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Bennet closed his eyes on the neglected structure and its painful beauty.
A dog barked, startling Bennet. A tan-and-white collie bounded through the grass.
“Caesar, what are you doing here?” The dog trotted up to him. “Have you gone for another one of your walkabouts?”
Caesar barked, tail wagging, and sniffed him.
Bennet crouched and rubbed him behind the ears. “You’ve got quite the mind of your own, don’t you, love?” A wet lick to his cheek. Bennet laughed. “I’m supposed to be editing, not marching you back home. Oh, come on, then—”
A figure emerged from alongside the greenhouse. Bennet recognized him with speech-robbing dread and worse, a spindly shiver. He hadn’t seen anyone near his most sacred, private space since Finley.
Darcy approached, surefooted and graceful. Confident. He looked . . . too young to be a father of adult children. His curls too rich, like spring soil, no gray in sight. His skin flushed from exercise. But his brown eyes gave his age away; history lurked behind his heavy gaze. And there was something about the way he blinked . . . as if seeing Bennet upended him.
His lips were set with practiced patience, which amused Bennet. To be so miserable in his attractions. Someone needed to enlighten the man. Having something stuck up one’s ass did not have to be so unpleasant.
Darcy nodded. “Bennet.”
So he’d remembered his name. Another spindly shiver. Really. Quite enough of that already.
Bennet untangled his fingers from Caesar’s fur and pushed to his feet. “Darcy.”
The man wore a long oilskin riding coat, and riding breeches and boots like Bennet’s. Did he ride every morning? If he did, was it by design Bennet hadn’t encountered him out on the paddocks again? “Morning ride?”
“Before breakfast, always.”
By design, then.
Darcy paused, glancing at Caesar. “When I returned to the stables, Caroline called about the missing collie. It’s her housekeeper’s.”
“I know.”
“I came into town searching . . . But you’ve found him.”
Caesar trotted happily to Darcy and sat obediently at his side. The dog softened Darcy’s strict posture. The man would do well to get a dog of his own.
A breeze raced through the long grass around Darcy, raining petals over him. He blinked up into the falling pink, windswept and dramatic, and an endearing smile touched his lips.
Real warmth emanated from him and Bennet found he’d taken a step forward.
He halted.
You’re not meant to be in my spot.
You’re not meant to be looking so devastatingly gorgeous in my spot.
Shivers pushed at his skin. He turned away. “I’ve got to go.”
“What about returning Caesar?” Darcy said hesitantly. “I could hardly take credit for finding him.”
Bennet winked back at him. “Suffer any praise for me, would you?”
Charlie planted a flute of bubbly at his corner of the bar and slid it over. Bennet hadn’t been to the pub since Singles Karaoke Night, but at Charlie’s call telling him Caroline was here, sitting alone . . .
Bennet finished stripping out of his jacket. “You’re always working,” he said.
“Keeps me busy.” Charlie looked away. Keeps him from feeling lonely.
Bennet lifted his glass. Here’s to keeping busy. “I might volunteer for the fire department. They could handle my flame.”
He drank deeply and headed over to Caroline. She sat in exactly the same position as last time—elegantly, in the middle of the bench so that only one person would fit. Across from her, under a sagging flag, an empty seat waited.
Bennet slid into it.
She startled, and touched the silk scarf at her throat. “I’m expecting company.”
“Darcy is late.”
“How do you know who I’m meeting?”
If it’d been anyone else, she would have left already. “Just a guess. You’re a hard woman to get hold of, Ms. Bingley.”
That made her smile.
“I’d love to talk to you about garnering your support for Cubworthy’s first Pride event.”
She looked from him to Charlie. “Event? I’d hardly call a gathering of two adults and a minor an event.”
“I think you’ll find our numbers will grow with the right social fostering. The event would involve everyone who supports love, no matter their orientation. With your help, I’m sure half the village would attend.”
“How do you suppose that?”
Bennet gestured casually toward the Cubworthy wall of achievements. “You’re in most of those photos. You organize most of the events around here—including the Wool Ball—and you know most everyone by name.”
Caroline’s smile grew.
“You hold a lot of sway.”
A cool breezed washed into the pub and Caroline’s eyes darted toward the door, her gratified expression—along with her voice—softening. “Darcy. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”
Air shifted at Bennet’s side, laced with the base scent of rain-soaked pine. Darcy’s approaching form filled his peripheral vision.
“Forgive me. Henry called, I had to take it.” Large hands plucked at his wet oilskin jacket.
“Of course.” She flagged for Charlie.
Darcy looked up from his coat and stopped abruptly, gaze caught on Bennet. He masked his surprise almost as soon as it touched his expression. “Bennet,” he bit out.
