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He was crossing boundaries. He had no right.
And when Darcy had been so careful of Bennet’s, even apologizing for a kiss that Bennet had shared in equally.
“Bennet?”
Well. There was no way of melting through the wall.
Bennet slowly turned, his ears so hot he could hear them throbbing.
Darcy eased toward him. Light and color from the stained-glass flickered over his crisp white shirt, his arm and chest. In the shadows, his gaze was dark but not unkind.
What was Darcy thinking of him?
“I’m sorry,” Bennet said again. “I was curious where you lived and walked through the town belt. Then I bumped into Georgie. I shouldn’t have accepted the tour.”
Darcy stopped a few feet from him and crossed his arms. “I’m happy you did.”
Bennet’s gaze shot to Darcy’s. Darcy opened his mouth, shut it. Paused a moment and tried again. “I wanted to text you every day. I wasn’t sure you’d feel comfortable with it. You seemed . . . curt, when I left. And then you didn’t show up for our ride . . .” Darcy glanced out the window and back, speaking low. “I’m relieved you made the first move.” He hesitated. “Unless you taking a tour has nothing to do with . . . us?”
Bennet shook his head. Nodded. Scolded himself for not pulling himself together. “I . . . yes.” He held his chin high. “Coming here had everything to do with us.” He paused, and added truthfully, “But I still hoped to escape without you knowing how much I wanted to see your place.”
Darcy’s chest expanded on a deep breath. His broad smile struck Bennet in the chest. He rubbed over the crazy hopping in there. “I hope you haven’t seen everything yet?”
“Not everything.”
“Good.”
Darcy led him around the manse, pointing out objects and telling him the stories behind them. Most involved his kids, sometimes his late wife. He spoke with a light tone, easy laughter, and Bennet walked by his side, a bundle of oversensitive nerves.
Every stray touch jolted his stomach, and it took him twice as long to reply. None of Bennet’s responses felt adequate enough, clever enough, funny enough.
He’d never felt so useless at conversing in his life.
“Do you want to play?”
“Do I want to play?” Bennet repeated. They’d finished the tour in the library, a warm and comfy room where a mountain of pillows obviously substituted for the chairs Darcy had given his son. Bennet, eyes trained on Darcy’s warm expression, had drifted into his own musings as he trailed a finger over a grand bookcase.
Darcy, half a foot in front of him, leaned in, and Bennet’s breathing roughened. Darcy’s hand stilled on the shelf as if he’d heard the sound, and their eyes met. Awareness plunged through Bennet, and he couldn’t for the life of him breathe evenly.
Darcy slowly withdrew his hand, producing a Scrabble box, and Bennet closed his eyes against the wave of heat threatening to throttle him.
He’d been leaning in for the game. Of course.
The air shivered around him as Darcy pulled back inch by inch. “I, ah, actually. Wow. Look at the time. I should head back, see if Charlie and Olivia need any help.”
“Bennet?”
“Hmm?”
“You could call them.”
“Call?”
“With your phone.”
Holy crap, who had taken over his primary functions and turned him into this confused idiot? “Call. Yes. I’ll do that.”
“If they don’t need you, would you stay? For a game. For dinner. Henry and Cameron are coming, they’d love to meet you. I’d love for you to meet them.”
Surprise punched through Bennet’s bumbling mess. His mind sharpened.
He looked directly at Darcy. That he wanted him to meet his son—and his son’s boyfriend—was touching enough. But that they wanted to see him? Darcy must’ve spoken of him.
He had to know.
“I’d love to meet them too.”
“Then there was the time poor Dad highjacked a little old lady’s car,” Henry said in an impassioned voice.
They’d been talking nonstop throughout dinner. Henry was making the liveliest, most humored impression Bennet had ever had the pleasure of receiving. And the way he looked at his boyfriend! Such love and fondness. Every shared smile and playful whisper showed their ease with one another.
Cameron was adorable too. Polite, responsive, and witty behind those thick-rimmed glasses. “Did he really highjack a car?”
Thank you, Cameron.
Bennet was trying to keep his burning curiosity in check; he wasn’t sure how much Darcy had shared about them, and he didn’t want to raise questions Darcy wasn’t ready for by absolutely insisting on hearing about every one of Darcy’s lawyering successes, crazy parenting moments, and—currently under discussion—most embarrassing moments.
“He thought it was his Uber ride.”
Henry was having a ball teasing his dad, and Darcy was taking it with remarkable composure. At least from what Bennet could see out the corner of his eye.
Fearing what his expressions and body language would give away, he didn’t dare look at Darcy directly. Much. Still, he felt Darcy’s presence like a tingly thrum down his side.
