Chapter 30 Darby
DARBY
As we walk back down the trail toward Ren’s house, I’m not even sure my feet are touching the ground. Their excitement is infectious and completely addictive, their high spirits lighting up the path through the winding trees and down the slope so well we don’t need moonlight or flashlights to see.
There’s no jealousy about Ren being the star. Leland’s not mad that Henrik got to skate and he didn’t. In fact, they’re teasing each other that Leland’s next.
Gulp. I have a feeling their jokes carry a second, deeper meaning.
Would I kiss him on the ice after skating around between him and Ren? Or with Henrik? I don’t know. I’m not ruling it out. Especially once we’re caught up in the rush of the music and pounding drums.
I don’t really know Leland that well yet.
My brain immediately jumps to, “But do you know Henrik or Ren any better?”
I glance up at Henrik beside me, who tucked my arm around his and clasps my hand with his other on his biceps.
Making sure I don’t lose my footing on the steepest part of the trail.
Remembering the way he risked ruining their skit to make sure I didn’t hit the ice too hard.
The care and consideration in every giant cell of his body.
The glint in his eyes as he catches me looking up at him.
All the logical reasons this can’t possibly be real flicker through my mind.
I just met him. He’s great in bed, sure.
He’s gorgeous in the grim giant sort of way.
He reads books. He cooks. He takes care of all his friends.
He works really hard at his stoic, silent lumberjack persona, but I saw beneath that mask right away.
There was something between us from the first moment he put his hands on me. I wasn’t scared of him. Not even when he thought he’d been set up with a fangirl.
Ren’s in a different class entirely. He’s not the kind of man I’d ever consider.
Simple, boring me would never catch his eye, and if he deigned to speak to me, I’d be suspicious of a scam.
Afraid it was only a joke. He’s too confident and sure of himself to be interested in the quiet, shy accountant type.
Is he only interested in me because of Henrik? Maybe his only goal is a one-time fling to mark off a checkbox, “Share a woman with my best friend.”
I can only imagine how many women he’s been with.
He’s famous, gorgeous, talented on and off the ice, charming, and has that “it” factor that draws eyes to him.
Men and women. I never really thought charisma would be such an attractive, powerful draw but it absolutely is.
It’d been impossible to pull my gaze away from him singing and skating on the ice.
I imagine his hockey career would’ve been just as compelling.
So what does he want with me?
I’m nobody. Except maybe Henrik’s girlfriend—assuming I even stay.
Ren’s house is even more eye opening. From the outside, it looks like it’s at least twice as big as Henrik’s cabin.
Where his home has rustic lumberjack charm, Ren’s house is slick and sleek, just like him.
No raw edges or rounded logs but flat, smooth, honey-colored wide planks mix with bright white and touches of black.
I’ve never been to the Alps, but it makes me think of a high-end Swedish lodge.
The living room has soaring angled bright white ceilings and smooth walls.
The rear wall overlooks the lake with floor-to-ceiling glass.
A fireplace insert crackles on another wall framed in white marble threaded with black and gold.
Even his massive sectional is elegant and modern white mixed with black and white pillows.
Since when does a single straight guy have decorative pillows on his couch?
Never, that’s when, unless they’re his ex’s. Another mark in the suspicious column.
Henrik helps me take off my outer layers at the door so I can snoop. I mean, explore.
Ren even has tasteful art on the walls, the only pops of color against the white. Some are simple pencil and ink sketches of animals. Elk and deer drinking or staring out across the mountains. Geese and ducks floating on water. An adorable fox.
The longer I look at them, the more I’m sure the body of water is the lake outside his windows.
A large painting hangs opposite the sectional in brilliant autumn foliage with golden light flooding the mountains and trees.
I’m pretty sure that view’s from the ridge where Henrik took me today overlooking the creek.
“Don’t tell me you paint too?”
Ren laughs. “I wish. Those are done by Alyssa, Doyle’s daughter.”
“They’re absolutely gorgeous. I guess everyone in Mooseville’s talented.”
Henrik joins us, his hand moving to the small of my back, gently directing me deeper into the house.
I’m a little confused that no one’s sitting down in the living room, but I go along past a magazine-worthy kitchen with more marble and spotless white cabinets.
Skadi pauses to drink out of what looks to be a crystal bowl on the floor.
Surely not real crystal. Though I’m touched he set water out for my dog before we even stepped inside.
Now I feel bad for being so suspicious.
But he’s still too damned sexy for his own good. And he smiles too damned much.
We start down a set of stairs leading to a basement level. Even the stairs are extremely modern with wide wood planks and minimalist black steel railings, giving it an open, airy feel. Almost like we’re floating in clouds.
“I keep telling her she ought to study art, but she’s determined to do something sensible,” Ren says, leading the way downstairs. I can’t see his face, but I hear the playful sneer in his tone.
Leland’s behind us. “Which is probably why she’s having a hard time of it.”
It feels like a century ago, but I remember the pressure of being told how promising my future would be as I headed off to college.
