Page 59 of Late to Love

He grins. “Oh, you’ll see.”

“I thought you said you didn’t understand why I couldn’t see it.”

“I didn’t. But now I do.”

“You’re not making any sense,” I growl.

He laughs. “I’m making so much sense it’s not even funny. But you can’t know that yet.”

“Tell me or you’re fired.”

Now it’s a straight-up guffaw. “You’re funny. Who knew you could be such a jokester?”

I turn my back on him, done with him and his shenanigans.

The day flies by. The place is hopping, a line of dads grabbing beers at the bar while their kids wreak mayhem on the machines and Skee-ball. I’ve already sent our high school employees to clean up spills in the party rooms and next to the claw machine, and I’ve been told by more than one of them that the bathrooms are under constant attack by screeching babies and toddlers.

In other words: It’s a normal Thursday afternoon in late summer, during that in-between time when you’ve spent too much time at the beach but it’s too early for dinner. And sure, it’s chaotic and nearly impossible to keep things clean and up to the standards I want, but that’s okay. That’s kind of the fun of it, if I’m being honest. This is precisely the kind of place I’d have killed for as a kid, even if I was too poor to enjoy it more than once or twice, and I’m beyond happy to have it for the ones around now. It stings that the rest of my family doesn’t see this for what it is, but it’s something I have to get over.

My phone buzzes, and it’s a text from Darcy.

DARCY

Ready when you are, handsome.

Biting back a smile, I send a thumbs-up. A moment later, another text comes in.

DARCY

Seriously? That’s all you’re giving me after two months of renovation? A thumbs-up?

Swamped down here. Another hour or so. But don’t worry. When I get up there, I’m going to thank you…or punish you.

DARCY

Mr. Hall, did you just send me a winking emoji? Have you been kidnapped? Send another thumbs-up if you have.

I’m tempted, but I simply click the phone off and turn back to work.

A little more than an hour later, I send an “on my way” message to Darcy and head upstairs. I find her waiting on the threshold, one of her bandanas in hand.

“Put this on,” she says.

“You’re cute,” I answer, but I turn around and let her tie it around my eyes, anyway. It smells of her, watermelon and cherries. And out of nowhere, my heart begins to beat faster.

Sliding her hands down my arms and resting her palms on my hips, she guides me in, a tremor in her voice as she asks, “Are you excited?”

“Um, maybe?” I can’t get a full breath, but I don’t think it’s because I’m worried about what my home will look like.

She hums. “That’s fair.”

A few stumbling steps later, she says I can stop. If I’m not mistaken, her hands tremble a little, too.

“Okay. You can take it off.”

“You sure? You sound a little nervous,” I tease.

She whacks my stomach with her hand. “Take it off.”

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