LITMIR.BIZ

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amused him apparently. Or something did. “Come on in. I don’t have to leave for your house for another fifteen minutes. The coffee’s still hot and I have a blueberry cake that should be finished.”

      “Oh, you know…I just wanted to drop this off for Marjory.” She held out her ludicrously padded package, feeling a panicked need to run from this complete reconfiguration of her last twelve hours so she could think the new version through.

      “It’s a painting. By Mr. Hous…uh, your great-uncle. I wanted Marjory to have it back.”

      “Thanks.” He took the painting. “You don’t want to keep it? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

      “Oh. Well.” She moved her hair back behind her shoulders, where it never wanted to stay, desperately trying to think of some reason not to keep the artwork other than loathing. “I’m just…I…Well, she should have it.”

      He winked and she felt a little fizzy in response. “I didn’t like his work, either. But Aunt Marjory was proud of him. She’ll appreciate this, thank you.”

      “My dad loved the painting. He hung it in his study, over his desk.”

      “That’s nice to know.” His eyes warmed with sympathy and her fizz got fizzier. “I heard about your dad last year. I’m sorry.”

      “Thank you. I miss him, but I’m glad he’s at peace now.”

      “I can’t believe I didn’t figure out who you were. I assumed the house had been sold by now and that you were the new owner.”

      “No. The old one.” She took a step back, frantic to escape. This was horrible. How did you have a polite catching-up conversation with someone as if you hadn’t seen him in years, when last night…

      “Sure you won’t have coffee?”

      “No. No. No, thanks.” She grimaced. Think she could say no a few more times?

      “Okay.” His eyes cooled. “See you later.”

      “Uh. I’m probably going to be out most of the day.”

      “Right.” His lips scrunched into a line; he turned back into his house, lifting his hand. “Bye.”

      Darcy nodded idiotically at the back of his head, then turned and fled up 64th Street, not feeling entitled to the shortcut anymore. She turned right on Clarke, south on 63rd, into her house and directly to her phone, desperately needing Molly.

      “Good morning, sunshine.”

      “Hi, Molly. Um…I need to…Last night…”

      “Uh-oh, crisis.” Molly sighed. “I had three already this morning. Can’t find favorite shirt, didn’t like breakfast, left shoes across the street at Ricky’s house.”

      “Sorry, I know you’re swamped.”

      “For you, I can handle it. Just don’t call me Mom or honey.”

      “Deal.”

      “So?”

      Darcy wrinkled her nose and launched herself into furious back-and-forth pacing across the now-rugless hardwood floor in the living room. “Last night. You know that painter I told you about?”

      “Uh-oh. You did it…or rather, you did him?”

      “Yes.”

      “And now begins the fallout. Won’t say I-told-you-so, but want to.”

      “No, last night was fine. More than fine. Perfect. He was…”

      She stopped pacing, unable to tell her best friend, whom she told absolutely everything, any details. “Well, it was perfect.”

      “I’m getting the perfect part, but you’re not in crisis over that.”

      “No. So. This morning, I go to Marjory Houston’s house to take back one of her husband’s paintings.”

      “The hideous one from your dad’s study?”

      “Yup. Only it’s not Marjory Houston at the house.”

      “No, she’s at Royal Oaks.”

      “Instead it’s…Well, it’s…”

      “Tyler Houston lives there now.”

      “Right. Him.”

      “And?”

      “Him, Molly. Him.”

      Molly’s gasp came over the line loud and clear, followed by a giggle. “Oh. My. God. You seduced Tyler Houston?”

      “Apparently.”

      Molly of course only saw the humor in this disaster and helped herself to a good long belly laugh at Darcy’s expense.

      “You didn’t recognize him?”

      “Why would I? I only saw him a few times that I can remember, and that was over ten years ago. He’s at least five years older than me, and let’s face it, sort of invisible next to his brother.”

      “But you can see him now, I take it.”

      “He grew up.” She pictured him coming into her room naked except for the towel and then naked without the towel and couldn’t help a dreamy smile. If only he’d stayed Garrett. But even now, knowing he was Tyler didn’t change that last night was perfect.

      “So what now? When are you going to see him next?”

      “I’m not.” She started pacing again. “Obviously.”

      “What? Why?”

      “Because it was only an accident that he turned out to be a real person. While he was a fantasy, the entire experience was amazing.”

      “Oh, give me a—”

      “I’m serious.” She directed her pacing to the ugly brown couch by the front window and sprawled on it. “And I want more.”

      “You just said you weren’t going to see him.”

      “No. With someone else. A different fantasy. Last night was amazing, Molly. I felt so free and powerful. And sexy, like movie-star sexy. The most amazing high I’ve ever had. I want that again.”

      “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

      “No. I’m telling you, it was incredible.”

      “Yeah, I hear heroin gives a pretty good high, too. Doesn’t make it a good idea.”

      “Honestly.” Darcy gave a boring beige throw pillow a good solid punch. “Do all people start parenting everyone they know after they have kids?”

      “Only when they need it.”

      “Molly…”

      “You know, the more I think about it, you and Tyler could make a really good couple. He’s smart, funny, really sharp. He’ll be teaching at UWM next fall. Bruce admires him, and you know Bruce, he doesn’t suffer fools.”

      “I know that about Bruce.”

      “So why not? Is he interested? I mean, obviously he was last night. What guy wouldn’t be with your, er, charming offer on the table. But this morning?”

      Darcy scrunched up her mouth. He had looked at her sort of eagerly now that she thought about it. He had invited her in for coffee. Her insides started to warm and soften. His eyes were such a gorgeous color. Sometimes blue, sometimes green, often both. They made her—

      Wait, what was she thinking? “Whether or not he’s interested is beside the point. I’m not interested.”

      “Why not? He’s a hell of a catch.”

      “I’m leaving town in a few weeks. Why would I want to start something? The only thing I have room for is fun.”

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