Trying to make the best decision on what to major in, yet terrified of making a mistake.
“I always used to joke about majoring in something artsy, but my favorite teacher would say, ‘But honey, what kind of job will you get?’ It’s tough to make those adult choices.
I’m glad I went with business, or I’d never have known how to manage the bakery.
Apply for small business loans. Handle payroll. It’s a lot.”
“But did you actually learn that in class?” Leland asks. “Or did you pick that up through hands-on experience?”
“A mix of both,” I admit. “But for sure the small business regulations were something I needed from class. I knew where to go to find the information I needed.”
We step out into another sitting area but it’s dark enough I can barely make out movie-theater style seating. Ren’s at a bar area pulling out chilled beers. “What would you like to drink, Darby? I’ve got all the basics. Beer, wine, or I can mix you up something.”
“I’m not much of a drinker. Do you have anything for a lightweight?”
He rummages around in what looks to be a wine fridge and pulls out a bottle. With casual expertise, he peels off the foil and pops the cork. Champagne? It’s certainly bubbly. “Try this.”
I take a hesitant sip. Crisp cold apple hits my tongue and then a little kick of alcohol. I wait a second for a bad aftertaste but all I get is the lingering sweetness of apples. “That’s good, actually. Thank you.”
Henrik grabs a bottled beer and I follow him, holding his hand. “Step down here.”
Geez. This really is like a movie theater.
In a house. How much money did all this cost?
I can’t even begin to estimate it. The seats themselves are long cushioned chaises attached in groups of two to three seats.
I always feel ridiculous hiking myself up into one of these long chairs, and these seem to be made for giants.
Or one Henrik, I suppose. Because he sits down easily and props his arm up on the back, giving me a long, heavy-lidded look of invitation I can’t refuse. I scoot closer and tuck myself up against him, enfolded between his big body and buttery-soft black leather.
Skadi jumps up beside me before I think to stop her.
Hopefully the leather is immune to dog claws.
If she damages it, there’s no way I can afford to repay Ren to fix it.
He and Leland sit in the double chair on the other side of Henrik.
I give Ren an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should’ve asked if it was okay for her to come inside. ”
“Skadi? Of course. She’s part of the family now.” He says it easily, lightly, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.
“I keep her nails trimmed but I joke she’s Edward Scissorhands.”
Henrik rumbles beside me, rattling me into losing my train of thought. “Don’t worry about it, babe. These chairs are designed to withstand hockey players. They’ll survive the goddess of destruction just fine.”
“We usually watch the night’s show, but we already checked that off the list.” Ren points a remote control up at a huge screen, flicking through the menu lightning fast. “Though I’m going to need to watch that again and again.”
Henrik kisses my temple. “Me too.”
“I thought maybe we could show you the very first show we did so you can see how far we’ve come.”
“That’d be cool with me,” I say.
Settled against Henrik, I watch the first recording the band did.
It’s definitely not as polished. The edited version combines three different shots, and the transitions aren’t smooth.
The sound quality is off too, the microphones placed too far away.
Or they’re picking up too much wind sound instead of the music itself.
But the songs still pull me in, the lyrics haunting, angry, aching.
Even when I can’t understand the screams, I feel the emotion pouring out of Ren.
He’s just as compelling and charismatic, even though they don’t take to the ice until the very end.
Then it’s just a few loops and tricks, his skates sending ice shards flying over the camera.
“Oooh, that was cool,” I admit. “I like the ice flying over like that.”
“Me too,” Ren replies. “I keep thinking we should add another camera just for the ice effects but it’s tricky to get the placement right.”
“Plus it’s a bitch to edit so many feeds together,” Leland adds. “I’ve gotten better at it, so it doesn’t take days like it used to, but I’ve got personal deadlines that compete with getting the edited stream together.”
“You could hire that part out,” I offer. “Unless you’re just worried about keeping your anonymity?”
“It’s on the list to talk about at our team meeting,” Ren says. “We always meet once a month or so to discuss what the next show will be. Once we grew to a certain level, I expected to need to hire help, but I don’t think Doyle’s realized that yet.”
Leland huffs out a grumpy sigh. “If he had to do the edits, he’d be ready to hire it out for sure.”
“What’s your long-term goal?” I ask. “Increasing subscribers, I’m assuming, but are you looking to make money? Is it the cost of hiring help…”
“Not at all,” Ren says. “I’d be down to hire out whatever we need.
The channel makes a nice income already through membership subscribers.
People can subscribe for free and get the edited feed, but only the membership level gets the live, raw feed.
The band pays for itself. Easily. Even the extra Wi-Fi equipment we had to get.
Plus we’ve got plenty of capital we could invest if needed. We did in the beginning for sure.”
I want to ask, “So what’s the problem?” But it’s not really any of my business. Literally. They’ve got a business plan, and they’re making money. They don’t need the advice of an outsider. Especially someone who doesn’t know the subscription model, technology, or industry.
Henrik plays with my hair, lightly stroking his fingers over my head. “The problem’s Doyle.”