Page 16 of It’s You

Darcy breathed in deeply, comforted by the familiar earthy smells: pine, dampness, and rotted wood, accompanied by the warm smell of smoke from his fireplace.

Leaves rustled gently in the early evening breeze, and she heard squirrels chittering as they scrounged for their dinners.

A tapping in the distance bespoke a woodpecker hard at work, and the river gurgled musically, moss-covered slippery rocks detouring its path, rewriting its journey.

“Jack,” she finally murmured. “This is beautiful.”

He had been watching her intently, and she shivered under his scrutiny. He seemed so aware of her. His eyes swept down, lightly resting on her chest before returning to her face.

You’re beautiful.

She smiled at him, shaking her head gently, feeling a blush warm her cheeks.

“You like it?” he asked. “My house?”

She nodded, and he beamed at her as though her approval meant more to him than anything else in the world.

She had never seen his eyes so unguarded.

His face was so open and pleased, she was sure she saw shades of the little boy he must have been once, a long time ago.

Her heart suddenly felt full with tenderness for the strange, captivating man before her, and she reached her hand up to touch his face, about to caress his cheek, when she caught herself.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, then lowered her hand quickly, taking a breath and looking away from Jack at the lodge.

“What’s not to like? It’s out of a dream. It’s the most amazing place I’ve ever seen.”

“I wanted you to like it.”

“Why?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Just did.” He shrugged, and she thought she saw a little awkwardness in his wobbly grin. “Want to see the rest?”

“Absolutely!”

He started toward the main lodge, but Darcy gestured to Amory’s garage.

“Maybe start with my brother’s work? He’s sure to ask me what I think.”

She wasn’t sure because it was so brief, but she thought she saw a mild wariness cross over Jack’s face before he gave her a tight smile. “The garage?”

“If that’s okay?”

He swallowed, bowing his head. “Of course.”

Darcy followed him over the pebbled driveway to the two-story, two-car garage made of logs varnished to a medium brown. One bay was open, so Darcy stepped onto the new cement, smiling at her brother’s handiwork.

“It’s nice.”

“He’s talented.”

“Can I go upstairs?”

“Sure,” said Jack, standing at the foot of the stairs.

She brushed by him, and as her elbow grazed the hardness of his chest, her stomach ignited with heat, like striking a match.

She paused on the first step, adjusting to his nearness behind her.

If she turned, they’d be face-to-face, eye-to-eye, her lips a breath away from his.

She took a deep breath, running her hand up and down the smooth banister to her left.

“Is everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low directly behind her.

“Th-this banister is unique,” she blurted out, cringing, wishing she could recapture her composure.

“It’s from a tree that used to be on the property.” He leaned forward, and she could feel his breath on her neck. “I cut it down. Sanded it. Shined it. I like working with my fingers.”

Was it just her imagination, or did she feel those fingers touch down lightly on her hips? Her eyes shuddered closed, and she took a deep, ragged breath, trying to steady herself. All she had to do was turn around, and the hot, soft miracle of his lips would be waiting for her.

A small whimper sounded with the force of her breath escaping, and she swallowed, opening her eyes, steeling herself.

Don’t get distracted, Darcy! Answers first.

Her feet were like lead, but she forced herself to move them up the stairs, not looking back at him, placing distance between them. After three steps, she heard him moving up behind her.

Her fingers skimmed lightly over the banister, and her heart pounded with the thought that his hands had touched every inch of the hard, satin wood lovingly, working it, molding it, smoothing it.

She imagined his hands on her body, touching every inch of her skin, working it with his muscled fingers, molding her flesh, smoothing it, soothing it with his long, long-awaited touch.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she sighed, grateful to be distracted by the most comfortable, welcoming studio she’d ever seen.

The walls were paneled in bright white beadboard, and the floor had been painted a light gray.

Dying light poured in through windows to her right and a skylight overhead.

She sighed, stepping into the cheerful room and turning to Jack with a smile. “What a lovely room. Do you use it much?”

“No,” he answered. “But I thought…at some point…”

His words trailed off, and he shrugged lightly from his position at the top of the stairs where his hand rested lightly on a newel post, watching her with a slight smile and dark, warm eyes.

