What's Yours is Mine (23 page)

Will watched Darcy slide her way toward him, glancing over her shoulder at the ground several feet below. “You sure you’re up for this? You can always go back down and have a cup of tea in my sister’s cozy kitchen.”

Darcy glared at him, fierce with determination. He smothered a knowing grin. All he had to do was ignite that competitive drive, and she was clambering across the roof, fear forgotten. “She probably drinks that ground-dirt-and-tree-root stuff like you, doesn’t she? No, thanks.”
 

“I think she has some Earl Grey. She might even have a carton of cow’s milk.”
 

“Coffee?” Darcy looked hopeful.

 
“No coffee, sorry.”
 

Darcy glanced back down over her shoulder. Remembering her fear, she clutched at the nearest tiles, her clenched fingers scraping the hard clay to no avail.
 

Time for a diversion. He handed her a pry tool. “Here, can you get these tiles off cleanly? Just around this edge.” He pointed to the ragged edge of the hole, the most damaged tiles.

To her credit, she tried. As she struggled with the tile, she growled under her breath like an irritated cat.
 

Will crouched beside her and placed his hands over hers to guide her. Her hair brushed against his nose. He caught a faint whiff of morning dew and sea salt. Her back felt warm against his chest, her ass brushed up against him, and he remembered why he hadn’t shared the bed with her last night. Too tempting.
 

He was tired of fighting his desire. Tired of putting up walls. And he certainly didn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight.

But that way lay danger.
 

He looked down into the ragged-edged hole they were trying to fix. Beyond the dark beams holding up the roof, he caught a glimpse of rug and a colorful turtle popper toy that probably belonged to Jakey. Sheila had opened herself to Harley, and he’d decimated her life. And Darcy? She wasn’t someone he should be letting into his heart.
 

And yet… He could feel her slight hiccup of breath as she slid the tool under the tile and pried it up, his fingers curved over hers, supporting and guiding. Afterward, she leaned back against him, feeling so right in his arms he wanted to hold his breath and stop time. Preserve this moment.

Instead, he got up. “I think you’ve got the hang of it.” He went around to the other side of the hole and started ripping up tiles, not looking at her.
 

An hour passed. They finished peeling off the broken roof tiles, and he began laying in the support beam. He and Darcy found a rhythm, working well together. Their conversation was limited to grunts and pointing, with occasional bursts of “Can you hand me that?” and “What do I do with this?”
 

Two hours passed. The sun rose in the sky, heating his back. Between that and the manual labor, hauling boards up the ladder and onto the roof, his T-shirt was damp and uncomfortable. If he were up here with the guys from his usual crew, he’d just peel off the shirt and let the air cool him.
 

What the hell. It wasn’t like Darcy hadn’t seen him shirtless before.

~*~

When Will took his shirt off, Darcy tried not to look. She really did. She focused on holding the level steady, then on holding the board steady. She looked down at the work, hyperaware of his hands, those capable hands, calloused and strong, with long fingers that worked so precisely and so quickly. She certainly didn’t look at his bare chest, his well-defined abs, the small crevice at the center of his breastbone, or the fine golden hair lit by the sun, hair that started in a diamond on his chest and narrowed to a mere suggestion of a line pointing like an arrow all the way down his chest, his stomach, past his belly button, down into his jeans and the suggestion of the thatch she knew was there…

She didn’t look. Once or twice her attention randomly drifted in that direction, that was all. Three times, tops. When her hand touched his as she passed him a hammer, she only jumped a little, and her gaze flew to his by accident. If his eyes were glowing with something dark and heady and he wet his lips unconsciously, as if he too were feeling that rush of connection, that sexual tension, it was probably her imagination. The tingle in her breasts and between her thighs, well, that would go away as soon as she turned back to the task at hand and blocked out the fact of the man, the virile, half-naked, often infuriating man working alongside her.

~*~

It was time to talk. Past time, if Will was honest with himself.
 

“Darcy, I think—” He paused, unsure.
 

