Page 130 of Heart Over Heels

I wasn’t in the habit of taking house calls. Not before Darby, anyway. And considering my recent visit from Antonella Rossetti and her heavenly goons, I had more than enough cause for alarm. The angels had proven they didn’t need my permission to enter, but I didn’t know what else to think, so before I went to the door, I went for my pistol.

The Glock was stored in a small table in the hall, tucked inside the same worn case I’d used overseas. I hurried to retrieve it, palming the grip and sliding one finger over the trigger.

The knock sounded again, louder than before.

“I’m coming,” I muttered, checking the magazine before thumbing the safety off.

With the gun held low at my side, I returned to the entryway. My free hand grazed the deadbolt when I paused, remembered the peephole, and leaned in to look.

Squinting through the little glass circle, I expected to see a halo or a wing or something equally ominous.

Instead, I saw a crowd.

Six people crushed shoulder to shoulder on my tiny porch, their eyes trained on my door and glowing in an array of colors.For a second, my brain refused to make sense of it. Then I blinked, pressed my eye to the peephole, and blinked again.

I recognized every single one of them, including their petite leader who stood front and center in Missus White’s maid uniform. He had one hand planted on his hip, and his tail swished with agitation that had the others ducking and dodging its barbed tip.

My stomach dropped into my feet.

“I’m here!” I called through the door, my voice a yelp like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t. “One sec!”

I spun, hurried back to the hall table, and stashed the pistol in the drawer and out of sight. Safety on. Dashing back to the entry, I yanked the deadbolt, twisted the lock, and flung the door open.

I stood, stock still and barefoot, heart somewhere in my throat, facing Darby.

And he faced me right back, holding his ground on my new welcome mat with the five other dancers crammed around him. The porch light warmed his bronze skin and made his hair and ruffled apron seem luminescent.

He didn’t enter, didn’t speak.

He just looked at me with white lashes fanning around his vivid orange eyes and his glossed lips puckered in the slightest pout.

In the pause, I wondered who I was seeing—Luxe, with all the armor and attitude, or Darby, the man who’d shut me out tonight. Both felt possible. Both hurt.

Before I even answered that question, I came up with more. Namely, why was he, or any of the dolls, at my house? Why would he come to me after what I’d done? After what he’d said?

His gaze cut toward the interior I currently blocked, and his brows knit together before he announced, “We need somewhere to sleep.”

Despite my mounting confusion, I practically leaped aside to clear the path.

Darby surged forward and dragged the rest in after him. They moved more slowly than I’d ever seen, stumbling toward the nearest pieces of furniture and toppling onto them in heaps. Darby remained on his feet, overseeing, while I pushed the door to a gentle close.

After everyone else was settled, he started bustling about, collecting throw blankets and pillows and passing them out.

Not a word was spoken as he retrieved the TV remote and flipped through the channel guide until deciding on something. Then he handed the control to Oz, who had posted up in the corner of the couch with Zephyr draped over him.

The twins packed in alongside them, making for a tight squeeze on the three-seater sofa, while Elliot claimed the armchair, sprawling across it sideways with a blanket covering his head.

When Darby finally turned and headed into the kitchen, I followed.

He kicked off his heels and grabbed a stepstool I didn’t recall buying, then climbed up to start rummaging through my cabinets.

His voice was almost lost in the wood and shelves as he muttered, “We also need something to eat.”

I was no more prepared for this than I had been for impromptu s’mores, so the things he scavenged made for an odd menagerie. And that was before we even addressed the sheer volume of food needed to feed six hungry demons.

Cereal and milk were set out alongside a bag of potato chips and the last of the lunchmeat and bread. He kept going, emptying the pantry, fridge, and a portion of the freezer too. I wasn’t sure how he intended to carry all of it until he grabbed the first handful of items and shoved them at me.

I extended my arms automatically and let him stack the food in a teetering tower. He might have meant for me to carry it all into the living room, but I waited while he pivoted to the silverware drawer and started parceling out forks and spoons.