Lettie examines my face with interest.
“You do have freckles,” she says with undisguised pleasure. “They’re cute.” I wince inwardly. Cute is not the look I’m going for. Judging from her expression my thoughts must play on my face. “Don’t worry,” she continues. “They don’t slow down your whole James Bond vibe.” She waves a hand in my general direction.
“James Bond, huh? Careful, Lettie, that sounded a lot like a compliment.”
“Books oh! No. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.” —Pride & Prejudice
6
Liam’s hand on my back might be my favorite sensation in the whole world—which is extremely annoying since I’m determined to hate him. But there’s no denying that his touch sends a giddy rush skittering up my spine. And I can’t help but notice how my ego puffs as he guides me to the dance floor. Everyone watches me as if I’m someone important.
I’m not sure how I feel about dancing. The well-dressed couples on the floor glide about with smooth steps and spins beyond my skill. I have limited dance experience. I was on the school paper, not the dance team. I went stag to my high school prom where my friends and I only danced to the fast songs. And when I say dance, I’m using the term loosely. We mainly jumped and flailed, reveling in our truly awful skills. I’m not prepared for this situation. The band’s playing a slowish song. I think Frank Sinatra.
Darcy confidently places my hand on his shoulder, then moves his to my waist. With his other hand, he clasps mine. Everywhere we touch, I feel a prickle of awareness.
“Ready?” His eyes hold me, and I nod, lost for words. He’s ridiculously attractive—the perfect blend of rough-hewn and sophisticated. When the pressure of his gaze becomes too much, I glance around the room. So many eyes are on us and my substandard dancing. I especially feel the scrutiny of the few women in their 30s or younger. Their tight smiles and angry eyes make it clear that I’m not considered worthy of Liam Darcy. Yet, who is to say what equals worth? I may not be rich; I might not know how to dance. But I will not let these critical stares intimidate me. I hold my head high and do my best to follow his lead. He’s not a bad teacher. His warm breath tickles my ear as he counts the time and whispers instructions. He peppers me with encouraging words, such as, “You’ve got this... you’re a natural. You certain you haven’t had lessons?”
I accidentally step on his toe. “Nope, no lessons.” I chuckle.
“Who cares? You’ve obviously spent your time on better things. Watching you debate my aunt was totally worth it. I’ve never been so entertained.”
“Thank you... ” I ask the question that’s been bugging me. “How did you know I write?”
“Jane told me.” Of course, she told him. I hope she didn’t tell him everything.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That in addition to having two jobs, you spend most of your free time writing. I find that impressive.”
“Or foolish. I don’t make money writing.” That’s not the whole truth. I’m making some income, but to Liam Darcy, it’s pocket change.
“You don’t make any money, yet,” he says with an assured smile. “Someday, you’ll be wildly successful. Soon, Lettie Benson will become a household name.”
“Unless I decide to use a pen name.”
“Why would you do that?”
I already write under a pen name, but he doesn’t need to know this. “To keep my privacy.”
“That makes sense.” He nods. “I wish I could do that, have a secret identity, like a superhero.”
“If you had a secret identity, then maybe all the single women wouldn’t be glaring daggers at me.”
He laughs. “I could listen to you all day.” This is an even better compliment than when he said I was beautiful.
“What pen name are you considering?” he asks. I can’t help but find it intoxicating how genuinely interested Liam is in the details of my life. “May I suggest Dr. Kate Debourgh.”
I laugh so hard I miss a step and stumble. Liam catches me and pulls me in a little closer.
“Your aunt would be furious!”
“The opposite. She’d brag to everyone that she did indeed write a bestselling book because, of course, your books will all be best-sellers.”
My resolve to despise Liam is faltering. I didn’t expect him to have a sense of humor, and the way he’s so confident about my success makes me feel like he’s on my side. I’m not going to tell him my pen name: Collette Best. Best is my mom’s maiden name. I think it’s a shame that she gave up such an awesome surname in favor of boring old Benson. Dad should have taken Mom’s last name. (If I ruled the world, married couples would always go with the most stylish of the two last names.) I chose Collette because someone once asked me if Lettie stood for Collette, and I wanted to say yes. Collette seems so strong and sophisticated compared to my real name.
“If you have any more suggestions, please share,” I say.
“I already gave you my best one—Kate Debourgh.” When he laughs, I notice his smile creases, almost like a dimple, but better. I find myself wanting to run a finger down those lines on his cheek.
