Chapter 3
DEREK
Inever thought I’d wind up where I am right now.
I’ve had some version of that same thought so many times over the past five years since losing my wife.
I never thought I’d be a single dad.
I never thought I’d hire nannies and tutors.
I never thought I’d let my daughter out of my sight, let alone go off to boarding school.
I never thought I’d lose my soul to the business that used to bring me so much pleasure.
I never thought my grandfather would get sick and I’d fly out of the city on a wing and a prayer to get to him.
And I never, ever thought I’d let my wild fantasies about Darcy Keller find their way out of my imagination and into my grandfather’s head.
But somewhere along the line in my talks with him I must have let the cat out of the bag somehow. And now he thinks we’re an item. When I saw how happy the idea made him, I just didn’t have the heart to correct him.
And like a champ, my girl went with it.
My girl.
My mind is already jumping to fill in all the blanks of this pretend relationship. I need to get this under control.
At least Darcy doesn’t seem too upset with me.
Yet.
She’s chatting up Grandpa now, her hand lightly touching his shoulder as she laughs at what he’s saying. It’s the first time they’ve ever met, and somehow the two of them look like they’re old friends.
I can’t let myself see it as a sign though.
Darcy is just like that—everyone loves her.
And how could they not? She has a way of putting even the most uncomfortable people at ease.
I swear she would tame a wild lion if anyone ever released one in my office, especially if that lion didn’t have an appointment.
I knew she had all the skills I lack from the moment she spotted an issue with my tangled schedule about five minutes into her interview.
And when I asked her if she could start that same day, she replied with those words that have become like some kind of magic spell over the past few years, letting me know that whatever the issue is, no matter how big or how small, Darcy Keller has it under control.
It’s not a problem.
But after all that’s happened tonight, I’m wondering if I’ve finally come up with a problem that’s too much for even Darcy’s magic touch.
“We should go,” I say, realizing too late that my voice is too loud and I probably sound angry.
“Of course,” Darcy says instantly, beaming at me.
“I forgot how much driving you did today. You should have seen it, Michael. A fox chased a rabbit right onto the road and Derek managed to keep from hitting them and even stopped us sliding off the mountain when we hit an icy patch. It was incredible.”
“He did, did he?” Grandpa asks, his eyes twinkling.
A surge of pride goes through me, even though anyone who’s spent any time here in the winter should know the basics of how to steer through a skid.
She feels safe with me, my caveman brain points out.
I also just like hearing her say my name. It sounds so much better coming from her than Mr. Lockwood.
“Let’s go,” I bark out, needing to get someplace where my fantasy about dating my assistant isn’t being acted out.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Grandpa says. “Why don’t you two plan to come up for brunch?”
“Sounds good,” I tell him.
“Ohhh, brunch,” Darcy breathes.
The girl loves her sweets. She thinks I don’t know she has a desk drawer full of secret treats, but I know almost everything about her.
Grandpa pulls her in for a hug and her eyes close, like she’s trying to memorize it.
My stomach twists and I look away until it’s my turn to embrace the old man.
I remember when he was as strong as an ox. Now he feels too thin in my arms. But he’s still got a spine of steel, and he still smells like Old Spice. And if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he could still hoist me right up onto his shoulders for a better view of the annual Christmas concert.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs in my ear. “And for bringing your girl. I like her a lot.”
When we pull apart he pats my cheek once and I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. There can’t be a world without Michael Lockwood in it. I love my parents, but Grandpa Michael is special. He’s always been the member of the family who understands me best.
“Come on, Derek,” Darcy says in a warm sweet voice that’s so different from the one she uses in the office.
When I turn, she’s got her hand out, reaching for mine. I know it’s only for show but it’s a great touch, and I’m impressed with her as always. But even if it’s just pretend, it still feels like she’s offering me real comfort.
I wrap my fingers around her small hand and something settles in my heart.
Easy, I remind myself. This is just for Grandpa Michael.
My grandfather moves swiftly to the door and opens it for us.
“See you tomorrow,” he says as I let Darcy lead me out to the porch.
It’s absolutely freezing out here, but I’d much rather keep holding her hand than pull on my leather gloves.
We head down the porch steps, our breath making little clouds in the air, a million stars shimmering in the sky above us.
As soon as we get down to the driveway the peaceful silence is ruined by the crunch of the snowy gravel under our feet.
I figure it’s broken the spell, and I wait for her to say something to me, to start asking the thousands of questions I know she must have.
But she doesn’t say a word. So we just walk on, her warm hand snug in mine as I soak in a few extra minutes to pretend it’s all real.
I don’t want to get used to it though, so I speak up once we’re around the first curve.
“They can’t see us anymore,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says like she’s forgotten she was holding my hand. “Right, sorry.”
The second she lets go my hand feels profoundly empty and I just want to grab hers back. But I shove my hand into the pocket of my coat instead, like maybe I’ll forget it there. There are other things to worry about right now. Darcy deserves an explanation.
“I probably should have seen that coming,” I say.
“You told him I was your… girlfriend?” she asks, a furrow in her brow like she’s more confused than angry. I guess that’s a good thing.
“Definitely not,” I say firmly.
“Well he certainly seems to think it,” she adds.
“I guess I talk about you,” I admit, shrugging. “From time to time.”
“What do you say about me?” Her voice is softer now.
