Page 13 of It’s You

His nostrils flared with the force of his breathing, and his eyes were churning with fire. Darcy’s legs turned to jelly, but his muscular arms held her tightly against him.

She licked her dry lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, staring, transfixed. She knew he was telling the truth. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“I’m okay now.” She breathed, planting her feet firmly and pulling away from him. She felt his arms reluctantly loosen, and she took a step back from him, smoothing her cardigan. “Thanks for not letting me fall. I owe you one.”

He traded her lips for her eyes.

Do you mean that? You owe me one?

What’d you have in mind?

Dinner at my place. Tomorrow night.

Darcy took a deep breath, then nodded. She hitched her bag up on her shoulder and ran a hand through her long strawberry-blonde hair before turning to go.

“Fair warning,” she said, turning back to him as she walked toward the parking area where her car waited. “I have a lot of questions.”

“Fair warning,” he answered, his eyes sweeping up and down her body slowly before meeting hers. We won’t be on Main Street anymore.

And then he turned and walked away from her, leaving her staring at his perfect backside in retreat with her mouth hanging open.

Since her father passed away ten years ago, Darcy’s mother, Cassie, hosted a family dinner every Thursday evening and expected all of her “ducklings” to attend. This tradition included Darcy, Amory, and Willow, who had been, more or less, adopted by the Turners decades ago.

Willow’s parents separated the week after her eighth birthday, and her family, once happily situated in Carlisle, had imploded.

Her father had relocated to his hometown of Montréal, while her mother returned to New York.

But while Joanna Faulk Broussard longed for the bright lights of the big city, she wanted her daughter, Willow, to have an all-American childhood safely ensconced in her own hometown, Carlisle.

So Willow had grown up under the less-than-watchful eyes of her aging maternal grandparents, with only occasional visits from her very busy, profoundly unmaternal mother.

And every summer was spent with her paternal grandmother, her Nohkom , in Quebec City, where she avoided her father’s awkward attempts to connect with her, eschewing his casual interest in her life, and choosing to immerse herself in her grandmother’s Métis culture instead.

This arrangement left Willow somewhat lacking in stable family life, which the Turners were more than happy to provide as much as possible.

And after the passing of Willow’s elderly grandparents, leaving Willow the house that she shared with Darcy, Cassie Turner welcomed her, even expected her, every Thursday evening for family dinner.

Darcy and Willow arrived first and were chatting with Cassie about Amory’s surprise guest.

“So what do we know about her?” asked Darcy from her perch beside Willow on the kitchen counter.

“Not much, duckling,” answered her mother. “He didn’t bring her to Honoria’s affair on Saturday, but when he asked if he could bring her tonight, I said yes. That’s all I know.”

Darcy turned to Willow. “You spent some time with Amory at the wedding. Did he mention he was dating someone new?”

Willow shook her head no, but Darcy noticed that she flinched and seemed to brace herself when they heard the front door open a second later.

Anyone else would have missed it, but Darcy knew Willow.

She watched as Willow’s lips tightened to a thin white line, her arms crossing over her chest after she hopped off the counter.

Suddenly, Amory was taking up the entirety of the doorway between the kitchen and the front room with his huge contractor’s body, tousled ginger-colored hair, and goofy grin. Darcy watched as he found Willow’s eyes first.

“Hey, Will,” he said softly, acknowledging her with a nod.

“Hey, brat,” she mumbled in a tight voice, keeping her eyes down, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Amory pursed his lips at her, turning to his sister and mother with a forced smile. “Hey, Darce. Evening, Mom.”

“Amory.” Cassie opened her thick arms for a hug, and Amory stooped down to press his cheek against hers. “How’s that big project you’re working on?

“Almost done. Had to get one last coat of finish on it before sundown today. You know him, Mom? Jack Beauloup? Apparently, Darcy knew him in high school.”

At the mention of Jack’s name, Darcy’s heart skipped a beat, remembering the way he held her this morning, and was instantly reminded of her plans to have dinner with him tomorrow night.

Darcy’s eyes flicked to her brother’s face, wide and annoyed.

Just about everyone in Carlisle knew Cassie Turner was a mother who wanted to see her unmarried daughter happily settled.

Amory was baiting the hook with Darcy and grinning as she wriggled.

“Is that right, duckling?” Cassie asked, turning to Darcy with a hopeful smile and one eyebrow raised. “Is he nice?”

