Chapter 9
Darby
Gabby and Justice’s place glows like a winter postcard. Warm light spills through the back windows. Laughter rolls across the patio when I step through the gate with Greg at my side. It hits my chest, coaxing a smile out of me.
Greg slows, taking it all in with an assessing look. It’s loud. Friendly. Familiar.
I bump his elbow lightly, reminding him he’s allowed to breathe. “It’s not a job interview,” I murmur.
His mouth twitches. “Feels like one.”
“Congratulations,” I whisper. “You’re dating a woman with a built-in jury.”
His gaze slides to me, warm and resigned at the same time. “Lucky me.”
I’m a little nervous, dragging him into a lion’s den of inside jokes, relationship history and construction crew energy. But the weird part is, I’m excited, too. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m arriving to watch everyone else’s life happen. I’m arriving with mine.
Justice spots us first. He lifts his beer in greeting. “Look who finally showed up.”
Gabby moves faster, wrapping me in a hug. She pulls back and looks between me and Greg with a glint that makes my shoulders tighten. “Welcome to our home, Greg.” She glances around. “Just don’t judge our landscaping too harshly. We’ll call a professional next time.”
Gabby’s smile goes wide. She extends a hand to Greg with that polite, hostess grace she can flip on like a switch. “Make yourself comfortable. Drink of choice?”
Greg shakes her hand carefully, like he’s trying not to crush her fingers. “Whatever’s easiest.”
Justice leans over and claps Greg on the shoulder with the kind of friendly force that makes it clear he’s decided they’re already buddies. Greg absorbs it, blinking once. “Good to meet you.”
The backyard hums with bodies and voices, a knot of friends gathered around the patio. There’s a table full of snacks and a couple of outdoor heaters standing like sentries at each end of the pool.
Kari spots me and squeals before reining in her excitement. I mean, it’s been five days since we’ve seen each other. “Darbs.”
My brother, Grey, follows close behind her. He eyes Greg like a protective older brother would. “So this is him,” he mumbles close to my ear as he brushes by me.
“This is him,” I let out a nervous breath. “Don’t embarrass me.”
My brother and friends are feral, but I’m not trying to die tonight.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He smirks. “Grey,” he says, offering a handshake.
Greg’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Greg.”
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something. If they start chest-thumping, and sizing each other up, I’m leaving.
Lola and Logan hang out nearby. He leans back in his chair. He gives Greg a nod that carries the weight of a silent warning and a silent welcome at the same time. I’d expect no less from my former roommates and friends. Greg returns it without looking threatened, which is silently attractive.
“Darbs. Get your butt over here. Make a plate before the men inhale everything,” Maggie says.
Greg watches it all with a look that keeps shifting between amusement and disbelief. I can almost see him trying to figure out how our group operates, who’s in charge, who’s the live wire. Me. Of course.
We settle in, and it’s easy—too easy. And my friends, for all their teasing, don’t poke him. But it doesn’t stop the guys from ribbing me about finally bringing a date, or the odds they had on how long I’d stay single. It stings a little, but I’d worry more if they treated me with kid gloves.
The truth is, they’ll get bored with the teasing and move on to something else soon enough. I should warn Greg that they’ll probably be coming for him. I give it a couple of weeks.
Things move so easily throughout the evening that I should feel settled.
Instead, I catch Greg watching me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. It isn’t the hungry look from last night. It’s quieter. Measured. Like he’s trying to solve a problem or find the answer to a question.
“What?” I ask, because I can’t keep my intrusive thoughts to myself.
He hesitates. “Nothing.”
“Don’t believe that for a second,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Tell me.”
His gaze holds mine. “You look… happy.”
“I am happy,” I say, but my voice comes out sharp, stretched thin, an octave higher than usual. “I’m always happy. I’m the happy-go-lucky one of the bunch.”
He nods once, slow. “Like you were at the potting party?”
The comment slides under my ribs. My throat tightens more. I don’t like being seen that clearly, especially by someone who’s seen me naked.
“That was different,” I say, trying to warn him off without making it obvious. “I was having an off day. But you changed all that.”
He leans closer, voice low enough it disappears into the noise. “Just an observation. I’m trying to figure out where I fit.”
