Darcy headed into his office. He picked up the holiday-themed Tupperware and a few cards from his desk, added them to the shopping bag Sara had filled with the stray gifts, and sank into his leather chair. He glanced down at the dog bed behind him. Coco was in the middle of a dog dream, her paws flexing, her gray muzzle quivering. He smiled, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. The long holiday weekend with his aunts, uncles, and cousins would be exhausting.
He knew Charles was still seeing Jane Bennet. Hell, after barely two months of dating, she was practically living with his best friend. It came so easily to Charles. See a girl, buy her a drink, and fall in love. There was always a girl, always a date to be had. The man was never lonely, never alone. Darcy wasn’t sure Bingley evenknewhow to be by himself: to sit in a room and think, listen to music, or read. He always kept busy. He was not a solitary man.Unlike me.He pushed away that unwelcome thought.
Darcy compared romance to the baseball games his mother had taught him to love. Three strikes and you’re out. Bingley knew how to swing and connect with women; he got on base—made a date—every time. But Darcy always knew by the third date, the third conversation, or the thirdanythingwhether he could or should invest any more time and emotion on a woman. His relationships were always short-lived.On paper, his life might resemble that of a playboy or man about town, but few of those women decorating his arm had ever had him in their beds. And none had ever been in his. He envied Bingley’s ease even as he knew he could never live that life. Nor would he have given Jane Bennet a second look.
But her sister? He hadn’t expected to give her a second thought. But he had. And a third and a fourth. He’d had a handful of conversations with Elizabeth Bennet. He’d spent most of a night with her: sleeping, talking, kissing. He couldn’t forget the kissing. He had a hard time not thinking about it. He’d played soccer with her, cooked with her, driven with her. She’d been sweet with Coco. And though he tried not to admit it, she didn’t have any of the normal strikes against her. She wasn’t shallow, didn’t appear obsessed by her looks or her clothes, she was pretty and funny and smart. All right,verypretty andveryfunny andverysmart. He’d seen the thick paperback copy of Dos Passos’sU.S.A.sticking out of her bag. That was interesting. She was normal and read important novels. He didn’t meet many women like that.
For the first time in a very long while, he had wanted the game to go on. He’d wanted to keep the conversation going, to keep their interaction going. But he couldn’t. She’d made it clear that what had happened between them was a mistake. He’d felt that way himself once he’d had a little time to think. And had taken a cold shower.
He’d told her things he almost never spoke of: his family, the accident. He was an idiot for letting himself slip, forfeelingsomething for her. There was no possibility he could risk more with a woman who’d made it clear that night meant nothing to her—less than nothing since she didn’t seem to remember much of it. It meant something to him, and it would mean something to that boyfriend. Right…there was a strike: she cheats on her boyfriend. And another one: she’s forgetful and careless about mixing drugs and alcohol. A total head case. And finally, strike three: she was part of that orange-wearing state college football factory. Enough said. Move on. Even if Charles was going to splash in the shallows, he would not. Especially if it took hip-waders.
And maybe Charles had gone beyond the shallows, maybe he was in deep. He’d been unavailable for just about anything since October.Since Jane. The angel.Darcy sighed. He knew he was being unfair. She was a very nice, seemingly genuine person. He pulled out his phone and texted Charles. “Are you at home? Have to stop by on the way to Matlock.” The response, when it arrived a few minutes later, put himright back in a foul mood.Sod it. Queens? On Christmas Eve? Great. At least it’s on the way to East Hampton. Sort of.
After two hours driving through a snowstorm and ten minutes yelling at Google Maps for its inability to find the Forest Hills subdivision called Longbourn, Darcy finally arrived at his destination. He pulled over to the curb and eyed the two-story Dutch Colonial. A faded plastic Santa Claus was plopped in the center of the front yard. A dozen or so smiling penguins lined the walkway, red ribbons wound around the front porch columns, and lights hung haphazardly from the gutters, glowing in the mid-day gloom. Lovely. Now he definitely felt the Christmas spirit.
It only got better as he neared the front door. A giant plastic wreath bedecked with shiny rubberized berries and pinecones greeted him. He could hear loud voices and laughter inside.
Is that shrieking?He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. The door swung open within seconds. A pale, sullen teenager swept her eyes up and down him and then squinted at his car. “You are not my Chinese food.”
Another girl filled the doorway, fixing her heavily made-up eyes on the shopping bag in Darcy’s hand. “Oh my God. Are those for us?” He was certain her loud, high-pitched Queens accent had cracked the crystal on his watch.
Another voice—deeper, louder, and even more heavily accented—filled the air. “Lydia! Mary! Get back in here and clean up your mess!”
“In a second, Ma!”
He clung tightly to the handle as the two girls leaned forward and stared inside the bulging bag. The one desiring Chinese food looked at him dolefully. “Are you here for Jane too?” She sighed and walked away. “Jane!!!”
Relief quickly arrived. “Darcy! What have you been up to? C’mon in.” Bingley greeted his friend and pulled him by the elbow into the foyer. He smiled at the overstuffed shopping bag in Darcy’s hand. “Look, everybody. Santa is here!”
Jane smiled. “Hi, Fitzwilliam. I’m glad to see you. Please let me take your coat.”
Darcy shook his head. “Hello, Jane. Er, I can’t stay. I’m expected elsewhere. I, um, left the car running. Coco is asleep inside.” He looked around the cozy living room. It was full of oversized furniture, a huge Christmas tree, and an upright piano cluttered with holiday figurines. Good manners dictated his next words. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you. It’s actually my parents’ home. You met my sisters, Lydia and Mary?”
Elizabeth is from Queens?
“Oh, c’mon, Darce,” Bingley cried. “Go get Coconut and bring her in. Stay awhile. The girls are making cookies.”
Although nodding to acknowledge the warm aroma filling his senses, Darcy demurred. “I needed to drop off a few things. There was a?—”
He stopped as he saw Elizabeth walking toward them. Her hair was pulled up, and she was wearing a baker’s apron.
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
“Hello, Darcy.” She gave him a tight smile. “How have you been?”
“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”
“Fine. Working. Wrapping. Baking.”
Charles stared between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lizzy. Tell him your big news.”
Darcy suddenly noticed a figure lounging in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth. He was smiling at her. Possessively.Great. Another boyfriend?
“Oh, um, I finished my master’s program,” Elizabeth said.
“Your MFA? Congratulations. That’s fantastic.”So who’s the guy?“Sorry, what was your field of study?”