She looked up, her eyes alight with unexpected emotion. It threw him. Her hair was damp with sweat; tendrils stuck to her skin. Rivulets trickled down into her V-neck tee, and her shirt clung to her torso, outlining those sweetly perky breasts he should not be noticing. Her cheeks were pink with effort, and when she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, her shirt lifted, showing a band of taut flesh.
 

She was completely lovely. Maybe she was all wrong for him, but she was also kind and funny, and she gave as good as she got. And he owed her more than he’d given her. And so…

“Darcy. I think you were right yesterday.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry about what happened. I never intended for any of this to be manipulative or unfair—or, well, maybe I did originally, but that was back on the first day, and—” She stopped, seemingly unable to continue.
 

He understood. “Before we got past the hate.”

“You’re not the enemy, I know that.” She wiped her brow again, leaving a smudge across her forehead, the movement so unselfconscious, it was hard to believe this was the sharp-edged businesswoman she presented to the world.
 

“That’s what I’m trying to say. I overreacted yesterday. I’ve been overreacting since I saw you standing in front of the condo complex last month, watching me. It’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry for that.” He picked up the hammer and a red curved tile, placing the tile just so in the slot and hammering it into place.

~*~

How could he just say that and turn away? How could he do that? He seemed to have a shut-off valve for emotions. Was it a male thing or a Will thing?
 

“So what does this mean for us? I mean, for the condo?”

He held his hand out, palm up. She handed him another red clay tile, which he wedged into position. “I have no idea.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you still think I put the triclosate into the lotion?”

He didn’t answer. She could hear the far-off sound of a twittering bird, a car driving by, a child shouting in the echoing silence of what Will wasn’t saying.
 

Will put his hand out, palm up. She slapped another tile into his hand. He still said nothing, just took it.
 

Finally, he said, “Does it matter what I think? You have your job, a nice career track. Stan seems to adore you.” Finally he met her gaze. His changeable eyes were blue and clear today, like the horizon where sea meets sky. Infinite.
 

“Yes, but…”

He shook his head. He seemed to know what she was really asking. “Maybe that’s all I have. Maybe this is all I am.” He gestured toward himself, toward the roof. “I’m a simple man.”

She couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter.
 

He gave her a toothy grin. “Okay, not so simple. But I don’t hold all the answers. And you can’t take my judgment of you too much to heart.”

Well. That was unexpected. Almost a benediction, in its way.
 

She sat back, resting for a moment, and watched Will work. He moved deftly, knew his way around the tools, and seemed to evaluate in an instant what needed to be done. He was good with his hands, sure in himself and in his body.
 

It would have been a shame if he’d spent his entire life working under fluorescent lights, designing abstract objects on a computer. He was meant for the outdoors, for working with his hands, his body, and his mind all in concert.
 

Will had clearly come into his own. He knew who he was. Darcy used to think she knew who she was. Now she wasn’t so sure. But she tilted her head up to soak in the sun and enjoy the breeze riffling through her hair, and let herself just be where she was. It felt good.

~*~

After they finished the job and washed up, a grateful Sheila gave them tea. Peppermint, nothing too weird. She also put out a plate of cookies. Darcy noticed that Will took one but didn’t eat. He just crumbled the edges, making it look like he’d eaten some of it, not wanting to hurt his sister. Interesting.
 

On the way home, Darcy leaned back against the seat cushion, feeling parts of her body ache that had never felt pain before. Thirty minutes on the elliptical had nothing on a morning up on the roof. When she got home, she wanted to take a good long soak in that deep, beautiful spa tub of hers—his? Theirs. It seemed the only pronoun that fit. Temporarily, of course.
 

She glanced over at Will, who was similarly grimy. Maybe she’d let him take that bath first. He needed it. He must be tired, he’d done the bulk of the heavy work, and yet there was an ease, a fluidity about him that she hadn’t seen before. He looked truly calm, not just striving for calm.

