little anymore.” She smiled, but tears burned behind her eyes. Hank had aged thirty years in the last ten, but he was still wonderfully familiar. He made the place feel like home in a way that no one else could. “I’m awfully glad to see you, Hank.” Impulsively she went to him and gave the frail body a hug. Hank returned the hug with the warm kindness she remembered.
“Wait ’til Anthea sees you.” He hesitated and appeared to think that over before saying, “She’ll be so sorry it’s just to say good-bye.”
“I can’t wait to see her,” Darcy said, trepidation weakening her words.
“You waited ten years,” Joe said quietly.
Darcy bristled.
“Come right this way,” Hank Cox said, walking through a heavy oak doorway to the left.
Neither Darcy nor Joe moved. They stood facing each other like boxers in opposite corners of the ring.
“What did you mean, ‘you waited ten years’?” she demanded.
“Just that your grandfather could have used your help over the past few years, and if you weren’t so bullheaded—”
“Me bullheaded? What about him?”
“Both of you. Not that it’s any of my business,” he added as an afterthought.
“It certainly isn’t.” She was sorely tempted to spit the truth right into Joe Tyler’s condescending face, but it was none of his business. Let him think the worst of her—what did she care?
He stood for a moment with his eyes fixed on her, and his enviably sculpted mouth quirked into the half smile she’d noticed earlier. “Sweetheart, you’re way too uptight.”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’”
“See?”
She felt her face flush. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”
“You didn’t used to feel that way.”
Exactly three hard, solid heartbeats passed before she managed to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His casual approach to what had meant so much to her was humiliating.
He stopped and turned back to her. Suddenly his hair looked darker—if that was possible—and his eyes looked like blue stormclouds. And his mouth—that sensually curved mouth; it was really starting to get on Darcy’s nerves—was quirked, openly mocking. “You didn’t used to mind one bit when I called you my sweetheart. Or have you forgotten?”
“There’s nothing to forget,” she answered, refusing to be bowled over by him. She raised her chin.
He gave a quick jerk of his head and sucked air in through his teeth. “Are you challenging me, Darcy?”
“To do what?” Darcy asked, deliberately misunderstanding.
He didn’t miss a beat “To make a more lasting impression on your memory.”
Part of her wanted to slap that complacent smirk right off his face, but at the moment she felt too weak and tingly to move. Once she had enjoyed this sensation. Now she hated it.
“If you’re ready...” Hank Cox returned to the doorway with a puzzled frown and swept a hand toward the other room. Darcy had almost forgotten he was waiting. She strode into the library and sat down in an embroidered antique chair.
The room was actually in pretty good shape, except for some chips in the built-in bookshelves and a few pieces of old furniture that had seen better days.
A little gray-haired woman who would have been perfectly cast as Mrs. Claus approached with teapot in hand but not a shred of recognition in her eye. “I’m Anthea Cox, and I’m delighted to meet you.”
“It’s me, Anthea. Darcy.” She stared hard into the woman’s eyes, willing her to remember. “Darcy Beckett.”
“Oh, my.” Anthea put a hand to her chest. “Little Darcy—is it really you?”
Darcy felt tears prick her eyes. “Yes. It’s been a long time.”
“It certainly has,” the woman answered, her voice wavering with emotion. “Far too long.” She walked over and reached her hand out to touch Darcy’s cheek. “How lovely you’ve turned out to be. I always knew you would.”
“Th-thanks,” Darcy said awkwardly, giving Anthea a quick embrace. She was keenly aware of Joe, standing nearby, listening.
“How about a nice cup of tea?” Anthea asked. “I remember how you like it, with lots of sugar and cream.”
Her sugar and cream days had been over for a long time, but Darcy saw it was important to Anthea and said, “How kind. I’d love some.” Seeing that Anthea’s hands shook with age, Darcy reached out to help, but the older woman didn’t notice.
“Nothing quite like a nice cuppa to cure what ails you,” Anthea murmured. She’d always said that, but Darcy didn’t believe it anymore.
Darcy watched the thin trickle of tea dance in and around the cup as Anthea poured unsteadily.
“Dear, did you see that Joe is here, too?” Hank Cox asked from across the room.
Anthea Cox looked up. The teapot shifted position but continued to pour, now onto the table, as she said, “Well, Joseph, how nice—”
“Excuse me, Anthea,” Darcy said, reaching for the teapot. The older woman apparently didn’t hear her, because just as Darcy was about to grasp the teapot Anthea shifted both her gaze and the teapot back to Darcy.
“Mr. Beckett would have been so pleased that you’ve come back at last,” she said faintly to Darcy, who was frantically setting empty tea cups under the trickling stream.
Joe walked over and took the pot from Anthea Cox, saying, “I was just telling Darcy myself what a shame it was that she waited so long to come back.”
Darcy looked daggers at him. She wanted to tell him that the responsibility for her absence was not hers alone, but she knew it would sound petty. If he remembered that she’d given him her virginity, it certainly didn’t seem to mean much to him now. “Well, our past doesn’t mean that much to me, either,” she contended, looking down at her shoes. She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until she looked up.
Three surprised gazes landed on her like bugs.
“What do you mean, dear?” Anthea asked.
A long moment of silence followed.
“I mean,” Darcy stammered, “I mean that the past is the past, and there’s no point in regretting it now.” She leveled her gaze on Joe. “No matter how much I might want to.”
“Quite so,” Anthea agreed. “Quite so.”
There was a strained silence, but before the awkwardness became torturous a man walked into the room wearing a fine gray pinstripe suit and carrying