“This is just like mine,” she said, moving to stand beside the desk, feeling hot and self-conscious under his gaze. She looked away from him, peeking out the windows, which looked out at the front drive, bridge, and river.

She gestured to the desk chair. “May I?”

“Of course,” he said softly, still watching her with the same steady, hungry stare.

It made her shiver as she sat down and swiveled in the chair, straightening her back to look out the window again. Anywhere else but at the intensity of his face.

“It’s a beautiful view,” she murmured. “I’d barely be able to work. I’d daydream all day.”

He stepped closer to her, resting one hand on the desk and using the other to turn the chair to face him. He squatted down before her.

“What would you dream about?” he asked.

She was incredibly aware of him so close to her, his bent knee grazing hers, his face just slightly lower than hers, but no more than a few inches away.

Jack, I don’t ? —

He looked down at the hands on her lap, releasing her eyes. He reached out and touched one of her hands, tracing her index finger with his, a feather touch, a breath, a whisper.

“What would you dream?” he asked again, his hand gently covering hers, his thumb massaging the soft, sensitive skin of her palm.

“I’d dream…I’d…” Her heart was slamming into her chest, and she was suddenly aware of how very alone they were in this little light-filled studio that smelled of fresh paint and timber and Jack.

She swallowed, wanting nothing more than for him to raise his eyes to hers and see how desperately she wanted him.

You. I’d dream of you. Like I always do. Like I always have.

But he didn’t. He released her hand and stood up. She heard him take a deep breath as he turned toward the stairs, his back to her.

She stood up on shaky legs, noticing the bathroom in the corner. “Do you mind if I…”

She gestured to the bathroom, and he turned his head just enough to nod at her slightly.

Once inside the little room, she sat down on the closed toilet and tried to catch her breath, to calm the wild hammering of her heart. Trying to get rid of the butterflies in her stomach would be impossible, so she ignored them.

What was this insane attraction she had to him? She had never, ever felt this sort of heat with any other man in her life. She stood up, running the cold water and soaking her hands.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

You’re here for answers. How can he read your mind? How is he associated with your soul flight? Did you lose time on Saturday? Stop acting like a hormonal adolescent, Darcy Turner. Get your head on straight.

She nodded curtly to her reflection, turning off the water and wiping her fingers on a plush mint green hand towel that looked brand new.

Pep talk initiated and accepted, she turned to leave when a frame on the wall caught her attention.

She flicked on the light to get a better look.

It was a shadow box and contained pinned samples of lichen in various colors and textures, beautifully mounted and labeled.

“Crustose, foliose, fruticose,” she murmured, lightly touching the glass with her fingers. What an unusual choice of decoration for a powder room. She heard Jack clear his throat as she stepped out of the little bathroom, flicking the light off behind her.

“Interesting… art ,” she said, unable to shake the feeling that between the desk and chair, which were identical to hers, and samples, that the small studio was somehow created just for her .

He nodded once and looked away, awkwardly gesturing with one hand. “Sort of goes with the whole woodsy theme.”

Of course. Her rational mind chided her immediately.

It was absurd and completely self-important to think for a moment that a virtual stranger, an acquaintance from high school, at best, would custom decorate a room for her.

She cringed internally at her ridiculous presumptions, feeling her face flush with heat.

He had probably found the shadow box at some gallery and purchased it. It had nothing to do with her.

“They’re nice samples,” she said, unable to keep the note of sheepishness out of her tone. “Did you know I study mosses and lichens?”

“Is that right?” Jack said absently as he headed back down the stairs.

Had he seen her face color? Oh, she was acting like an idiot. Get your head in the game, Darcy. Ask him about the telepathy. Darcy took one last look at the room before following him.

But when she got to the foot of the stairs, her thoughts were distracted by a formidable metal door at the back of the garage, which she hadn’t noticed before. It had an imposing handle and a complex-looking security keypad beside the door.

Jack was standing by the mouth of the garage, ready to continue the tour at the main house, but she couldn’t resist asking, “Where does that go?”

“Oh, um…that’s um…”

“What?” She walked between the hood of the parked sports car and the wall to take a better look at the door. “What’s in here?”

“Wine cellar,” he responded.