I close the distance between us, stepping into her personal space long enough to catch the faint citrus bite of her sugared tea. “Sounds like you pick boring men,” I say, my voice coming low and rough.
She grabs the collar of my jacket and tugs it gently. “Good thing you’re not boring.”
Her laugh comes quick and low, eyes sparkling as she moves to the door. It floats on the chilly breeze, and lands in my next breath. When I climb into the passenger seat, there are no more words, no more witty remarks. Only silent reflection and the sound of music playing on the radio.
I sit with my hands folded and stare at the streetlights as they whiz past, trying to get my brain back to normal. But it’s not in a cooperating kind of mood—not for practicality, planning, and staying safe. I keep mulling over the woman who laughs loud and speaks her mind, letting the chips fall where they may.
She taps the steering wheel to the music, every few beats humming a bar. She speeds up as the light turns yellow, turns without using a blinker, slows when a squirrel pauses in the street. She’s a million contradictions of spontaneous action and profound deep thought.
I haven’t dated in years, because serious relationships require cultivation with a margin for error. I’ve watched what happens when people rush in without a plan, without thinking. Relationships—true partnerships—fracture when there isn’t a clear plan.
And Darby is anything but predictable.
She’s a gust of wind through an open door, an unexpected laugh in silence, disruptive and messy in the midst of structure. But with all her big talk and sharp tongue, she’s as restless as I am. Where I first saw trouble, I now see wisdom—lost on those who haven’t looked hard enough to see the woman beneath the snark.
But I see her.
My eyes drift back to her. She catches my reflection in the windshield. Her brow quirks, and the faintest smile tugs at hermouth. She eases into Green with Envy’s lot and throws the Jeep in park.
“I guess this is good night,” she says, not bothering to look at me, her lips stretched thin.
I undo my seatbelt and stay seated for a second longer before opening the door.
“Thanks for dinner.”
I close the door, stuff my hands in my pockets, and circle the back of the Jeep. Heat rises in my gut, cold night air trapped in my lungs. I’m unsettled, but more importantly, there’s unfinished business to put to rest.
I don’t have a plan, just instinct. I rap my knuckles against the fogged driver’s-side window.
Darby lowers the glass. Cold air rushes into the cab, fog curling out with her breath. Our eyes lock through the opening—hers curious—and something inside me finally snaps loose.
I step closer, then slide both palms along her jaw to cup her face. Her skin is warm against the cold outside, soft under my thumbs, and the unwavering look she gives me tips me forward the last inch.
“We already shook hands,” I murmur, my throat so tight it hurts to breathe.
My mouth crashes into hers, messy, far from careful. She makes a small sound against my lips that goes straight through me, and her hands come up fast, gripping my jacket, tugging me closer.
Her lips move under mine, quick and responsive. I angle my head to deepen it, letting the kiss slow just enough to feel her breath mingling with mine. My thumbs slide along her jaw, not caring that we’re in a public space.
When I finally pull back, it’s only an inch or two, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are dark, lips flushed, breath uneven as she stares up at me. My hands linger on her cheeks.
“Good night,” I say, my voice rough, breath ragged. But what we’ve started is far from over.
7
Darby
I shut my apartment door behind me and fall back on it, the wood cool through my coat as my lungs empty in a long, shaky breath. My eyes burn, nose stings, and my vision blurs around the edges with emotions crowding too close to the surface. Yet, I refuse to let the tears fall.
My fingers drift to my mouth, brushing over my lower lip, still feeling the imprint of Greg’s kiss.
What started as innocent flirtation and pushing his buttons, turned into something else entirely. I’ve been attracted to men before. Plenty of them. I laugh, enjoy myself, and eventually it fizzles. The fire burns bright and fast, and dies as quickly as it starts. Flash fires.
I’m not the kind of woman men take seriously. I’m fun, but short term.
Hope edges in anyway, uninvited and dangerous. I don’t trust it. That kind of hope leads to heartache. I’ve watched my friends tumble headfirst into love and build their whole lives around it, and I still don’t understand how someone knows thedifference between a moment that feels big and a moment that becomes everything.
I close my eyes for a second and relive that kiss. My pulse hasn’t slowed since it happened.
