“I have cookies, too.” Her lips curve up. “You still like peanut butter chocolate chip, right?”
Oh.
She remembered.
“I do.” Pressing my lips to the top of her head—which I know I shouldn’t do, but I couldn’t stop myself—I add, “I’d really like that, Darce.”
And I keep thinking about it the entire way to my car. Not the coffee and cookies, but coming back to her house. Talking. Maybe even holding hands again. Which, as a forty-year-old man, sounds like such a small thing. But with Darcy? It means more than any of the meaningless hookups I’ve had over the years.
Once I reach the tow truck, I click into problem-solving mode, just as I always do when I’m at work. Setting my turbulent emotions to the side, I focus on insurance details and where to bring my damaged car and then the obligatory small talk with the tow truck driver.
As he’s towing my SUV up onto the flatbed, the flashing lights from his truck illuminate the road behind it, picking up the shadow of a car maybe a hundred yards back on the road. Worried it might contain a stranded passenger, I walk closeenough to determine it’s unoccupied and evidently undamaged, so I shoot off a quick text to the dispatcher, asking her to make sure someone comes to get the car off the road before the plows go by in the morning.
By the time I make it back to the tow truck driver—Derrick, he tells me—I’m coated with snow and and my feet are starting to go numb again. “Do you want a ride into town?” he asks. “I can drop you at the station, if you’d like.”
“Nah.” I lift my chin at him. “I’m going to head back up to my friend’s place. I can get a ride home later. But thanks for the offer.”
On the way back to Darcy’s house, my mind is spinning with the revelations of the evening. Darcy in a terrible accident, losing her leg. Heidi lying and scaring her away. Then Darcy’s marriage—which sounds much worse than mine. And finally the two of us, talking again. Not just talking, but touching. Hugging. Holding hands.
Logic tells me to practice caution. To guard my heart so she can’t break it again.
But. There’s just this feeling. This magnetism. Electricity. And the bone-deep certainty that I’ll never meet another woman like Darcy. That if I don’t take this chance, I’ll forever regret it.
As I approach her front door, I stamp my snowy boots on the front mat, idly noting that she really needs one of those boot cleaners so she doesn’t get the floor inside wet with snow and possibly slip on it. I could order one on Amazon and bring it over, if she agrees to see me again. Maybe bring over a better shovel than the cracked plastic one leaning against the railing.
Am I already picturing my life with Darcy back in it? Maybe.
Is it a risk? Yes. But my heart is telling me to take it.
Stepping inside the house, my gaze goes directly to the living room, expecting to see Darcy still on the couch, waiting for me.Possibly reading a book or petting her little marmalade cat or checking the weather on her phone.
But she’s not there.
I quickly take off my boots and coat, pausing by the mirror beside the door to give my face another swipe to clean it. Satisfied that the last remnants of blood are gone, I head off in the direction of the kitchen. She’s probably in there, brewing fresh coffee and plating the cookies.
But she’s not there, either.
Irrational fear tugs at me, making my heart race.
There’s no reason to be worried. Darcy’s probably in the bathroom. Or in the bedroom, changing out of her wet clothes?—
My mind stalls for a moment on an image of Darcy naked. Her body more mature, but just as sexy as I remember it. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. Her slender fingers wrapping around me, stroking me just the way I always liked.
No. We’re nowhere close to that.
We’re just starting out. Holding hands?—
A scream breaks the silence.
A terrified scream. Filled with panic.
My heart flies into my throat.
My hand twitches towards the holster hidden beneath my sweater. Towards the gun I never leave home without.
Another scream bursts out. It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.
From where all the bedrooms are.
