Page 131 of Heart Over Heels

“Uh.” I cleared my throat and peered over the pile in my arms. “Did something happen?”

Grabbing a stack of plates, he dumped the flatware onto it with a clatter. “It was the angels. In the walk-in. With a trash-bagged cadaver.”

My eyes bulged. “Do what?”

Darby let out a long, weary breath and finally met my eyes. “I swore the dolls off theCluejokes,” he said. “But someone had to say it.”

“A cadaver?” I repeated.

This must have been how Frank and Earl felt trying to understand my life lately—two steps behind and losing ground fast.

Darby and I stared at each other, once more at odds, but his frosty exterior from the VIP suite had thawed. Now he didn’t look angry or resentful, just sad.

“You didn’t know about it?” he asked, hesitant, like he was bracing for me to lie.

I shook my head. “Antonella said property damage, and she implied…” I hitched up the groceries before the bag of chips could slide free. “That Mister Beckett was good for it. Not to mention insurance, and… you.”

Darby crossed his arms, still guarded, still tense. “What about me?”

“I wanted to protect you, Darby, but I had to choose.” He’d been right about that much. “So, Ichoseto get you and the dolls out of the building. And I knew you might not forgive me for it.”

He dropped his gaze, dragging one stockinged foot over the other while his tail swished against his calves. “You were right totake care of Molly,” he said at length. “She needs you.” Then he looked up again. “But why didn’t you tell me? Or any of us?”

I wanted to reach for him, but I was too encumbered with the food that was bleeding cold against my chest and soaking my shirt with condensation. “Was there anything you could’ve done if I had?”

Darby seemed to consider while the living room TV filled the silence between us, then he shrugged.

Turning toward the dishes and silverware stacked on the counter, he straightened and restraightened them, giving me cause to wonder if they were even needed, considering most of what he’d scavenged were finger foods.

They were a distraction, though, until he worked his way around to muttering, “I don’t like being lied to, Mercer.”

My answering nod made my armload of foodstuffs sway.

“Especially not by you.”

Still nodding. Still trying not to drop anything.

Darby nudged the stack of forks one more millimeter to the left. “And I don’t like being mad at you,” he said. “So I think I’m done with that, if that’s okay.”

A wave of relief rolled through me, and my head bobbed vigorously. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Only then did he glance up. His eyes went wide in an earnest, almost hopeful way, and his body relaxed like he’d finally let go of a breath he’d been holding. I had no doubt who was facing me now. This was all Darby.

“Can we talk some more?” he asked, tail curling in the space behind his legs. “Somewhere private? After we get everyone settled.”

My mouth twitched in a smile. Always thinking about his boys.

“Sure,” I replied.

We worked in quiet tandem after that. Shockingly quiet considering the chaos the Dollhouse dancers usually manufactured. The house was almost serene as Darby and I carried the food and dishes into the living area.

The television murmured something indistinct while flashing light and bright colors across the cozy scene.

On the couch, Zephyr’s ruby-red hair sprayed out of its half-pony, tickling Oz’s cheek, but the bigger man didn’t bother to brush it away. The twins were folded together beside them. Colt’s hat tipped low over his face while his arms locked around Callum. None of them stirred while Darby and I arranged everything on the coffee table.

Elliot sagged in the armchair, fully shrouded by his blanket, and judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, asleep.

Darby fixed a plate and set it on the floor beside him, then stepped back and surveyed the room.