Page 55 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

She laughs softly at that. “I just wanted to let you know what you were in for, that’s all.”

“But see, were you doing that because you were worried I wouldn’t have fun, or because you didn’t want me here?”

She huffs out a breath. “You know, for someone who claims they didn’t have a plan tonight, you sure seem like you did.”

I chuckle. “I promise I didn’t,” I say, reaching over and tapping her lightly on the leg, which makes her sit up a little straighter.

“I just ... I don’t know ... I miss you,” I say.

“I’m right here,” she says, humor in her tone.

“No, I mean, how did we grow apart?”

She sighs now, like she doesn’t want to say.

“Was it the letter?” I ask, not sure how she’ll respond. Maybe she won’t know what I’m even talking about.

She stands up from the bench so fast, like something ejected her from her seat.

“Oh gosh,” she says, her hands going to her face.

I stand up too and take a step toward her.

“You’re not supposed to remember that,” she says, her hands still on her cheeks.

“Of course I remember it,” I tell her.

“Well, do you think you could forget it?” she asks, her voice sounding flustered.

I chuckle. “Why? It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I say. It still is, actually.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she says. “Zane, I was young—”

“So was I,” I tell her.

“Yes, but ...,” she trails off, and I wonder what she wants to say to me right now. I know it’s been ten years and things change; I know she doesn’t feel the same way. So why do I find myself wishing she did? It’s so strange. Maybe it was her on the runaway horse, the fear I felt of her being hurt, or worse. Maybe it’s getting caught up playing Mr. Darcy, although I highly doubt it’s that.

“I should have talked to you about it, when you gave it to me,” I tell her.

“You know, can we just ... not,” she says.

“No, I need to say this.” I put a thumb under her chin and nudge it upward so she’s looking at me. “I should have said something to you, but I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I didn’t.”

She nods, and I remove my hand. “It was years ago, Zane. It’s fine.”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” she says. “I mean, it might be one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done, and ... Can we just not talk about it anymore?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Sure,” I say.

What I won’t tell her now is that back in El Dorado Hills, that letter she wrote sits in my sock drawer. I could never bring myself to throw it away, and sometimes, on occasion, when life felt heavy, I’d read it and wonder what could have been.

“Anyway,” I say. “I just wanted to clear the air. I have really missed you, Mace.”

“That’s Miss Bennet to you,” she says, and I smile because just like that, I know we’re okay.

A noise from outside the gate has us both moving to the wall to hide.

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