do it.”