I step out of her way and she walks into the bedroom. She peels the sheets apart and sets the flat sheet and pillowcases on the wooden dresser. “No need to get flustered, boss. It was just a look.”
Darcy cracks the fitted sheet open and mutters, “Boss. You seem to love calling me that more than anyone.”
“You are the boss,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “You call me cowboy.”
She extends a hand. “Well, you are a cowboy, no?”
I shake my head, not feeling like justifying my clothing choices. “Used to be, maybe.”
“You still dress like one,” she says. “Your son moving out here with you?”
I guffaw. “Son? I wasn’t aware I had kids.”
Darcy fusses with getting the fitted sheet on the far corner of the mattress, struggling to make the stretch. I put my knee on the bed and crawl to help her pull the sheet. Her eyes flash over my arms, her breath suspended. She shifts away from me after a pause, moving to tuck in the other corner. “Then what kid were you with at the restaurant?”
I laugh, nudging her back so I can pull the rest of the sheet on. “Here, I got it. No, I’m a Little League coach. That was Brayden. His mom had an emergency at work and couldn’t pick him up after practice until late. I took him to dinner because I needed to eat anyway. When we left, his mom was outside.”
Darcy stands back with her arms crossed. “Got it. So no wife or child moving in?”
I stand, reaching for the flat sheet. “No attachments any which way.”
She gives out a little “hmph” then straightens. “Well, seems like you’ve got this under control. There are heavier blankets in that closet. If you need to wash clothes, come up the house.”
She’s just about to leave when Stormy, as I’m learning is the cat’s name, jumps on my bed and curls her back up for pets. She rubs her face into my hand. “Aw, that’s a good little kitty.”
Darcy’s silent, her mouth hanging open.
“What, am I not allowed to pet your kitty? She’s practically begging for it. Nobody ever loves on you, kitty.”
Darcy’s cheeks go a deep crimson and my stomach flutters.
Add unintentional pussy jokes to the list of embarrassing things I’ve said today.
“I mean, not like that,” I try, but Darcy just slips her hand under the cat’s ribs and scoops her up.
“I should get going. Have a good night, Jake,” she mumbles. She jams her feet in her boots by the door and hops to get them on. The screen door bangs behind her and two seconds later I hear a “shit” from out in the yard. I peer out the hallway window and she’s fumbling with her phone. “Fucking battery. Son of a bitch.”
Slowly, Darcy stumbles into the dark. Her phone must have died and its flashlight along with it.
Based on her latest reaction and flying out of here like the joint was on fire, I think maybe Darcy’s having a bad day and maybe I’m the source of it. Least I can do is walk her to the house. I spy a flashlight on the dresser, grab it, and tear out the door after her, popping on my boots as quickly as I can.
“Hey, wait up!”
Darcy’s barely visible in the twilight and glow of my flashlight. Her shoulders sag and I wonder if this is all a terrible idea. I jog to catch up to her.
“Walk you home?”
Darcy softens. “Sure. Thanks. My phone just died. I charged it last night, but searching for signal all day drains it. I need to learn to carry a pocket flashlight. Maggie’d wring my neck if she knew I wasn’t.”
I press my lips together. “How long have you been out here? Or do you live out here all the time?”
“I got in last Wednesday. I’ve been alone since this Wednesday when Bill and Maggie left. Where were you before this?”
“Grad school in Huntington.”
“Marshall?” she asks, referring to Marshall University in Huntington.
“Mmhm. My lease is going to be up, so I figured I’d start moving my stuff here. What about you? Where were?—”
