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Darcy set the box down. “Ah, here.”
Fumbling, Bennet peeked inside. The Duke’s Sin. The Mysterious Affair at Styles. The Orchard Mausoleum. “Donation?”
“Some old books I found, and I thought . . .”
“Of course. Fantastic—”
Bennet cracked The Prince’s Choice open and the crisp scent of new paper filled his nose. He eyed the book’s pristine condition and undamaged spine. One after the other, he pulled out the rest and stacked them on the nearest crate. The others looked equally sharp-edged, covers brilliant, no sign of fading. “These are in extremely good condition.”
“I take care of my books.”
Finally, Bennet pulled out Death Comes to Pemberley still wrapped in thin plastic. “Very good care, Darcy.”
The book thrummed like a secret in this hands. Darcy laughed.
“Have you ever uncovered a mystery and let it go, Bennet?”
“Not with you.” Bennet couldn’t hold back. “Why’d you say they’re old books when they aren’t?”
“I wonder if you can’t figure that out.” Darcy shifted his weight to his other foot.
Bennet swallowed. “You don’t need an excuse to come to the local library.”
“It wasn’t an excuse to come to the library.”
“You don’t need one to see me, either,” Bennet added softly.
Their eyes locked.
Darcy let out a long, shaky breath. “It turns out wanting to be friends with you is equally nerve-wracking.”
Bennet felt his smile in the pit of his stomach and a giddy little shiver shot up his spine. “Let me make it easier on you. You have a superior kitchen, so Lyon and I will come over tonight and make you our favorite lamb chops. You’ll choose a game for us to play afterwards.”
“That sounds fine.” Darcy frowned. “I mean, wonderful. Good lord. At this rate I might pen conversation starters on cue cards.”
Bennet laughed and hugged the plastic-wrapped novel. “Here’s a homework assignment for you: one random text message including an emoji.”
“To you?”
“Or whomever else you want to be friends with.”
“Stupid comment, excuse me.” Darcy reddened, and pulled out his phone.
“Not when I can see you, Darcy!”
“Why not?”
Bennet’s phone vibrated and, smirking, he wedged it out of his pocket.
Darcy: Thank you for bearing with me. ??
* * *
Bennet: Likewise. ??
They smiled at one another, and Darcy cleared his throat and backed away. “Until dinner time, then.”
Lyon’s tinny voice came down the line. “You’re kidding me.”
“It’s an opportunity to clear the air. You can state your feelings on the William matter, and he can state his.”
“And then I’ll continue hating him.”
Bennet locked up the mobile library, cellphone jammed between his head and shoulder. “Or you could give him another chance?”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Bennet grasped his phone. “Look, I’d love it if you joined me.”
Lyon mumbled. “I’m busy with friends.”
“Right.”
They were quiet for a moment. Despite the nasty twist in his stomach, Bennet would not force Lyon if it made him uncomfortable.
Fluffy white clouds, like sheep in a field of blue, brightened the afternoon sky. “What have you been up to today?”
“Hanging out.”
“Drooling after the shearers?”
“Still too bummed about William. But, yeah, I tried to distract myself. Saw your Will, by the way.”
“I don’t have a Will.”
“You could. He asked after you. Said Denny’s back with his wife and he had time if you wanted to do coffee or something.”
Bennet’s stomach twisted again, acid flaring up his throat. “Not a chance.”
“So it’s, um, like, super over between you?”
Lyon didn’t know the particulars and Bennet didn’t think it necessary to share them. He kept the disgust out of his voice. “It’s super over.”
Lyon made a little ‘huh’ sound, then rushed a goodbye to get back to his friend.
“Will I see you—”
His brother was gone.
“—later.”
Bag of ingredients pulling on one shoulder, Bennet stared at Darcy on the threshold, inhaling the soft aroma of recently-applied cologne.
“Something’s . . .” He cocked his head, taking in Darcy’s dark, slightly panicked eyes, the sharp nose, the strong, clean-shaven jaw.
“Nothing’s . . .” Darcy gulped.
“Something totally is.”
Bennet lightly palmed Darcy’s chest. “Your sideburns. You’ve shortened them.”
“Accident with the shaver. I had to even them out.”
Bennet lifted his hand, hesitated, and—oh, what the hell—stroked Darcy’s smooth jaw and brushed his thumb over the missing sideburn.
He smiled. “You look good. Do you like it like this?”
Darcy’s expression sharpened. “I like it like this.”
Bennet looked into Darcy’s dark, surprised eyes, still cradling his face.
He dropped his fingers and stepped fully inside. “I’ve brought everything we need except butter and salt.” He toed off his shoes and made his way to Darcy’s kitchen. “I need half an hour, and we can eat.”
“Anything I can do?”
Bennet dropped his bag onto the island and pulled out a peeler.
“Toss her to me, then.”
Conversation flowed easily, and more than once Bennet searched for signs of cue cards. But three times over the course of dinner he glimpsed Darcy’s smile dropping, and each time was a source of confusion and guilt. He thought they’d been getting on exceptionally well.
