Page 83 of All For You

“Especially when it comes to Jammie Dodgers,” he clarified, but I fidgeted in my seat, still hot and bothered.

For something to do with my hands, I cut the one in half with a lot of crumbles and turned the plate toward him.

He spluttered out a laugh. “Seriously? You are offering me the small half?”

Dammit, he’d noticed. “No ladies here when it comes to Jammie Dodgers.”

We settled in.

“Shall I pour? Do you take milk?” I asked.

“Black. Like your coffee.”

I nodded with a small appreciative smile. He’d remembered.

We sipped our tea and chatted for a minute about other biscuits we liked.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs clad in dark denim. “What did you think about Victoria as your next main female character?” he asked, returning to yesterday’s discussion about my next book.

I turned to him, delighted by his undisguised interest. “What do you like about Victoria?”

He ran a slow fingertip along his jawline, and the small, sensuous movement utterly liquefied my lower body. “She’s the most underrated of the sisters, what with her talent for woodwork and nursing stray cats back to health, and her beauty is a quiet one. I love how the bottoms of her skirts are always dirty from mud because she walks the hills so much.”

I chuckled. “She’s the original power walker.”

“Bit like you.” He teasingly tugged at my curls. “She’s always getting herself in scrapes, falling from trees and into the lake. And she loves her family, even though she knows all their faults—the giggly twins who chatter incessantly about theirbonnet ribbons, the nervy mother, the withdrawn, sarcastic, but amusing father. Victoria is likable and lovable. I’m thinking that arrogant lad next door she hates?—”

“Hugo.”

“Yes, Hugo is going to inherit the dukedom after all, and he chooses her above all others, to the disgust of the mamas of the town. Victoria rejects him because he’s such a supercilious shit, but on further acquaintance, it turns out he’s taciturn and distanced because he’s kind of shy and awkward and lonely.” He sat up straight as if inordinately proud of his character’s development. “And then he turns out to be a bloody brilliant bloke after all.”

Seeing Darcy speak so animatedly about Victoria and Hugo was like the drear of a thousand fogs had lifted. A morning sun blasted bright into my eyes, as if to say, how could you have doubted I was here? It was all so clear now who my next main characters should be, but Darcy’s passion for them made the choice obvious.

My chest was filled with a blissful warmth at how Darcy paid so much attention to my writing and my characters and cared about them. I loved how he was showing me how funny and clever and inventive he was. And I wondered if the way he talked about them was a window into himself—his true, wounded self. He felt things deeply. He didn’t always show it.

I slipped my fingers through his. I wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss him, but instead, we did this funny little push-and-pull motion with our hands.

“Darcy Wainwright, you have given this a lot of thought. And I do believe you are trying to influence me.” Something about his description of the arrogant lad next door sounded familiar. Had Charlie used those exact words? To describe what Darcy might be like?

“Who were you considering for your next book?” he asked.

“Iwastrying to write the younger sister, Peony, and Thomas. Friends-to-lovers.” I stopped. “What? What’s that face?”

He drew back, surprised. “Sorry, I don’t see it. No chemistry.”

I couldn’t defend my choice; I knew he was right. I sighed. “Neither does my agent, so you’re in good company. Charlie said it was lacking conflict.”

He smiled at me. “I don’t know Charlie, but sounds like she has your back.”

“Oh no. That’s all I need, you and Charlie in cahoots.” I smiled at the thought of the two of them working together.

“Have you thought about Victoria and Hugo’s meet-cute?” he asked.

I chuckled. “Darcy, you’re cracking me up with the lingo.” I rested my chin on my palm and looked outside dreamily. Not only were the grounds exquisite, but talking plotting with Darcy was my new favorite conversation. Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my bare legs and nudged his knee with mine. He watched my every move with a small smile. “But I’d love to hear more.”

He hooked a foot around my chair and dragged me closer, his eyes glittering with intensity. “What about…maybe Hugo arrives back from Europe, and his sister drags him to a dance. And he’s being all ridiculously handsome but imperious and rude and thinks everyone is a country bumpkin and beneath him, even though he grew up there.”

I laughed at his recounting ofourmeet-cute and nudged my pink toenails playfully against the tip of his suede shoes. “And Victoria is sitting with the wallflowers since there aren’t enough men to dance with, but still, they’re having a good laugh because they’ve known one another since they were babies. And they overhear someone pleading with him to dance, and he says?—”