She stood for a moment in the buffering wind, staring intently at the door as if will alone could propel it open. For Reid to be there waiting instead of out at a Christmas Eve function, unaware that Darby had come to her senses.
Maybe just a little too late.
She trudged back through spreading puddles on the sidewalk and drove home. Head down, beanie pulled low over her eyes, she flung herself out of the car and hurried up the driveway. Wind whipped the trees and shrubs in her garden to an accusing whisper that followed her up the steps to her front door.
“Hey,” came a deep male voice from the corner of her porch.
Darby dropped her keys, whirled into a it may be Christmas but I’ll still kick your burgling ass ninja stance, and yelled an un-holiday-like four-letter word. The adrenaline punching into her gut didn’t evaporate when her brain caught up with what her eyes were seeing.
Reid—his hair wind tousled, his mouth curved in a somewhat apologetic smile, his eyes creased with amusement.
Reid—dressed in buttery soft jeans that clung to his long legs and a tailored black wool coat with the collar turned up.
Reid—sitting on her little bench seat with his arms securely wrapped around a cardboard box on his lap.
“Sorry,” he said. “Did I scare you?”
Darby adjusted her ninja stance to a casual hipshot one, slapping a palm to her chest in an attempt to keep her pounding heart seated inside. “Nope. I always react in interpretive dance when I come home to find a man waiting at my door with a box containing God knows what.”
The box on Reid’s lap jerked like it had the hiccups. As she continued to watch, the cardboard made a low growling sound. Darby leaned a little to the left. There was a golf-ball-sized ragged hole at the end of the box, and suddenly a black and white furry paw shot out of it. The paw grew into a black and white furry arm whose razor-tipped claws came perilously close to Reid’s thigh.
“Um, Reid? It appears that something in your box is trying to shred its way out and eat your face.”
Sensibly, he stood before the clawed paw made contact. The box, pissy at being juggled around, hissed. “It’s a cat,” he said.
“Oh, good.” Darby stooped—being careful to keep her face out of box range—and snatched up her keys. “For a moment I thought it was Sigourney Weaver’s alien in there.”
“I’m not entirely sure it isn’t.”
Fingers feeling like ten fat sausages, Darby finally managed to locate the right key and insert it into the lock. Reid was here. Along with a killer feline in a box—but still.
Reid was here.
Darby shoved the front door open and turned back to face him.
“The vet’s closed, so I thought I’d better bring the cat here for you to check over.” Reid remained where he was on the porch, the box now heaving in his arms.
“The vet? Oh God—did you run it over?”
“No!” Reid said. “No. Nothing like that.”
“But it’s hurt?”
Another low growl came from Reid’s arms. “Uh, something’s not quite right with it.” His gaze shot toward the stairs. “Look, maybe this is a bad idea.”
“You’d better bring it in and I’ll take a look.” What were a few scratches from an injured cat when, for one, animal welfare was at stake, and two, it meant Reid would be in her house hopefully long enough for her to figure out how to keep him there?
Permanently.
He followed her inside, and she directed him into the living room while she fed her waiting animals in the kitchen.
“Wish me luck, guys,” she whispered, scratching Duke behind the ears as he chowed down on his kibble.
Darby slipped into the living room to find Reid perched on the edge of her sofa, leaning over the coffee table with his arms braced either side of the box top.
“Some wingman you turned out to be,” he muttered.
Gnawing, scratching sounds were his only reply.
Her shoes must’ve squeaked against the floorboards as his chin jerked up toward the door. Whatever he’d been about to say was lost in an explosion of black and white fur rocketing out of the box. The cat leaped off the coffee table and streaked toward freedom. Years of animals escaping cardboard boxes had honed Darby’s reaction times and she managed to kick the door shut behind her. The cat—a strangely familiar-looking shorthair with black blotches over its white face—skidded on the floor at her feet and changed direction, slinking under an armchair.
Reid was on his feet, palms in the air in a don’t shoot me gesture. “Guess it must be feeling better.”
He edged around the coffee table and lowered himself to the floor near the armchair, probably preparing to “Here, kitty, kitty” the creature out.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said.
He rocked back on his heels, keeping his face well away from the chair and turning it instead to her. “Any suggestions?”
“Sure.” She held up a wait a minute finger and dropped to her hands and knees, studying the cat crouched under the chair watching them.
“Panda,” she called sweetly. “Come on out and give me some sugar, you gorgeous boy.” She clucked her tongue and made a little kissing noise.
“Really?” Reid said from a safe distance away.
“Shut up. Males can’t resist their egos being stroked.”
He barked out a quiet laugh as the cat’s gaze went from slitted to half-mast to wide open and he wriggled out from under the armchair and sashayed over to Darby, tail straight up in the air. Darby stroked a palm down his spine and Panda purred like a lawn mower, rising on his back legs to bunt his head against her chin.
Darby continued to lightly run her hands over Panda’s body until the cat flopped onto its side and stretched out in a rub my belly pose. In her professional opinion, there was nothing wrong with this cat other than usual feline annoyance at being stuck somewhere it didn’t want to be.