I’ve spent so many years pretending I don’t need anyone, yet wanting someone to call mine, that admitting it now feels childish.
He said he wanted to be a couple after our first night together.
I want that, too, but honestly saying it aloud feels like I’m handing someone the keys to a house I’ve been guarding alone.
I swallow and keep my eyes on him. “You fit right here.”
His jaw flexes. “Right here because you want me here… or because you don’t want to be the only one alone?”
The question pokes the old bruise still healing in my heart. I could laugh it off. Make a joke. Toss something flirty at him like a smoke bomb and escape. But the man’s perceptive. If he weren’t here, I’d be the only single in the group.
“I’ve been alone for a long time. And yeah, it’s gotten me down, especially recently.
My two best friends found their soulmates, one with my perfect brother, and I kind of felt left out.
” My chest tightens, heart hammering so hard my ribs hurt.
Heat crawls up my neck. I’m embarrassed at how I let things get to me, but my feelings are valid.
Whew, this grownup stuff isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I felt broken, like there was something wrong with me. But I realize now, I was just waiting for someone that didn’t feel like a dumpster fire. ”
His eyes hold mine, and my nervous temp rises a few degrees.
“Because I’m the only dumpster fire around here. There can only be one per couple.” Again making a joke at my own expense. Damn intrusive thoughts.
His breath shifts, and his gaze softens. “Don’t say that about yourself. Not everyone blooms at the same time, remember?” He strokes along my temple and curls a strand of hair behind my ear.
I smirk, making the connection. “You sweet talker, you.”
Grey’s voice cuts across the patio. “Darby Rose Hale.” My stomach falters. “Did you eat the last taco?”
Greg cocks an eyebrow. “Rose?”
The patio goes quiet for half a beat, like our parents walked in to break up the party.
I glare at my brother. “You’re dead.”
Grey lifts his drink and chuckles. “Love you too, sis.”
Greg
“Rose?” I repeat quietly.
Darby stiffens beside me just enough that I catch it. Her shoulders lift and settle again, the motion practiced, controlled, and she exhales while pretending to keep her attention on the patio instead of me.
“Yep,” she says. “My parents were feeling poetic.”
“You don’t like it,” I tilt my head.
“I didn’t say that.” Her lips press together with a twitch.
“You didn’t have to.”
She glances at me sideways, studying my face like she’s deciding whether to make a joke or not. The noise of the party fades into background static. “It bothered me growing up,” she admits after a second. “A lot.”
My chest tightens. “How?”
She shifts her weight, toe dragging against the stone.
“Kids are creative. Every rose has its thorn. Stop and smell the roses. Everything’s coming up roses.
Didn’t matter what I did—right, wrong, loud, weird, perfect—someone always had a line ready.
And then there were the actual flowers. Every birthday.
Prom. Special occasions. First dates. Apology bouquets.
Always roses. Like the world decided that was my assigned symbol and nobody thought about me. ”
I picture her younger, sharp-tongued and bright-eyed, handed the same thing over and over again while being told it was special. The image sits wrong in my gut.
Understanding settles into me—the Valentine’s disdain, the rose jokes, the way she bristles at anything that feels automatic or assumed. It isn’t about flowers at all. It’s about being reduced to something easy.
“I think I’m finally seeing the whole picture.” I say, my voice dropping. “And yet, you still told me to sweet talk my hybrid.”
Her lips curve despite herself. She shrugs, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “Because it isn’t like the others. You’re trying to make something new. A chocolate rose that’ll outshine a sea of ordinary roses.”
I lean closer, my fingers brushing her arm. “So do you.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You’re not ordinary,” I tell her. “You show up loud and honest and inconvenient, and somehow the whole room shifts around you. You can’t be boxed in, your shine never dulled. There will only ever be one like you.”
Her breath stutters.
“And,” I add, because stopping feels impossible now, “that’s what I love most about you.”
She freezes. Her eyes search my face, checking for hesitation that isn’t there.
Darby exhales slowly, the sound shaky around the edges. “Well,” she says, voice rougher than before, “that escalated quickly.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. She reaches for my hand. And I don’t let go.
Whether she’s ready to admit it now or not, Darby Rose Hale is my forever Wild Rose.