Chapter Twenty

When they got home, Janet Gillooly was sitting on their stoop. Her chin rested on her hands; her posture screamed defeat. Darcy slowed, a sick dread clogging her throat. This was about to be over, wasn’t it? Tim Farrow had found a loophole in the contract, hired a big-time lawyer, would refund their money, and kick them both out. No more cocoon, no more home, no more living in weird, ass-backwards almost-sin with Will, whom she didn’t hate anymore and who seemed to be thawing toward her too.
 

Janet looked up, and Darcy could see tracks of tears on her cheeks. Darcy crouched low, eye level with Janet, feeling awkward. “What’s going on?”

“You weren’t here, neither of you, and I thought, how ironic would that be? You finally sorted it out, but too late for me.” Janet gulped back a sob. “Where did you go?”

“Will had to do a favor for his sister, so I went along. We haven’t sorted anything out.”
Getting closer, though.
“Is this about the condo?”

Will came up behind them and knelt down, taking Janet’s hands. He seemed to know just what to do. “What’s going on? Did Tim do something?”

Janet burst into loud sobs. Okay, maybe Will’s approach had some down sides. “Alina and Roger. They fired me. Just like that. Twenty-two years at the agency and good-bye, be gone, clear off your desk, and get out. I didn’t expect, I don’t know, how can I—” She took a deep breath. “No. I take the blame for this mess. I don’t know how it happened, but they’re right, it was clearly my fault, because what else could it be?” She sniffled. “But I love my job. I love matching people with homes. I don’t know how to do anything else. I’m not good at anything else. What am I going to do now?” Her last sentence was almost a wail.
 

Darcy stood up and unlocked the door. “You’re going to come in and have some coffee, err, tea, it’s, uh, bracing. And healthy and stuff. And you’ll tell us all about it.”

Will guided Janet to her feet. “Between the three of us, we’ll find a way to help you.” His deep rumble took on a soothing tone. Even Darcy could feel its effects.
 

Janet took his arm gratefully. “There is no solution. Even if you came to an agreement right now and one of you moved out. They were adamant. But I could use something to drink. Do you have any vodka?”

“Tea,” Will said firmly.
 

Ten minutes later, they all sat on the back patio, mugs of hot bitter pond water warm in their hands, and Janet told her story. A simple, not entirely surprising one. Alina and Roger had given Janet two days to resolve the issue. Janet had done her best, going door to door in the complex, then following up with numerous phone calls. Begging someone, anyone, to move out and let Will or Darcy take their place. Apparently it had backfired badly. Someone, she didn’t know who (Darcy was betting on Tim Farrow’s paranoid mother), had marched over to the realty office, made a big stink, and demanded the mess be fixed right now, if not sooner. And Janet’s two days were up yesterday.
 

The real estate agents had apparently called Darcy’s and Will’s cellphones but got no answer. Sure enough, when Darcy turned her phone back on, she saw three missed messages from the realty office, as well as the requisite half dozen from work.
 

When Alina and Roger hadn’t gotten hold of Darcy or Will, they’d called Tim. Then they’d fired Janet, effective immediately. Someone else would pick up the two homes she currently had in escrow, and she’d go in one last time tomorrow to give the particulars on her four current open listings. “Oh, but Mayisha will hate dealing with Roger. She needs a gentle touch, a kind voice.” The seller was terrified of relinquishing her old home to just anyone, Janet said. Roger would probably scare her into running to one of the big firms down in Santa Barbara, and that could be even more traumatic for her. And then there was Josie and Fayid, with their little cottage…

Darcy excused herself and went inside to dump her twig-and-dirt tea out into the sink while Patient Will let Janet’s fretful monologue run its course. Then she made a phone call.

~*~

Through the clear glass doors, Will watched Darcy move around the room. She poured the tea out; then she sat at the dining table, opened her computer, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. He felt unaccountably disappointed. It was a weekday. Of course she had work to do. He did too. But it seemed cold of her to walk away from Janet when she was falling apart.
 

Janet paused, catching her breath. He stood up and slid the glass door open, ready to go in and confront Darcy.
 

Janet started talking again. “How am I going to tell my kids? And Louis, he’s so proud of me and my work, and now…”