Page 43 of Arranged To Be Mine

I headed back downstairs to clean up the disaster zone we’d created. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table. The snack tray looked like it had been attacked by raccoons. The karaoke machine was still on, the screen displaying a list of songs we’d murdered throughout the evening.

I started gathering bottles, tossing them into the recycling bin in the kitchen. The cheese board went into the fridge—what was left of it, anyway. Darcy had demolished most of the goat cheese, which I found oddly endearing. A woman who appreciated good cheese and beer was a woman with taste.

As I wiped down the counter, my mind kept drifting back to her. The way she’d loosened up as the night went on. The stories she’d told about her childhood, her father, the impossible standards she held herself to. The way she’d thrown herself into karaoke with zero self-consciousness once she’d had enough liquid courage.

I wondered how much of that was the real her. Her sudden fondness for me was definitely the alcohol talking. But the rest of it was the real person. She was in there somewhere. If only she could be that relaxed around me when she was sober.

I finished cleaning and headed upstairs to my own room. I brushed my teeth, popped a couple ibuprofen myself before I changed into sweats, and climbed into bed. I typically preferred to sleep naked but I didn’t want to risk her wandering around in the middle of the night and catching me in my birthday suit.

I passed out relatively quickly because the next thing I knew, the seagulls were screaming and rays of sun were stabbing through the blinds I hadn’t closed completely.

I woke up with a mild headache and a little queasiness. Not my worst morning after. I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a tee, and padded down the hall to the guest room to check on her. The door was still closed. I eased it open just enough to peek inside.

Darcy was still dead asleep, twisted up in the sheets like she’d been wrestling an invisible opponent all night. She’d stayed fully dressed, which was not a surprise. One leg hung off the edge of the bed. Her hair spread across the pillow. She looked nothing like the uptight executive.

She looked human.

I closed the door quietly and headed downstairs to start coffee. The machine gurgled to life, filling the kitchen with the smell of rich coffee. I liked the good stuff. It was strong enough to wake the dead. While it brewed, I raided the fridge for breakfast supplies.

Eggs, bacon, bread for toast. Simple but the kind of meal that soaked up the last of the alcohol the body couldn’t possibly absorb.

I was plating the food when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Darcy appeared in the kitchen looking a little rough. Her hair was a disaster, her clothes wrinkled from sleeping in them. She squinted at the light even though the windows were tinted.

“Coffee,” she croaked.

“Coming right up.”

I poured her a cup and slid it across the counter. She wrapped both hands around it like it was a lifeline and took a long, desperate sip.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she said.

“That tracks.”

She glared at me, but there was no real heat in it. Hard to be intimidating when you looked green and pale at the same time.

I set a plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and buttered toast in front of her. Her eyes widened slightly.

“You made breakfast?”

“I figured you’d need it. I know I did.”

She stared at the food for a moment, then at me. Gratitude, maybe. Or surprise that I was capable of basic human decency.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For this. For last night. For taking care of me.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” She picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it. “I never get that drunk. I don’t know what happened.”

“You relaxed. That’s what happened.” I sat down across from her with my own plate. “Every so often, people need to blow off steam. Nothing wrong with that.”

She chewed slowly, considering. “I suppose.”

“Plus, you’re a hell of a singer. Better than the concert I went to last month.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “When did I sing?”

I grinned. Her face cycled through confusion, dawning horror, and something that might have been mortification.