There are collective “aww”s from the crowd. Neve’s crying. I’m trying to hold it together.
“So thank you. All of you. For being part of this. For making Balsam Bay feel like home.” He raises his beer. “To found family, second chances, and really good ice cream cake.” He flashes me a smile, and I nearly collapse under the weight of it.
“To Leo!” everyone choruses.
And through it all, I catch Darcy’s eye across the crowd. He’s looking at me with an expression that makes my heart ache—raw and open and wanting.
Then someone asks him something, and he turns away, and I’m left standing there with Kennedy’s hand on my lower back—when did she get here?—more alone than I have felt in months.
The party continues. The fire gets built up. Kennedy stays close, and I go through the motions of being present while my mind replays Darcy’s words over and over.
What do you actually want?
Around ten, I make my excuses. Tell Kennedy it was good to meet her, even accept her number when she offers it. I won’t call—we both probably know that. I hug Neve and wish Leo a happy birthday one more time.
I don’t look for Darcy. Don’t say goodbye. Just slip away and drive home with my mind racing and my heart aching and no answers to any of the questions that matter.
At home, I change into pajamas and crawl into bed, Kennedy’s number still crumpled in my pocket.
I pull it out. Look at it for a long moment.
Then I get up, walk to my kitchen trash, and throw it away.
Because Neve’s right. I am an idiot.
And Darcy’s right, too. I am scared.
But mostly? I’m tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of running. Tired of lying to myself about what I want.
I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to do anything about it, and that fact doesn’t have anything to do with my hormones and which phase of my cycle I’m in.
CHAPTER 25
WHAT’S A LOOFMENSH AND ZALAVICH, EXACTLY?
DARCY
I arrive early to the same damn conference room that has haunted me since the day I watched Billie stumble into it over a month ago. Everything is set up—the projector, the presentation materials, even the glasses of water set out for everyone attending. I expected her to be early, then I worried she would be late, but at ten o’clock on the dot, she walks in. Her hair is pulled back, and she has a blazer on. She must be roasting. The AC does not reach this room.
Barely making eye contact, she walks around the table to where I’m standing. “Hello.”
The polite greeting feels forced, like her smile.
“Hey, Billie. You ready for this?” I go for casual levity, and it seems to work when her shoulders relax.
“I think we’re ready, yeah.” Her use ofwemakes me feel more settled. I’m not nervous. I normally lead dozens of presentations like this in a single quarter and in front of far more intimidating people. What unsettles me is her and not knowing where we stand. But now isn’t the time to ponder that.
Bureau members filter in, the mayor making an enthusiastic entrance, followed by a few curious business owners. Cole, the always-serious owner of Shore Thing, gives us a chin lift as he takes a seat near the front. His coffee shop is definitely one of the more successful businesses in town, but even he’s mentioned a noticeable lull during the cooler months.
We wait for everyone to enter, making easy small talk until Tim Cameron announces himself loudly, ten minutes late.
“Now that everyone’s here, we can get started.” I do my best to keep any hostility out of my voice and open the presentation with financial projections, confident in the material, and making sure to present viable options for raising funds.
When I get to the comparables, showing the data on increased tourism, there’s some excited chatter in the room.
Billie seamlessly picks up where I leave off, explaining construction timelines and phasing, mentioning local businesses they can use and materials.
We settle into an easy rhythm, despite the tension between us, finishing each other’s sentences and anticipating questions before they get asked. When she clicks on the 3D renders, the mayor lets out a hearty, “This is incredible.”
