gave a silent cheer as she sat on the skinny bench in front of the lockers. I have every confidence in you. Who would have thought she would ever hear those words? For a long time she hadn’t believed them herself. But now they were true. She was dependable, reliable and all those other lovely “able” words. Not bad for a former flake.
She was nearly as excited about the compliment as about the chance to expand business for Darcy’s Delectables. If she could land a contract with the Hip Hop Café, she would go a long way toward building up her minuscule savings account. Life was definitely taking a turn for the better.
Which meant she could indulge in a back-patting festival if she wanted…or she could deal with her more pressing problem, namely the fact that she’d invited Mark Kincaid over for Thanksgiving.
Her good mood did an instant crash and burn. It wasn’t that she objected to having the man in her house. How could she? He was easy on the eye in a big way. Of course that was also part of the problem. She hadn’t been on a date in five years. To be blunt, the man turned her on. The combination of great body, killer green eyes and sexy, barely there smile was pure temptation. Something she had no time for right now.
To make matters worse, he was completely single. And from what she could tell, he didn’t date. Not that she spied on him or anything, but he did live next door to her. They shared a duplex on the far side of town. He’d moved in a couple of months after she had, and what with him being so very good-looking, he’d been impossible to miss. She didn’t exactly monitor his movements, but she was the tiniest bit aware of his comings and goings.
It was a crush. There—she’d admitted it to herself. She had a crush on him and that’s what had her scared. What if he figured it out? She would be too humiliated to live, and right now she couldn’t afford to die.
“I won’t be alone,” she reminded herself as she rose and headed back to the diner. Eight other people were going to be at her place for dinner on Thanksgiving. She would barely notice Mark’s presence. With a large people-buffer in place, she might even avoid making a fool of herself in front of him.
“I really hate to cancel on such short notice,” Millie Jasper said the following morning. She tried to sound sad, but instead she beamed with pleasure.
“I understand,” Darcy said, because she really did understand. She just didn’t like it very much. “If your parents want you to come home for the holidays, that’s a whole lot better than staying here.”
Millie shifted two-year-old Ronnie to her other hip. “I’m hoping they’re going to ask me to move back home,” she confided. “Ever since Ron ran off with that bimbo of his, I’ve been struggling. So this is like a miracle.”
Darcy knew that miracles didn’t come around very often. She patted her friend’s arm. “Go home. Make peace with your parents and see if you can start over. I’ll miss you on Thanksgiving, but this is better.”
“Thanks for being so sweet.”
Millie gave her a quick hug, which meant Ronnie wanted to plant a sticky kiss on Darcy’s cheek. Then the two of them waved goodbye as they left the café.
“Don’t panic,” Darcy murmured to herself. She reached for a clean cloth and began wiping off the counter. “There are still four other people coming to dinner.”
Four people, plus him. Because she was now refusing to think about Mark Kincaid by name. Her insides had started acting very strange when she pictured him or said his name—her heart thumping when she thought about him, her stomach sort of heaving and swaying. It was scary and gross.
“I’m just doing a good deed,” she reminded herself. “There’s absolutely nothing personal going on.”
It was a darned pitiful excuse for a lie.
Light snow fell Tuesday night as Mark jogged up the driveway toward the duplex. He’d pushed himself too far and felt the resulting pain in his side. With each step, still-healing muscles tugged and pulled, making him ache. He would pay for the extra miles in the morning when he would awaken stiff and sore. Assuming he slept.
At least he could go running and suffer the consequences, he reminded himself as he rounded the bend in the path. There’d been a time when he hadn’t been sure he was even going to survive. Now he knew he would completely heal and—except for a few scars and a slightly more cynical take on the world—life would go on as it had before. Or would it? Could he ever trust a woman again…after what Sylvia had done to him?
He shook his head to clear it of thoughts of her. The driveway widened, circling in front of the single-story duplex. He was about to head to his half when he noticed his neighbor standing by her car, wrestling with something large in the back seat.
He slowed his steps. This wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself. Living next door to someone didn’t obligate him to anything. He stopped about ten feet from her car—her very old car. The compact import had seen better days and too many miles. There were chips in the green paint, a few rust spots and a battered rear fender. But the snow tires were new. At least Darcy knew enough to keep herself safe as winter approached.
She wrapped her arms around whatever was stuck in the back seat and tried to straighten. Instead she staggered back a couple of steps. Mark hurried forward before he could stop himself and grabbed the thing from her. The “it” in question turned out to be a very large, squishy turkey.
Darcy blinked at him.
“Mark. Hi.”
A blue down jacket made her large eyes turn the color of a summer sky. Snow dotted her blond curls, and her ever-present smile widened.
“Thanks for the rescue.” She waved at the turkey he held awkwardly against his chest. “I know it’s too big, but I had to special-order it—you know, to get a fresh one. And it was either some puny thing or something large enough to feed the multitudes. My oven is huge, so I figured I’d just go for it. I know about a million ways to serve leftover turkey, so I don’t mind if we don’t eat it all on Thanksgiving.” She paused to draw breath. “I know fresh turkeys are more expensive, plus this one was open-range raised, but it’s only once a year, you know?”
The chilly bird had to weigh over twenty pounds. He could feel something wet dripping down his leg. Great.
“You want to show me where this goes?” he asked.
“Oh. Sorry.”
She hurried toward the front door, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I could carry that. I mean you don’t have to bring it in if you don’t want to.”
He was nearly a foot taller and had to outweigh her by seventy pounds. Handing over the turkey at this point would be pretty tacky. “I think I can manage.”
She ducked her head. “Of course you can. You’re being really nice and I appreciate it.” She unlocked the door and held it open for him. “I’m guessing you know the way.”
Her place was the reverse of his, he noticed as he moved inside. A small area of linoleum led to a square living room. While his was on the left, hers was on the right. Which meant her kitchen was in the opposite direction. He turned toward the dining room, passed through it and found himself in the middle of her kitchen. She opened the refrigerator
