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“What would you have chosen? To sing together.”
The answer slipped out quickly, “‘Don’t You Want Me.’”
Darcy stared at him for a long moment, then swiftly swung off his stool. When he returned, he nodded at Bennet. “Done. I should have asked you first.”
“You went with your gut. With what you longed for. That’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Is everything you say steeped in subtext?”
Bennet motioned the server to refill Darcy’s glass. “Around you, I’m afraid it must be.”
Dark eyes narrowed on him. “You seem particularly interested in my love life.”
“Unashamedly. When I see someone struggling, it calls for me to help.” At least, this was true of his friends and family. He wasn’t sure why the feeling extended to Darcy. Maybe he’d become a challenge. A puzzle of his own to figure out.
“I don’t need help.”
Bennet held his gaze. “Are you happy? Being on your own?”
“I’ve kept busy.”
“That was not my question.”
Darcy reflected quietly. Bennet wasn’t sure he’d answer, but after a moment he cleared his throat and looked away, speaking evenly. “I should very much like to . . . date. To make a home with someone. But I confess, I don’t know how to go about it.”
“I feel like, when it comes to romance—or any relationship—actions speak louder than words.”
“I whole-heartedly agree.”
“Do you?”
“Do I want to know what you mean by that?”
Perhaps Bennet’s scoff was rude. He settled an elbow on the counter and propped up his chin, casually watching Darcy take back his whiskey and swirl it. “Should we lighten this conversation?”
“Please.”
Darcy’s relief pulled a small smile from Bennet. “Romance usually starts with finding the right date.”
“The right date.”
“I’ll help,” Bennet said, and laughed at the ludicrousness of it. Well, they wanted light after all . . . “Let’s make a game of it. The third person to use your name is your perfect match.”
With stunning timing, Caroline waved and yoo-hooed them. “Darcy!”
Darcy grunted. “Thank God she was only the first.”
Caroline walked over with Olivia. “This is my mother’s neighbor. She works at Ask Austen Studios, close to where you live in Port Ratapu.”
Olivia smiled widely. “You’re Darcy Tilney?” Darcy glanced sideways at Bennet, and Bennet lifted two fingers and winked. “Father of Henry Tilney?”
Darcy’s attention honed in on Olivia. “That’s my son. You know him?”
“A little, yes. He’s dating my boss. They make a wonderful couple. Henry’s a truly wonderful young man. I wish them all the happiness.”
Darcy’s expression shifted as Olivia continued. His eyes glittered, and the line of his lips softened. “Henry is . . . Well, I look up to him.” Those eyes shifted momentarily to Bennet.
“I’m sure you’re a big part of why he’s so wonderful!”
Darcy stiffened. “You’re far too kind.”
Caroline reached out, rubbing Darcy’s bicep. “You’ve been cooped up at this bar far too long. Would you like to dance?”
“Maybe later. I’m about to sing with Bennet.”
Caroline blinked at Bennet, as if only just noticing him. “Together?”
Bennet smiled grimly. “Only to help Wiremu out.”
“How kind of you. In that case”—she batted her thick eyelashes at Darcy—“find me after your song?”
Caroline and Olivia left as ‘Love Shack’ ended.
“Shall we make a spectacle of ourselves then?” Bennet said.
“After you.”
Crackling with energy and the desire for this to be overwith, Bennet leaped onto the stage. Darcy followed, calm and steady. And close. So close, here on this small makeshift wooden platform.
Bennet’s fingers closed around both microphones and he stretched out an arm, offering one to Darcy. This would be their buffer. He wouldn’t come any closer.
Darcy obeyed; for the duration, he didn’t once cross the middle of the stage.
Unlike Bennet, who stomped all over it, wrapped up in the energy of the song despite the little electric shocks he got whenever he moved into Darcy’s space, face to face. The heat of their auras collided. Their gazes hooked and held for an entire verse—
Bennet ripped himself back to his side of the stage. By the end of the song, he was shaking from adrenalin.
He threw his microphone to the next singer and barely managed not to tumble off the stage. Quiet brown eyes halted him. Darcy inclined his head. “You sing well.”
“You too, Darcy.” Bennet stilled and fought a panicked shiver. Hell. Why had he said his name? They were both extremely—uncomfortably—aware that those words made him the third person. “I mean, obviously I don’t count.”
Darcy was quiet for a long beat. “Of course not. Are you, uh, parched?”
“From the singing?”
“We could grab another drink.”
“Oh. No. Probably not a good idea. We’re running out of small talk as it is.”
“Someone as opinionated as you? We could disagree for months and not be finished.”
“It’s a party. We’re meant to be having fun.”
Darcy glanced toward the couples dancing.
“That’s right. I want to dance,” Bennet said. “And I’m fairly sure you’re not willing to put yourself out there like that.”
