I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward. “The moon landing was faked.”
“Oh, totally faked,” Sebastian says. “You can tell in the shadows.”
“It’s all about the shadows!” This is unexpected, but I roll with it.
“Well, that’s just silly.” Margaret spears a tomato. “Next you’re going to tell me the Earth is flat.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Give us some credit. We know how globes work.”
“Obviously,” I say. “Although I am pretty sure that Dana Divine killed Mitch Cochran.”
“No way. Really?” Sebastian whips his phone out and types in the names of America's ’90s grunge power couple, and I know damn well he’s pulling up one of the conspiracy theory sites that have sprouted up with all kinds of lurid plots in the twenty years following Cochran’s death, none of which I actually believe but all of which I’ve read out of boredom.
Darby points her fork threateningly at her brother. “I can’t believe you believe this stuff!”
“So does your boyfriend apparently,” he says without looking up from his phone. “We’re just asking the questions.”
“This is my actual nightmare.” She pushes her plate aside and drops her head to the table. “And it’s only tolerable because I know you’re both smart men who enjoy messing with your loved ones, but I swear to God if either of you explains how birds recharge themselves —”
“Power lines!” Her brother and I say in unison, which pulls a chuckle out of Clint.
Wait. Shit. This is fun. I’m having fun joking with her brother and making her dad laugh, which is the opposite of why I’m here. So that’s why I pounce at the next opportunity.
“How’s your newest quilt coming, Mom?” Darby turns to me. “She’s an amazing quilter. She makes them to give away or donate to auctions and things.”
I roll my eyes. “Must be nice to have all that free time since you don’t work.”
Inwardly I wince, knowing damn well that homemakingiswork. And the leaden silence that falls over the table tells me that I’ve played it just right to be the asshole yet again.
As we’re cleaning up and loading the dishwasher, I overhear Darby inviting Sebastian to hit the bar with us that night, and my heart sinks a little when he agrees to come. I guess I'll have to stay on my worst behavior; I was kind of hoping Darby and I could spend an evening where we didn’t have to fake anything and I could maybe convince her to kiss me again.
When she heads upstairs to change, I sprawl sullenly on the couch while her father and brother debate the Bears’ playoff chances.
I want to jump into the discussion at least a dozen times, but I bite my lip and keep my eyes on my phone. When Darby finally appears in the den dressed for our night on the town, I shoot to my feet.
“You look great.”
Her hair’s in loose waves around her face, and she’s wearing a short skirt and tights and that fuzzy white sweater that’s featured in more than one fantasy since the day we met. I’m pulled to her like she’s a bag of Ruffles and I’m a chip clip, and once we’re close enough, I take her by the elbow and steer her out of the room and into the hallway.
“What are you—”
“Shhh.” I press a finger to her lips, then run my hands over her shoulders and down her back, resting them just above her hips. “I’ve been imagining how soft this sweater is since the first time I saw you. I’m so glad you packed it.” I’ve got her pressed against the wall, and her eyes flutter shut. That, along with her flushed cheeks, tells me she likes my hands on her.
I like my hands on her too. And now all I want to do is find out for myself how that material feels against her breasts. Soft. All of it soft, I’m sure of it. I’m almost dizzy with lust, but a burst of laughter from the next room pulls me back from the brink.
Fuck. If I feel her up in the hallway, she’s going to assume I’m doing it as part of our plan, when in fact I’d be feeling her up out of affection and need and that warm-as-hell feeling that’s glowing in my chest again.
I take a step back, my hands falling to my sides. The urge to tell her that I like her—reallylike her—is so strong, the words catch in my throat. I like her family too. The only thing I don’t like is the way they trample over her feelings sometimes, but maybe what she needs is a partner to help defuse that. Maybe what she needed all along was me—not to be the worst possible boyfriend, but to be the best boyfriendfor her.
“What’s going on in here?” She brushes her fingertips over my forehead, and that’s when I realize I’ve been staring at her, trying to put all of this into words. But if I tell her and she laughs it off, or worse, looks at me with pity, that’ll make for an awkward couple of days until we’re back in Beaucoeur.
“Nothing.” I take another step back, needing not to smell that cherry blossom smell on her skin before I lose my mind and kiss her. Once we’re back home and away from this make-believe, I’ll ask her out for real. I can be patient until then. “Just wanted to let you know that you look great.”
Her laugh’s a little shaky. “Get all that sweetness out now. With Seb coming along tonight, you’re on bad boyfriend duty.” She pats my cheek. “Let me grab my coat.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
Darby
