The countryside slipped past the windows, hedgerows giving way to the first scattered houses, porch lights glowing like scattered coins. Behind them, Waffles had begun that particular snuffling that meant he was dreaming of squirrels or stolen sandwiches. Athena’s breathing had settled into the rhythm of the road.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Elizabeth observed, not moving her head from where it rested against the window.
“Am I?”
“Mmm. I can practically hear the gears turning. Should I be worried?”
He glanced at her profile, softened by the dashboard light. “Just thinking about timing.”
“Timing?”
“How long I spent thinking I knew what I wanted. And how wrong I was.”
She turned then, eyebrows raised in that way that meant she was deciding whether to tease him or let him be serious. She chose mercy. “What did you think you wanted?”
“Quiet. Order. Routine.” He paused, negotiating a roundabout that had sprouted since he’d last driven this route. “Dogs that didn’t steal socks.”
“And now?”
Now he wanted Elizabeth humming off-key in his kitchen while Waffles performed grand larceny with the tea towels. He wanted her laughter, the way she argued with the radio during the morning news, how she’d somehow convinced Athena to play tug-of-war with a rope toy shaped like a fish.
“Now I think quiet is overrated,” he said.
She smiled, and he felt it like warmth spreading through his chest.
The A-road began its gentle curve toward the city, and ahead, the first orange glow of streetlights appeared on the horizon. Soon they’d be swallowed by London proper, by traffic lights and late-night buses and the comfortable anonymity of the city. But for now, they existed in this space between—countryside behind them, home ahead, the car full of soft breathing and the particular contentment that came from being precisely where you belonged.
Traffic gathered and broke around them; they drifted into a comfortable silence. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Waffles slumped against Athena. She tolerated the contact like a woman allowing a stranger to sleep on her shoulder on the last train home.
“Tell me the plan,” Elizabeth said.
“Plan,” he said, obliging. “We get you home. I carry the bags up. We take the dogs out once more—quickly—to ensure nothing untoward occurs to the rug. We come back in. We put on the kettle. We sit. We do not talk to anyone named Kitty or Lydia after midnight.”
“Flawless,” she murmured. “Add: you continue answering to William.”
“Part of the package.”
The city lifted up around them, all familiar corners and foolish shortcuts, the stretch of river that always looked the same no matter what lights people hung around it. He parked outside her flat and the car ticked as the engine cooled. Waffles woke with a start and instantly strained towards the console to kiss him.
“No,” Darcy said, laughing despite himself. “Back.”
Unable to reach past the limits of his harness, Waffles wagged his tail so hard his entire back end participated. Athena nuzzled him, and he calmed.
Darcy walked round to Elizabeth’s side and opened her door.
“William,” she said again, small and pleased, as she unbuckled Waffles, who tried to exit the vehicle through her. “Help.”
He hauled five stone of delighted golden retriever out of the car and earned a face wash for his gallantry. Elizabeth took Athena, who pranced away from the car.
He had never seen Athena prance before.
On the pavement, Darcy hesitated.
“Stay,” he said. It came out rough. He cleared it. “I mean—stay. Often. Here or at mine. As you prefer. Bring the chaos. Bring the noise. Bring Waffles’s contributions. Bring you.”
She stood very still, lead looped in her hand, and the streetlight made a halo of the hair that had escaped her hat.
“That,” she said at last, “is an excellent plan.”
