Page 66 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
I’m just worried thatImight be one of those everyones who likes him a little too much. I’m supposed to be a Darcy girl. Dark and handsome and stoic, that’s my type. There’s no place in my life for this giant ball of sunshine with golden hair and sparkling eyes and an easy, flirtatious smile.
Nope. No way. Not even if he feeds me all the carrot cake in the world. Which, judging by the way he kept shoveling bites into my mouth, he might very well try to do.
“Well, next time you see him, figure out how you feel,” Juliet says.
“I think it might be better if I let everything stay murky on that front,” I say. “I don’t want to like Felix. And if I do like him…”
“You want to live in denial?” Juliet arches one perfect brow at me with an uncharacteristic amount of sass. “You can do better than that, Indy. You could totally win Felix’s heart if you wanted to.”
“No, I couldn’t, and I don’t want to anyway,” I say. “Now please let me shower, or I’m going to smell worse than the dogs who come in today.”
“Fine,” Juliet grumbles, slouching out of the way and down the hall. “But I’m calling it,” she adds over her shoulder. “You like him. You want to kiss him and hug him and have babies with perfect strawberry blonde hair and immaculate skin?—”
“Juliet!” I squawk. She narrowly dodges the tube of toothpaste I chuck at her, giggling and bolting the rest of the way to our room.
Ridiculous. I don’t want to hug him or kiss him?—
Well,I think as that moment in the bookstore comes back to me—Felix’s raspy voice, his wide eyes, the burst of heat that shot through me when he admitted he checked me out sometimes—I guess I might like to kiss him. Maybe just once, to see what it’s like.
But I will take that desire to my grave. And in the meantime, I’m going to hunt down a man I’llreallylike, or maybe even love. I’m going to find myself a Darcy.
There aren’t a lot of eligible bachelors roaming around Lucky, Colorado. It’s a small town, and most of the people here are people I’ve known forever. So while I’m tempted to make a list of places I might meet a guy, ultimately I decide to go the virtual route instead.
There’s something reassuring about the safety of a screen, a layer around myself that I only need to peel back if I really want to. I’m not a nervous person by nature, and I can have conversations when the situation calls for it, but when it comes to men and dating, I’m rusty.
But what would I even say on a dating site? You have to create a profile, right? I guess there’s probably a questionnaire.
How many men are going to be interested in a dog groomer from a tiny town?
A little kernel of unease tries to pop in the pit of my stomach, calling to mind all the usual concerns that arise from online dating. Weirdos sending unsolicited photos, people pretending to be someone they’re not, the inevitable barrier of location differences.
I can wade through those things, can’t I?
That kernel of unease multiplies, but I shut it down.
Do you want to date?I ask myself.Do you want to find a man and settle down and have a family?
Yes. The answer is unequivocally yes.
I’m afraid…I’ve been clinging to my list as a way to feel better about what happened with Betsy. Like maybe if I did all these things, something good would come out of that moment where I really thought I was going to die.
But I’m not sure it works like that. One thing I do know, however, is that I really, truly want to fall in love and have a family of my own.
I nod to myself as I hurry through my shower. Some good things in life will find you, but some things you have to search for yourself. I’m going to have to put in the leg work on this one, which means putting myself out there and meeting new people.
You might meet someone like Felix,my brain whispers.
“Darcy!” I say out loud. “Meet someone like Darcy!”
Sure,my brain says.Darcy. Or…Felix.
And it’s this thought that stays with me for the rest of the day—all the way through the sudsy bath I give a happy chocolate Labrador, through the trim I give a finicky little Terrier.
Someone like Felix. Is that what I really want?
I groan as my stomach gives a little flip—a pleasant, happy squirm laced with anticipation. Ella, my coworker, looks over at me.
“What’s wrong?” she says, her expression concerned. “Are you sick?”
