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Bennet blinked. What was he doing? This was idiocy. He’d never so blatantly stared at a stranger. Never felt such a tender shiver scuttle down his spine from mere proximity.
Never been so drunk on it. Like he’d indulged in three mojitos instead of lemonades.
He’d enjoyed observing the man from a distance, seated so commandingly straight—regal, almost—in his saddle. But up close, all that compact power . . . Bennet wanted to drop to his knees.
Those dark eyes, equally riveted on Bennet, flashed.
The whole moment couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds and probably shouldn’t last more.
“Darcy, right?”
He gave a small start, and swallowed under the weight of Bennet’s stare. He rocked back on his heels, complexion darkening. He inclined his head. “That’s right.”
“You rode me so well this morning.” Bennet groan-laughed, casually touching the soft pullover at Darcy’s chest. “You rode well this morning. You raced me so well . . .”
Darcy’s postured stiffened. Panicked eyes sought refuge, locking on Caroline.
“I’m sorry. I have to . . .” He strode past Bennet, abruptly severing their connection and sending Bennet spiraling back to earth.
He frowned at the spot where Darcy had been. You rode me so well? Excellent, Bennet.
He slunk back to his barstool and his half-drunk soda and let Charlie have a dig at how smooth he’d been. “Heard that, did you?”
“Saw it.”
Bennet laughed, and goosebumps prickled his profile.
He shifted, unable to shake them, and sipped his soda. After a few minutes, he couldn’t handle the slippery shivers. “Charlie?”
Charlie looked up from the tumblers he was currently dosing with bourbon.
“Is Darcy looking our way?”
Charlie’s eyes slid sideways and back again. “Your way.”
Bennet peeked over his shoulder. Darcy’s gaze travelled slowly over Bennet until their eyes met and Darcy ripped his away. Bennet frowned, ignoring the lick of disappointment. He knew that look. That was the look of a man who liked what he saw and didn’t like that he liked it.
Pity. A man who took no pride in who he was attracted to was a man destined for unhappiness.
Bennet’s phone vibrated in his pocket. And then, like a tidal wave, more phones started flashing and buzzing.
There was only one reason everyone’s phones would be going off simultaneously. Someone must have posted on the village’s online forum. Anything any local deemed . . . newsworthy got posted on the forum—flood or fire warnings, wedding announcements, deaths. And gossip.
More than the usual number of inquisitive looks landed on him.
Bennet pulled his phone out. A picture of Bennet staring up at Darcy, and the caption: Does the pretty fairy fancy our lovely widower?
Charlie sighed.
Another few comments came through:
Rugbymom: Are we allowed to say fairy?
* * *
BigG: I heard it on reruns of Will & Grace. I think so?
* * *
Rugbymom: Phew! I should try watching that.
Bennet palmed his forehead and laughed, almost elbowing Wiremu—Charlie’s dad—in the face as he brushed past with his tablet, scouting for karaoke volunteers. “They mean well, I think.”
Inspiration struck. Maybe if he was more approachable, joined in a bit, they’d feel more comfortable talking to him instead of about him.
He flagged Wiremu down and offered himself for the stage.
Wiremu’s voice echoed through the sound system as Bennet picked up a microphone and scanned the list of songs on the tablet. “Now, we need a lovely singing partner for our newly returned resident.”
More than half the eyes in the pub fixed on him curiously.
Bennet laughed into the microphone and suggested Lyon join him.
Lyon shook his head. “Brother stuff is way too kinky, even for me.”
Bennet rolled his eyes.
Fine. If Lyon wouldn’t sing with him, and Charlie was busy working, and the rest were too shy . . . “I’m fine on my own, Wiremu.”
Wiremu ignored him. He donned an oblivious grin and meandered around patrons to Darcy, concealed in his booth; his voice caught the microphone just enough to amplify their exchange.
“Your son’s gay,” Wiremu said energetically.
“Bisexual,” came Darcy’s voice. “News sure travels fast here.”
“Yes, yes. Then surely you wouldn’t mind obliging Bennet with a song?”
“Thank you, I’m not interested.”
“Not much for karaoke?”
“I like it just fine.”
“Thing is, jumping up there with him, just for fun, it’d be helping—”
“Not with him.”
Before Wiremu could try any harder to persuade Darcy, Bennet laughed into the microphone.
“Forget Darcy. Here’s a love song for all us singles out there.”
He queued up ‘Something There’ from Beauty and the Beast and music poured from the speakers. A woman in the front row shoved her husband. “Get up there and sing, honey.”
“On it, dear.”
The farmer jumped onstage and gripped the second microphone; surprised and touched, Bennet began to sing.
“I heard when he gets coffee, he always gets his loyalty card stamped. Him, one of the richest men in the region!”
“I heard he gives the free coffee to the person behind him in line. And adds the cost of it into the tip jar.”