“Here’s a suggestion,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me how you came to have my neighbor’s perfectly healthy cat trapped in a cardboard box?”
Reid, sitting on her living room floor with his arms draped loosely over his bent knees, shot her a sheepish smile. “I was halfway here when I decided I needed an excuse to show up on your doorstep uninvited. Add in sleep deprivation, a handy cardboard box, and a cat minding its own business on a garden wall, and…” He shrugged. “Picked the wrong cat to mess with, obviously.”
“Yeah, you did.” Darby scooped up the melted pool of purring feline and carried him to the French doors, opening one a crack and setting him down outside. He gave her the stink eye for putting him out in the cold then leaped over the boundary fence into his own property.
She shut the door and turned back to Reid, who was still sitting on the floor. She went and sat beside him, mirroring his position and leaning her back against the coffee table.
“I went to your place after work, but you weren’t there.”
He sighed. “I’ve been sitting in my parked car down the street for about an hour.” He rolled his head toward her. “You came to see me?”
“Mm-hmm.” Sitting this close to him, the familiar tongue-tiedness kicked in.
Nice, Darby. Real good people skills you have there.
“For another wardrobe project you had in mind? Left it a little late in the day for a custom-made Santa suit, haven’t you?”
“Listen,” she said. “There can only be one person in each couple who cracks awkward jokes to avoid talking about feelings, and that position’s spoken for.”
His mouth twitched up in the corner. “We’re going to talk about feelings now?”
“Unless you’d rather discuss your cat-napping attempt gone wrong.”
The twitch turned into a small smile.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Dammit.” She sucked in a shuddery breath, shooting him a sideways glance to see if there was any indication on his face as to why he was really there.
His face was a bla
nk but sexy as all get-out canvas. The stomach knot twisted in on itself, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to run from him.
She hugged her knees to anchor herself to the spot. “You walked out of that hotel room and I was mad as hell at you for not convincing me to stay. And I was mad as hell at myself for slinking back to Invers with my tail between my legs instead of being brave enough to tell you I loved you, too—that I love you.” The love you part came out in a breathless squeak because her lungs had stopped working once she’d caught a look at the expression on Reid’s face.
A serious yeah, and? expression.
As if what she’d said wasn’t earth-shattering and life-changing news to him. As if maybe he’d already recovered from falling in love with her, like she’d been a case of the flu with a persistent cough that had finally cleared.
The living room was silent except for the tick, tick, tick of a wall clock counting down the seconds until Reid stood and said ‘See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya,’ and left. Only he wasn’t going to leave. And he wasn’t only there because it was Christmas Eve and maybe she had some of his favorite beer still in her fridge. He was there because he did still love her. Because the snide little voice that said that he mightn’t was fear talking, and while Darby was scared of a lot of things—like the gunk that gathered around the top of the ketchup bottle that looked a little like clotted blood—her faith in Reid wasn’t based on fear.
“I know you love me,” Reid finally said. “But we can’t keep dancing around the elephant in the middle of the room.”
Darby winced. “The cancer coming back. I know.”
“The cancer’s not the elephant,” Reid said. “Sure, it’s one of the cruelest things two people who love each other might have to deal with, but it’s not the elephant I mean, and that elephant has to go. It’s in our way.”
“What’s the elephant, then?” she asked. “And thanks for the mental image, by the way. Now I’m picturing an elephant in a pink tutu and ballet slippers.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “But instead of me putting words into your mouth, why don’t you tell me what’s holding you back?”
He unhooked a hand from around his knee and held it palm out toward her. Something inside her gut unfurled and stretched in the warmth of the gesture as she laced her fingers with Reid’s. It meant more than she could verbalize, this simple offering of his strength to lean on while he gave her the space to speak what was in her heart.
“Fear,” she said quietly. “At least it was, and to be honest, I haven’t quite conquered all of it yet.”
“Me either.” He squeezed her fingers. “Go on.”
“I’ve lost friends to cancer, but I can’t imagine the pain of losing a mother or someone you’ve shared your body, heart, and soul with. Now that I know that kind of love”—heat crawled up her cheeks at the admission—“an everlasting kind of love. I can’t imagine putting you through the worst-case scenario.” She still couldn’t bring herself to talk about her own death with him, even though she’d faced those demons alone many times during her treatments.
“The worst-case scenario being you die in the arms of the man who loves you?”
“You make it sound so tragic and romantic, but it wouldn’t be,” she said.
“Sweetheart, trust me, I know what it’s really like. And if it came to that, I would count each moment caring for you, being with you, as a privilege and a blessing,” he said. “But it won’t come to that. And while I love you even more for being concerned about what I’d go through, I’m not as fragile as you think, and neither are you.” He cocked his head. “For the sake of an argument, if our situations were reversed, what would you say to me?”
“Quit worrying about the sky falling and accept that you’re stuck with me until the end of time, you big, stubborn crybaby.”
Reid grinned at her and raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. “There you go. Anything else before I kiss you under a conveniently placed sprig of mistletoe, Chicken Little?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it.” She wriggled around on the floor until she faced him. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m scared of how much I feel for you in such a short amount of time.”