“I barely know him. We were in The Music Man together, Mom. That’s all.”

Cassie gave Darcy a hard look before turning back to Amory. Darcy knew she hadn’t heard the last of Jack Beauloup from her mother.

Darcy turned to Amory. “Didn’t you bring a guest tonight?”

As if he had forgotten something important, Amory looked around sharply to his right, then left, where he found the object of his search standing in the living room just short of the kitchen doorway.

Looking around Amory, Darcy caught the bright blue eyes of a petite young woman holding a wrapped bottle, looking cheerful, if forgotten.

She had short blonde hair cropped in a Mia Farrow-style pixie cut, and her nose was covered with a sprinkling of freckles.

Yep, cute as a button.

Not to mention a blonde-haired facsimile of Willow Broussard.

Blonde, blue-eyed, and a good ten years younger.

Amory took her free hand and drew her closer until he could put his arm around her shoulders and draw her close to him with a tug.

“This is Faith.”

Darcy’s eyes nervously flicked to Willow.

Willow’s eyes narrowed, watching as the interloper offered her hand to Cassie.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Mrs. Turner.”

“Oh, it’s Cassie! Please, dear,” said Darcy’s mother warmly. “I hope you like lasagna.”

“I love it,” said Faith. “In fact, I’ve brought some red wine to go with it.”

Cassie took the bottle with a squeal of delight and, out of the corner of her eye, Darcy caught Willow’s icy stare.

“I’m Darcy,” she said, offering her hand to Faith and running interference. Faith smiled at her, and Darcy watched the freckles dance across the bridge of her nose. “And this is Willow.”

Faith turned to Willow, and if she noticed Willow’s cool demeanor, she didn’t let on. She dropped Darcy’s hand and offered hers to Willow. “Hey, there. I’m Faith.”

“Mmm.” Willow breathed, running a hand through her close-cropped black hair, her almost-black eyes capturing Faith’s blue ones. “Yes.”

Turning away without shaking hands, Willow grabbed the salad bowl from the kitchen counter and headed for the dining room without a word.

“She’s the town doc,” said Cassie, watching Willow go. “Always so much on her mind.”

Faith smiled politely at Cassie, who drew Faith’s attention to the bottle of wine she was opening, asking if it was a favorite of Faith’s. Darcy looked at Amory, who had his eyes trained on the dining room doorway, and sighed. Oh, Amory. What a mess you’re making.

At twenty-six, Amory was eight years younger than Willow, and despite some halfhearted attempts at flirting with her as the years went on, Willow had always maintained Amory’s status as her surrogate little brother.

That Amory had been deeply and irrevocably in love with Willow throughout his adolescence was no big secret, but as far as Darcy knew, nothing had ever happened between them.

Only recently, Darcy had noticed the way Willow delighted in baiting Amory in conversation and how Amory seemed to show up more regularly to family events that included Willow.

He seemed to seek her out, showing up with amusing anecdotes to share with her.

Not to mention, he’d become especially clumsy over the past year.

It seemed like he injured himself on the job at least once a week—a dropped hammer here, a minor laceration there—necessitating visits to Willow’s office.

Darcy wondered if something had finally happened, or not happened, at Honoria’s wedding, because Faith seemed like less of a girlfriend and more of a statement, somehow. The timing felt funny.

Darcy picked up the pitcher of water on the kitchen counter and followed Willow into the dining room, where she found her friend seated at the table, checking messages on her phone.

“Everything okay?” Darcy asked.

“Sure,” answered Willow without looking up. “So…what’s the deal with Faith? You heard about her before now?”

Darcy set the pitcher down carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I didn’t know he was dating someone. Did you?”

“Nope.” Darcy shrugged noncommittally. “But you know Amory…”

Willow’s eyes shot up and cut to Darcy’s as she continued.

“He’s sort of a serial dater. Sort of an if you can’t have the one you love, love the one you’re with dater. Just have to hope one of the ones-he’s-with doesn’t eventually stick while the one-he-loves takes her sweet time getting off her ass to give him a chance.”

“ Huit années ,” muttered Willow in French, giving Darcy a sour look before looking back down at her phone.

Eight years.

Darcy sat down next to her and nudged her friend’s arm, ignoring the familiar refrain. “Did something happen? At the wedding?”

“No.” Willow sighed, finally looking up, a good swath of bitterness in her tone. “Nothing happened.”

“ Should something have happened?”