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She wanted to touch him so badly, to see his eyes. But she didn’t trust herself, didn’t know if he’d want it. She closed the distance between them and put her hand up to skim the brim of the hat. “This hat is an old friend.”
He ducked his head a little and she moved her hand to the crown, pinched the brim and lifted if off his head. There were those dark blue eyes and the shock of his straight nose. He was tanned and relaxed and young again, remade. What was she doing here? She’d only mess him up again. She took a step away.
“Darcy.” A hand came up to push his hair back, tousle out the weight of the hat.
“I’m sorry, Will. I shouldn’t have come. I’m bad news for you, we both know it.”
He frowned, his lips flat-lined. He chased her with one stride, bringing a heatwave to her chest. He lifted his hand to her cheek, knuckles bent, scratchy, work roughened. “God help me, I love your kind of bad news.”
If she tilted her head, he’d kiss her. If she tilted her head, her whole world would rotate off its axis and collide with his. Beings in other galaxies would feel the blast. She tilted her head.
His lips touched, parted, his breath on her mouth, so gentle. He opened his hand, trailing it to the back of her neck, then pulled the band on her hair until it released, groaning his approval as it fell about her shoulders. She didn’t touch him. She couldn’t make this a worse lie.
“How long are you here?” he said, lips against her neck.
Hard to form words. “I’m only stopping by.”
“Stay.” Not a request.
“Here with you? No I...”
He leaned in to kiss away the protest, then stopped short. The old Will would have read her mind, told her she wanted to stay—would stay. This reborn Will held his insistence.
“A cup of tea then, before you’re on your way?”
He turned abruptly towards the house, leaving her swaying unsteadily in the too thick heat. That’s what she’d come for after all, to see him, to sell him, and a cup of tea wasn’t unexpected. But she couldn’t help but crave the old Will, and regret what she’d done to him to change his ways.
He was on the steps to the verandah watching her.
“Darcy, I’m not going to bite you, enslave you or fall apart because you’re here.”
She must have looked dubious because he followed up with, “Trust me,” then dropped his head and laughed as though that was the best joke he’d heard in a long time. She watched him, trying to decide how dangerous it was to go into the house with him. In the doorway he said, “If you’re not coming in, leave the hat,” and was swallowed up by the darkness.
When her eyes adjusted, she could see she was in a living room with a small kitchen and wet area off it. Will was at the sink, filling a kettle. She tossed the hat onto a wooden dining table. Everything was out of the box new. The house was fully equipped, from the front door mat to ceiling fans. It had a swanky sound system but no television. There were two bedrooms off to the left. It was smaller than the Palace Suite but it suited this pared back version of Will.
“Sit,” he said, over his shoulder. Then, “How do you take your tea?”
It was a reminder they didn’t know each other well. Their time together had been all passion without thought of future, or drama without hope. Darcy sat watching Will make tea, shocked by this thought. Maybe she’d simply idealised him because he’d been so unexpected in every way. Maybe what she thought was love was just desire for the mystery of him, and what he could do to her body.
If that was true, this was easier. This was a transaction and he’d understand it.
He brought mugs, a carton of milk, the teapot. He pulled out the chair beside her and moved the teapot in a slow circle, helping the tea draw.
“How are you really, Will?”
“Better.”
“What happened at the hotel?”
“The infamous Will Parker had a crack-up.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “Don’t,” she meant don’t make fun, don’t dodge, talk to me.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep and scruffed his hair. “Okay, we’ll play it your way.”
“I’m not here to play.”
“You’re not?”
