Darcy want to shove her fingers in her ears and sing la la la, not paying attention . “I thought you had hung up.”
Yep. Testosterone walked in, five hundred brain cells marched out.
“Sorry. I need to confirm some dates with you. Before you get too busy,” she couldn’t help but add.
“Of course. Fire away.”
Darcy rattled off the requests, knowing full well from the faraway mmm-hmms on the other end that her mother’s focus was elsewhere. Sure enough, as soon as she paused, Sylvie pounced.
“You know, dear, why don’t you email all that to me? I’ll go over it later.”
Later, as in sometime when Matteo wasn’t around.
It had been this way for almost as long as Darcy could remember. It seemed like mere weeks between the time Paul died and the parade of new friends/uncles/possible new daddies had begun. As an adult, Darcy could look back and see that, yes, Sylvie had gone quite a while without adult companionship, and, yes, it was rather pathetic that she became so dependent on them so quickly. Most of the time Darcy rolled her eyes and gave thanks that she was no longer young enough to have to tag along when Sylvie decided to follow her latest love. Seeing the world was fine and dandy, but Darcy had inherited her father’s love of home. She was quite happy to spend her days in her snug little house, just her and Cady. And, usually, Ian. Who had turned out to deliver the kind of kiss that left her wishing it had gone on just a little longer—
Oh, no. Inheriting Sylvie’s hair and eyes was one thing. Inheriting her man-induced dizziness was quite another.
“Okay. I’ll email you. Better run, Cady’s waking up,” she lied. “Say hi to Matteo for me. I’ll talk to you next week.”
She ended the call quickly in case any rogue Sylvie genes were being activated by the contact, distant though it might be.
“At least that’s behind me,” she said to the robins perched in the crab apple tree next to the porch. They didn’t seem remotely impressed with her amazing strength and fortitude.
Though maybe that was because they were mind readers who knew that while a part of her was busy shaking her head over Sylvie, another part was reliving that quick kiss with Ian and wondering about the justice of a world where a grandmother was seeing more action than her daughter ever had.
* * *
S OMEWHERE IN THE TALK of Darcy coming along on this trip, Ian had forgotten one major point: the actual car ride.
He gripped the steering wheel and tore his focus from the traffic in front of him to do one of the status checks that had become routine after three-plus hours on the road. Cady: snoozing in her car seat. Lulu: probably asleep in her crate, if the blessed lack of yipping was any indication. And Darcy: swaying in the passenger seat, singing softly to whatever was coming out of the laptop perched on her knee. In denim shorts and headphones she looked more like a college student than a hardworking mother.
For the first time he wondered if talking her into coming along might have been a mistake. Being so close to her in the car was stirring up a crap-load of feelings, most of them pertaining to that stupid kiss. How was he supposed to prepare himself for a seriously awkward family reunion when his eyes kept drifting away from the road and over to where her shorts exposed a whole lot of leg? Long, slightly tan, totally toned leg.
And the humidity had seized control of her hair, making it extra wavy. Each curl was like an individual finger beckoning him closer.
And when she really got into the music, she did some motion with her shoulders that made her breasts jiggle beneath her T-shirt. All in all, being in the Mustang with her was way too dangerous, given that they were on a busy highway and he wasn’t supposed to be noticing her.
If he could think of something to get her talking at least the seat-dancing would stop. If only his brain cells weren’t being hijacked by his—
Thank God, right at that
Yep. Testosterone walked in, five hundred brain cells marched out.
“Sorry. I need to confirm some dates with you. Before you get too busy,” she couldn’t help but add.
“Of course. Fire away.”
Darcy rattled off the requests, knowing full well from the faraway mmm-hmms on the other end that her mother’s focus was elsewhere. Sure enough, as soon as she paused, Sylvie pounced.
“You know, dear, why don’t you email all that to me? I’ll go over it later.”
Later, as in sometime when Matteo wasn’t around.
It had been this way for almost as long as Darcy could remember. It seemed like mere weeks between the time Paul died and the parade of new friends/uncles/possible new daddies had begun. As an adult, Darcy could look back and see that, yes, Sylvie had gone quite a while without adult companionship, and, yes, it was rather pathetic that she became so dependent on them so quickly. Most of the time Darcy rolled her eyes and gave thanks that she was no longer young enough to have to tag along when Sylvie decided to follow her latest love. Seeing the world was fine and dandy, but Darcy had inherited her father’s love of home. She was quite happy to spend her days in her snug little house, just her and Cady. And, usually, Ian. Who had turned out to deliver the kind of kiss that left her wishing it had gone on just a little longer—
Oh, no. Inheriting Sylvie’s hair and eyes was one thing. Inheriting her man-induced dizziness was quite another.
“Okay. I’ll email you. Better run, Cady’s waking up,” she lied. “Say hi to Matteo for me. I’ll talk to you next week.”
She ended the call quickly in case any rogue Sylvie genes were being activated by the contact, distant though it might be.
“At least that’s behind me,” she said to the robins perched in the crab apple tree next to the porch. They didn’t seem remotely impressed with her amazing strength and fortitude.
Though maybe that was because they were mind readers who knew that while a part of her was busy shaking her head over Sylvie, another part was reliving that quick kiss with Ian and wondering about the justice of a world where a grandmother was seeing more action than her daughter ever had.
* * *
S OMEWHERE IN THE TALK of Darcy coming along on this trip, Ian had forgotten one major point: the actual car ride.
He gripped the steering wheel and tore his focus from the traffic in front of him to do one of the status checks that had become routine after three-plus hours on the road. Cady: snoozing in her car seat. Lulu: probably asleep in her crate, if the blessed lack of yipping was any indication. And Darcy: swaying in the passenger seat, singing softly to whatever was coming out of the laptop perched on her knee. In denim shorts and headphones she looked more like a college student than a hardworking mother.
For the first time he wondered if talking her into coming along might have been a mistake. Being so close to her in the car was stirring up a crap-load of feelings, most of them pertaining to that stupid kiss. How was he supposed to prepare himself for a seriously awkward family reunion when his eyes kept drifting away from the road and over to where her shorts exposed a whole lot of leg? Long, slightly tan, totally toned leg.
And the humidity had seized control of her hair, making it extra wavy. Each curl was like an individual finger beckoning him closer.
And when she really got into the music, she did some motion with her shoulders that made her breasts jiggle beneath her T-shirt. All in all, being in the Mustang with her was way too dangerous, given that they were on a busy highway and he wasn’t supposed to be noticing her.
If he could think of something to get her talking at least the seat-dancing would stop. If only his brain cells weren’t being hijacked by his—
Thank God, right at that
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