Chapter 22
I’M STANDING AT A GRILL, COOKING MEAT LIKE A CAVEMAN.
DARCY
Thirty minutes later, I’m manning the grill and nursing a beer when Neve’s excited squeal draws my attention. I don’t even need to look up to know who has arrived.
Kennedy is exactly as I expected: gorgeous and friendly. She’s tall—though not quite as tall as me, from what I can tell, as she stands next to Leo—with dark hair and an easy smile. She’s carrying a six-pack of some local craft beer and a wrapped present.
Of course she brought a present.
“Glad you made it, Kennedy.” Leo gives her a friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for inviting me.
” Her voice is like the inside of a cello—low, warm, resonant.
It’s a voice that probably sounds great reading bedtime stories, or singing in the shower, or whispering in someone’s ear.
She could probably read a washing machine manual and make it sound good.
I flip a steak with more force than necessary.
Neve makes the rounds, introducing the newcomer to some of the guests—people like Amanda, who works at Cameron Construction, and Georgia, Neve’s sister. And then…
“Kennedy, this is Billie. Billie, Kennedy.”
Billie—it finally feels less weird thinking of her this way after weeks of hearing people use the name—is standing by the drink table.
When she turns to face the new guest, I see her smile.
It’s polite. Friendly. Nothing like the genuine ones I’ve earned, but it’s still a smile for someone else, and my chest feels tight.
“Hey,” Billie says, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Neve’s told me a lot about you. Says you run the best construction company on the south shore.” They shake hands, and—does Kennedy hold it a second too long? Is that a thing that just happened?
“She loves to exaggerate. I try to do good work and not screw anything up too badly.” There it is: the self-deprecating thing Billie does when someone compliments her.
“From what I hear, you’re being modest.” Kennedy grabs a beer from the cooler. “I saw some of your work on the Henderson restoration downtown. The trim detail on those windows? Chef’s kiss.”
My girl lights up at that. She always does when someone notices her craftsmanship. “Oh, thanks. That was a fun project. Nightmare to source the right materials, but we got there.”
“I bet. Heritage work is no joke.” And just like that, they’re talking about wood grain and period-appropriate hardware. And I’m standing at a grill, cooking meat like a caveman, while a carpenter who can probably hand-carve things with her eyes closed makes my girl smile.
“You’re burning that steak,” Leo says quietly next to me.
I flip it. It’s fine. Mostly.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” I arrange the cooked steaks on a plate. “Just making sure your party’s going well.”
“Uh-huh.” Leo doesn’t sound convinced. “And the death glare you're directing at Kennedy’s back?”
“I’m not—” I stop, because yeah, I definitely am. “Neve set them up.”
“Yeah. Kennedy’s good people.”
“I’m sure she’s great.” The words come out more bitter than I intended.
Leo is quiet for a moment. “You know you could tell her how you feel.” Of course he sees right through me. Of course he’s kind about it, too.
“She’s made it clear what she wants: Professional. Friendly. Civil.” I grab a fresh beer from the cooler closest to us and take a long drink. “Who am I to argue with that?”
“You’re the guy who’s been in love with Billie since May.”
I nearly choke. “What? Okay, that’s not—”
“Darcy. Come on. I've known you for nearly our whole lives. You think I can’t tell?” He lowers his voice. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Billie laughs at something Kennedy said, her head thrown back. “Respect her boundaries. Be her friend. Be professional.”
“This shit sounds way too familiar, man.” Leo knows all about pushing professional boundaries. It’s how he and Neve got together. But this is different. “And if that's not what she actually wants?”
“Then she knows where to find me.” I meet his eyes. “I told her she should take the lead. I meant it.”
Leo gives me an empathetic look and a shoulder squeeze. When more guests arrive, he’s pulled away to greet them. I stay at the grill, the perfect spot to watch without being obvious about it.
Kennedy stays close to Billie for the next hour. Not overbearing, not possessive, just… there. Interested. Attentive. Laughing at her jokes. Asking about her work. Being exactly the kind of person she should be with.
It’s excruciating.
I nurse my second beer and make small talk with other guests and pretend I'm not tracking every movement, every smile, every casual touch.
When Kennedy hands her a fresh drink, when she leans in to hear her better over the music, when they end up on opposite cornhole teams, yet they high-five after good shots.
All of it. I see all of it.
And it’s killing me.