He pulled a face and rolled his shoulder forward. “Time is subjective when you’re talking about love. And we’ve got plenty of it.”
“Time or love?”
“Both.”
“Our lives might not be a perfect fairy tale.” She rocked up on her knees to set her hands on his chest. He tugged her closer and she straddled him, burying her face against the curve of his neck.
“Maybe not a fairy tale.” He stroked her hair. “But our lives will write the story of us together, and that’s good enough for me. I love you, Darby.”
Darby pulled back and cupped Reid’s face in her trembling hands. “I love you, too, my very own Prince Charming.”
Looking into his eyes in the soft glow of the fairy lights she’d strung around the room, Darby believed him. Time was subjective when it came to love. Whether they had days, months, years, or decades, one lifetime would never be enough to write the story of Darby Livingston and Reid Hudson, and yet…
It would be everything she’d dreamed of, and more.
Epilogue
Two months later…
* * *
Bracketed on either side by Mac and Laura, Reid stood in Sunflower House’s front yard along with a crowd of other smiling people who filled it and spilled onto the sidewalk. Today was the official ribbon cutting to reopen the house after the new roof was completed.
Darby, along with Sunflower House’s manager and two of Darby’s Boobie Sister friends, Marianne and Raelene, stood on the front porch ready to address the crowd. The local paper had a reporter taking photos, and twenty minutes ago a local TV station had sent a small camera crew.
He caught Darby’s eye—thanks to being taller than most of the people in front of him—and she offered him a confident smile. A smile he’d spotted her practicing in front of the bathroom mirror earlier while Maddie the cat perched on the vanity, mewing her opinion at her. He’d teased her about it over a bacon and eggs breakfast they’d shared with Laura upstairs. As usual, as he’d discovered in the past month since Darby and her fur babies had moved in with him, his roommate took his woman’s side, pointing out that fear of public speaking was nothing to be laughed at, unlike that of big, strapping men who were afraid of snakes, for example.
A whine at his feet drew Reid’s attention down. Duke huddled close to his ankle, shivering. “Really?” he asked as the little dog let out another whimper. With a sigh, he stooped down and gathered Duke into his arms. “Happy that you can see her now?”
Duke licked his jaw then went on canine alert when he spotted Darby up ahead. He couldn’t blame the dog for the intensity of his stare. Reid couldn’t keep his eyes off her either. She wore an off-the-shoulder pink dress—“I don’t give a rat’s furry behind if it clashes with my hair,” she’d said—and she looked amazing.
Sunflower House’s manager tapped the microphone then started her prepared speech. Reid listened with half an ear, his heart still floating like the yellow and pink helium balloons strung around the property. Ten days ago he’d accompanied Darby to her full-body scan. After suffering endless nerves of ‘scanxiety,’ the hospital had phoned with the results yesterday morning.
All clear.
Darby was still in remission, and in a short time she’d officially be cancer free.
Other than Darby moving in with him—it didn’t take much convincing once he’d pointed out that Duke, Spartacus, and Maddie would be safer on the roads in the quieter industrial part of town—this was by far the best post-Christmas present he could’ve hoped for.
The manager finished talking and the crowd politely applauded. Reid, who still had an armful of dog, sent Darby a you can do this, sweetheart nod. On stage, or porch in this case, Darby took the microphone. Even from where he stood Reid could see the trembling
in her hands. He grimaced, stomach knotting on her behalf.
Darby, who was brave enough to fight cancer, brave enough to dress up as an ugly stepsister on stage—which was not the same as speaking in public, she’d pointed out emphatically—and brave enough to throw caution to the wind and love him with her whole, beautiful, unique heart, was shaking with nerves. Although her friends stood close behind her, she stared out at the crowd as if she were living a nightmare where she turned up to class naked.
Reid swore, shoved Duke into Mac’s arms, and pushed through the crowd until he reached the steps.
“I can’t remember a damn thing,” Darby whispered as he climbed the steps to stand at her side.
Of course the microphone picked up every word and amplified it. Chuckles rippled through the crowd, and Darby scrunched up her face. Reid plucked the microphone out of her limp hand, then lifted it to show the crowd the glitter of diamonds on her left ring finger.
“This is the reason she can’t remember her speech, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Last night I asked Darby to make an honest man out of me, and she said yes.”
Applause and cheers rang out from the yard, and Duke began to bark as he was jiggled in Mac’s arms. Reid glanced down at Darby, who’d apparently forgotten they were standing in front of cameras, as she dragged his mouth down to hers in a scorching hot kiss. Before things got out of hand with his new fiancée, Reid pulled back and addressed the crowd again.
“Now I’ve forgotten Darby’s speech, too,” he said.
More laughter rippled through the crowd and someone from the back shouted, “Speeches are boring—tell her you love her and kiss her again, mate!”
Reid grinned as Darby wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, I will. Every day for the rest of our lives.”
In a mic-drop moment, he shoved the microphone into Marianne’s hand and dipped Darby over his arm. Then he kissed her into their own happily ever after.
If you haven’t read MacKenna Jones story (Reid’s BFF), you can find it at all online retailers!
Love Everlasting Page 21
