Page 64 of Heart Over Heels

He looked like he needed it, which was baffling from a man who bared himself nightly to a club full of gawkers. There, he seemed bulletproof. But here, stripped of stage and spectacle, Darby was small, moving slowly, and clinging to me like he needed a shield after all.

We closed the last few steps to the table where Jack leaned back in his chair, grinning.

“Mercer,” he began with a tease. “Who’s your lovely friend?”

A friend, yes. That’s what we’d decided last time. That was how I’d defined this, and I saw no need to change it now.

“This is Darby,” I replied. “The one I told you about.”

Jack’s brows drew together, covering a flicker of hesitation. “From the club?” he asked slowly, like he was still sussing it out.

I nodded.

Jack thrust out a wrinkled hand as his sense of hospitality overpowered his confusion. “Pleasure to meet you. We were hoping the doc would bring you along.”

Darby brightened, though it was a pale echo of his usual light. He took Jack’s hand and shook while the older man carried on with introductions.

“This is my wife, Ava, and that there is Earl.”

Ava waved and smiled while Earl leaned forward and draped his forearms across the table.

“Are you any good at Bingo, Darby?” he asked.

Darby tilted his head. “I didn’t realize it was a game of skill.”

Earl chuckled. “Oh, it ain’t. But beginner’s luck can be a bitch. For the rest of us, anyway. And I’ve already been eyeing the prize table.” He jerked his chin toward the far wall.

Darby’s head snapped that way, and I looked too. It was the usual assortment of crocheted doilies and afghans, a few small appliances, off-brand Swiss Army knives, an embroidered trucker cap, and—pride of place—Ava’s strawberry preserves.

“Is that a toaster oven?” Darby asked, eyes widening.

I squinted, following his line of sight. “Looks like it.”

“Ozzy wants one of those. We were at the mall the other day, but they were sold out.” He glanced back at Earl, and a familiar spark returned to his eyes.

“I’m gonna win it,” he declared, sudden and resolute.

I grinned and fanned out the cards I’d bought. “Any of these give you a good feeling?”

Darby leaned close, worrying his bottom lip as he considered, then tapped the one farthest to the right. “This one.”

We settled in as the Bingo balls resumed their clatter, and the caller cleared his throat and adjusted his mic. The crowd hushed with their daubers held at the ready.

The first number rang out, and Darby pounced on it, stamping his dauber like a cat swatting a red laser dot. Every call after had him leaning forward, eyes darting from card to caller to card again, gleefully blotting numbers.

He didn’t win the first round. Someone else shouted “Bingo!” and made their proud march to the prize table. Darby tracked the victor like a hawk, following every step until they made their selection from the lot. His gaze lingered on the toaster oven, and his lip puffed in a faint pout.

Second round, same story. The tension built in him with each number. His shoulders were rigid, and his pigtail buns bounced as he shifted in his chair. When another player claimed victory, Darby deflated like a balloon, eyes narrowing at the prize table all over again.

I’d wanted to get to know him better, and without a word of conversation, I’d gotten my wish.

He was competitive. Determined. And so invested it was frankly adorable.

By the third game, they switched to outside frame. Darby was only one number away, and it was all he could do to stay seated.His legs bounced under the table, making his chair squeak and shift. Static crackled when he brushed against me.

“Easy there,” I muttered under my breath, amused.

Ava took notice, covering a giggle with her hand as she watched him squirm with anticipation. Jack smirked, Earl fixed us with a side-eye, and I was pleased to see my friends not just observing Darby but appreciating him.