I want to tell her, but I can’t really think of anything specific. When I’m at work I see her more than I see my own shadow, and when am I ever not at work? I guess she’s in the background of most of the stories I tell my grandfather—and apparently in the foreground more than I realized.
Darcy puts out most of the fires in my professional life and has a hand in almost every part of my day. And as I think about it now, with Judi-Bloom off at school I wonder who or what else I would even bother to tell my grandfather about if not Darcy.
But those are all work stories. It doesn’t explain what he assumed about us.
I scan the snowy woods around the lodge, as if they contain the answer to why Grandpa would think I have feelings for this woman. But it’s not an easy task, because he’s not completely wrong.
The truth is that I like everything about Darcy. I like the way she accepts my silence, even right now, when she probably wants to know what in high heaven is going on.
I like the way she attacks her work without complaint, and the way she makes everyone around her feel important.
Maybe I’ve shared some of those things with him?
But I definitely haven’t talked about her beautiful brown eyes, or the way she smells the tiniest bit like vanilla sugar when she leans over my desk to review the schedule, like she’s made of all those sweet temptations she loves to eat.
And I haven’t told him about the way she’ll laugh sometimes and just the happy sound of it makes me feel unmoored from myself—like I’m falling but I don’t want it to ever stop.
She’s not laughing now though. She’s just waiting with the patience of a saint for me to answer her question. It might be her best gift when it comes to me, that ability to take in my silence and not assume the worst. Even Addie had a hard time with that.
The thought of my wife has guilt washing over me for even pretending to be interested in another woman.
I’m sorry, Addie.
I’ve been lonely, of course I have, but it’s no excuse. I still love her, even if she’s not here anymore.
“Oh, look,” Darcy says happily as we reach the little cabin at the end of the path. “Someone brought wood.”
Sure enough, the iron rack beside the house is full. Most of the logs are too big for the stove, but they’ve helpfully left an ax by the stump.
I guess I know how I’m spending the rest of the evening.
But when we get up to the porch and I open the door I can see the glow of the wood stove already going.
“That’s nice, isn’t it?” Darcy says, not even turning to look for an answer before she bends to remove her boots and put them on the mat by the front door.
“The bedroom doors are closed,” I point out. “I’ll open them up and maybe we can talk for a couple of minutes while they warm up. There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Oh, is it time for my surprise?” she asks.
For one second I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Then it hits me—the surprise proposal I hinted to Grandpa and Bronson about.
I turn to her in shock.
“I’m kidding,” she cries, her eyes dancing. “You should see your face.”
Her laughter fills the little cabin, and here I am, my heart falling down all over again.
My own laughter escapes me before I even realize it’s going to happen. It’s a rusty sound, but it feels good to laugh, and even better to laugh with Darcy.
She shakes her head, still smiling, and goes to open the bedroom doors herself.
I head to the fireplace and see that in addition to the wood whoever was here also left us another way to warm up—a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on a tray by the sofa. I pour us each a generous serving. Maybe it will be easier to ask her this favor if we’re both loosened up a little.
I take mine to one of the red chairs, figuring she’ll take the other and we can negotiate this across the table.
But when she comes back, instead of sitting across from me she curls up on the side of the sofa that’s right beside my chair.
Darcy dresses very professionally at work. But right now she’s wearing faded jeans that hug her curves, and a pink sweater that looks as soft as a cloud of cotton candy. I have to look away to stop myself from imagining how nice it would feel to hug her.
“First of all, thank you for coming down here with me,” I tell her, pushing her glass toward her.
“Oh,” she says. “No thank you.”
I glance back at her, but she doesn’t seem like she’s judging me or thinks I’m trying to ply her with alcohol.
I take a swig of mine and it brings a little heat to my chest. I don’t drink often, but if I was ever going to start…
Darcy waits, her eyes on the fire flickering through the glass window of the wood stove, like she chose to come out here and relax by the fire instead of being summoned.
Am I the worst boss ever?
“I was at the office just a few days ago,” I hear myself begin as I put my glass down.
“And I got a call from Maddie Foster, that’s the owner’s wife who you saw writing in the lounge.
She was a kid that used to visit the lodge with her dad back when I was a teenager, so we know each other a little. ”
Darcy nods.
“She was crying,” I go on. “She told me Michael was sick. But I didn’t believe her, so I called my parents. They said they knew but they weren’t sure how to tell me.”
I look down at my hands for a moment, not wanting to show her how weak it made me feel.
“My grandfather is probably my favorite person in the world besides my daughter,” I continue after a moment. “Even back when I was a kid my parents were always on the move. I used to spend a lot of time out here with him.”
“That must have been magical,” Darcy says with a smile.
“It was,” I agree simply.
She nods and we sit with that for another moment.
“I don’t like asking you to be dishonest,” I say at last. “I don’t like being dishonest myself. But you can see how happy it made him to think we were together. I know I have no right to ask. But would you be willing to keep going along with it, just for the weekend?”
I turn to look at her, and she’s already gazing at me. There’s sadness in her eyes, a rare thing for Darcy.
“It’s not a problem,” she tells me softly, and I’ve never been so glad to hear those words.
“That’s your answer to everything,” I tease her lightly.
“It’s always true,” she says, her pretty brown eyes so serious.
Suddenly I feel warm inside, and it’s not the whiskey or the wood stove.
Stop, I warn my foolish heart. This isn’t a feeling I can afford to get used to.
But it’s too late for that. I’m already playing with fire.
And I know how that ends.