She looks exhausted, finally coughing out a laugh. “I was actually just out with Becca. I lasted one drink before I realized she was on a different trajectory than I was.”
I smirk. “Should have guessed she was a party animal.”
Darcy sucks air through her teeth. “Her reputation preceded her. Her brother Dustin’s worked for our family for a long time, and he’s always worried after something or another about her. But I like her. I just have less energy than her twenty-two-year-old self.”
I rest my chin on my fist at the window’s edge. “Yeah. You’re so old, boss.”
She chuckles. “Older than you, I bet.”
“Twenty-six,” I say.
“Twenty-nine,” she says, pointing at herself. “At least we would have been in high school at the same time.”
I’m not really sure what she means by that, but it’s the friendliest she’s been yet. Does she mean we could date because we’re not too far apart in age?
“Anyway,” she says. “Let’s get you settled. I’ll go grab the key.”
The black cat follows her while I roll up my window and get out. I prop my foot on the back tire and swing my arm into the truck bed to get my duffel bag. Darcy looks amused as she heads back my way. “That your murder bag?”
“Murder bag?” I ask.
“That thing’s big enough for a body, Dahmer.”
I close my eyes and flinch. “Did you just call me Jeffrey Dahmer?”
Darcy’s grin is wicked, and I can’t decide if I can’t stand her or if it stirs me up when she ribs me like this. “Depends. Are you?”
“I think he’s dead. And I don’t look like him!”
“Bill didn’t even background check you, did he? You could be a drifter for all I know,” she says, turning more serious.
“Come on,” I say, “you have to trust a boy scout with a pocket knife.”
“Says who?” she quips and stomps up the cabin steps, pulling the screen door and using a hip to hold it open. The old wooden door creaks and the cat slides in ahead of Darcy, doing a lap around the living area.
“Excuse me? Did I say the cat could come in? What if I was allergic?”
Darcy looks only mildly concerned. “Are you?”
I scoff. “Well, no, but what if I was? What if it pees?”
“She,” Darcy sniffs, “is well trained and will not be peeing in here, right, Stormy?”
She tosses the keys on the kitchen countertop, and tests the faucet. It’s not a huge cabin, but has everything a person could need: a small living area with a TV, a basic kitchen with a cart for an island, and a hallway leading to what I assume are the beds and bath. Darcy flourishes her hands. “Well, welcome home. You can have the big bedroom since you’re first. Let me make sure you’ve got clean sheets.”
I follow her down the hallway, distracted by the sway of her hips and the way her shirt makes it look like she’s not wearing shorts from this angle. I’m so sucked in that when she stops, I run into her. “Oh, sorry.”
“Watch it, cowboy.” Her voice has softened from the vitriol earlier in the day, more a lazy joke than an accusation. She opens a small door and pulls a set of sheets off a high shelf. “I’ll put ‘em on for ya.”
Darcy turns to head into the biggest bedroom, but bumps into my chest, cocking her head back as I’m in her way. I don’t move. I don’t want to. “Excuse me?”
I let my eyes wander over her face. “I remember you, you know.”
She’s looking at where my t-shirt meets my neck, her gaze tracing along the hollow of my throat. “Do you?”
“Wednesday at that bar. You looked at me.”
Darcy’s brows furrow and her cheeks go pink. She presses the sheets to her chest and moves to go past me again. “You looked at me first.”
