So I sit there with my pen in my hand, watching the town fall for Finn Bardot, and instead of the old bitterness there's an ache in my chest I don't have a name for yet. Deep down, in a place I don't want to acknowledge, I hope they laugh at every joke he's got.
Missing him was supposed to stop at some point. Definitely, it should have stopped when he walked into the pub. It hasn't. He's twenty feet away and I miss him anyway, because everything I actually need to say to him requires a room with no audience in it, and this town on a Thursday night doesn't have one.
He laughs at something Colton mutters, his head tipping back, and I lose my place on the answer sheet. I once got thirty freshmen through a fire drill in the middle of a final exam without breaking stride, and one laugh from this man and I can't find question six. I should be annoyed with myself. I should be annoyed with him, but I'm not. His laugh has become my favorite sound in this bar, and there's no use pretending otherwise.
Annie snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Darce. Focus. We're only up two points now."
Round five is words and language. The host clears his throat into the microphone like he's about to announce a royal birth.
"For three points. What is the only common English word that ends in the letters M, T?"
Half the room groans. The Bardot brothers go into a huddle. I don't move. I know this one the way I know my own name. When the host calls for answers, I stand up.
"Dreamt," I say. And then, looking straight at Finn, I spell it out. "D, R, E, A, M, T." Letter by letter, nice and slow, the way I used to practice for the regional spelling bee, back when a certain boy made sure the whole school found that hilarious. I raise my glass to him. "They don't call me Dictionary Darcy for nothing."
The bar laughs and one of my friends whoops a loud cheer. None of it matters, because I'm only watching Finn. His pen stops moving. All of him goes quiet, and the grin that spreadsacross his face is slow and real and not the one he gives the room.
"Touché," he says, and lifts his glass to me. "Point to the dynasty."
That's all it is. Two seconds, a toast across a crowded bar, the game rolling on around us. But I've hated that nickname for half my life, and tonight I said it out loud, on purpose, in front of everyone, and the man who made it feel like a weapon just watched me take it back and looked at me like I'd done something amazing. I sit down. My face is warm. Annie is staring at me with her mouth open. I try to ignore her, scribbling the next answer in handwriting I barely recognize as mine.
Going into the music round we're ahead of Finn's table, but not by as much as I would like. The host asks which group's songs the musical “Mamma Mia!” is built on, which should be the easiest question in the history of this pub for one of us. I know for a fact that Annie could answer this one in her sleep.
Except Annie isn't listening. She's turned around in her chair with her phone out, showing Evan a video of her freshmen drama class butcheringOur Town, the two of them laughing like the rest of the bar doesn't exist. By the time I elbow her, the answer sheets are already collected. Cathy wrote our answer, "the Bee Gees," followed by half a dozen question marks.
We're screwed. I know it even before the host announces the correct answer.
"ABBA," he calls into the mic, and the Bardot brothers' table erupts in triumph.
"Colton nailed it," Evan crows, thumping his brother on the shoulder. "Dude didn't even blink. Just wrote it down cold. My man!"
The eldest Bardot brother shrugs. "Tyler likes the movie," he mutters, and goes back to his beer.
Annie turns around slowly. "Oh, my God. Darce—I am so, so sorry!"
"Two seasons," I mutter. "Two undefeated seasons, Annie."
"I know! But Evan was showing me a marketing video he made for the vineyard’s open house that went viral. I got distracted."
"Uh, huh. I noticed."
She groans. "I take full responsibility, and I will fix this."
She does not fix this. We trade points with the Bardot brothers down to the wire, and the host, having the best night of his small-town hosting career, announces sudden death for the crown.
One question, answered out loud, winner takes the title.
"The category," he says, savoring every syllable, "is acronyms."
Our whole table exhales at once. Acronyms. Letters. Words. My territory. We’ve got this. Finn and his brothers are toast.
Annie grabs my arm like we've already won, and across the gap Finn watches me celebrate with a small, patient smile that should worry me a lot more than it does.
"In the sport of BASE jumping," the host reads, "the word BASE is an acronym. Name all four things it stands for."
Oh, shit. The floor drops out of my confidence. I know parachutes have straps. That's the entire list of what I know about people leaping to their simulated deaths in the so-called sport of BASE jumping.
I glance at Finn. He's not huddled with his brothers this time. He doesn't even sit up straight, just tips his chair back on two legs, unhurried for the first time all night, and announces, "Building. Antenna. Span. Earth." He looks directly at me, one of his annoying brows arched over those incredible green eyes. "I've done them all. There's a bridge in Idaho I could tell you about, but my lawyer says I shouldn't."
