Experiences, then. Theatre tickets, perhaps, or a cooking class. But Elizabeth’s schedule was as unpredictable as her personality. She worked when inspiration struck, whether at three in the afternoon or three in the morning. She’d mentioned once that she’d never met a deadline she couldn’t negotiate, but that her editor had learned to account for what she called her “creative flexibility” in all their planning.
Art might work, but Elizabeth’s flat was crowded with an assortment of prints, photographs, and what she optimistically called “found objects,” which meant essentially anything that caught her fancy during her walks with Waffles. Last week she’d returned with a small piece of driftwood she insisted looked like Winston Churchill’s profile. Darcy had squinted at it for several minutes. All he could see was a piece of wood that had been partially chewed by something with excellent dental health. Waffles, most likely.
Jewellery felt too significant. They were just past three months in—happily, wonderfully, surprisingly three months in—but jewellery conveyed permanence, commitment, futures planned together.Not thathehadn’t thought about such things, but had Elizabeth? It wouldn’t do to scare her off if she hadn’t. When they reached Valentine’s, perhaps.
What about something for her writing? A better desk lamp, maybe, though her current setup seemed to suit her well. A new laptop? But Elizabeth was oddly sentimental about that computer. Though it wheezed and groaned, she claimed it had “character” and that she couldn’t possibly use anything else. She’d named it Bartleby and occasionally spoke to it encouragingly when it seemed reluctant to cooperate.
Something for Waffles? Elizabeth doted on that ridiculous dog with a devotion usually reserved for minor deities. But what did one buy for a golden retriever who possessed more toys than some children and a wardrobe that included a bow tie for special occasions?
Darcy rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar tension that preceded his rare moments of professional uncertainty. In his world, every problem had a solution if one only applied enough analysis, research, and strategic thinking. But Elizabeth existed outside the normal parameters of human behaviour, at least insofar as he’d ever encountered them.
She delighted in small things. Terrible puns, perfect cups of tea, the way afternoon light fell across her living room floor. She laughed at his more pompous moments with genuine affection rather than mockery. She’d once spent twenty minutes explaining why she kept a rubber duck on her bookshelf (it had inspired an idea for one of her novels and she couldn’t bear to throw it away after the book was published).
Darcy leaned back, defeated. Elizabeth deserved something that showed her he understood her needs. But for the first time in years, he had to admit he was stumped.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth was still circling the ending. When the words refused to cooperate, she pushed back from the desk and headed for the kitchen. As she was making tea, her phone pinged.
It was a link to her royalty statement, showing numbers that would have made past Elizabeth giddy. She stared, then snorted at herself. In her head she was still the girl who learned to shower in under four minutes because there were two bathrooms and five girls who had to share them. Her income had changed rather dramatically in the past few years, but her view of herself hadn’t quite caught up.
She had managed to write three terrible sentences and then delete them when her phone started buzzing in earnest. The Bennet Sisters group chat—or “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Judgements” as Lydia had renamed it last month—was lighting up like a Christmas tree.
She glanced at the screen, then at her laptop where her unfinished novel sat waiting, then back at the screen. When the group chat exploded, resistance was futile.
Lydia (leadinglady):[Photo of herself and three equally glamorous friends with too much makeup posing with cocktails that appeared to be on fire]GRLS NIGHT OUT!!! We’re at that new place in Shoreditch where everything costs £18 but tastes like HEAVEN!
Kitty (snapkat):OMG those drinks look amazing! Is that the place with the swing seats? Kitty (snapkat):OMG those drinks look amazing! Is that the place with the swing seats?
Lydia(leadinglady):YES!! I’m literally swinging right now!!
Mary (Grade A Bennet):I feel compelled to point out that consuming beverages and texting while suspended several feet above the ground seems dangerous.
Lydia (leadinglady):Mary you’re literally the MOST FUN PERSON ALIVE
Mary(Grade A Bennet):I was merely observing that—
Kitty (snapkat):Lyds send me the location!! I’m finishing this Netflix episode and then I’m coming
Jane:Please both of you be careful. And maybe eat something substantial?
Lydia (leadinglady):Jane we’ve had LOADS to eat. They do these tiny burgers that are basically art
Elizabeth (plotgoblin):Tiny burgers are not substantial food
Lydia (leadinglady)LIZZY!! You’re alive!! I thought you’d been murdered by yourown characters again
Elizabeth snorted and glanced over at Waffles, who had somehow managed to wrap himself in the yarn she’d left trailing from her knitting basket. He looked like a Christmas tree decorated by toddlers.
Elizabeth (plotgoblin):I’m stuck on the reveal. It needs a declarative beat and I don’t have it yet. But on the upside, Waffles has decided to help with the knitting.
Kitty (snapkat):Why are you knitting?? You hate crafts
Elizabeth (plotgoblin):I’m making a Christmas present. It’s going well
This was a lie. To distract herself, Elizabeth changed everyone’s name except for Lydia’s. Lydia would just change it back
Mary:Handmade presents are much more meaningful than bought items.
