Page 67 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“Well, I mean, you’ve had some very serious reenacting to do,” I say, trying to add some levity.

“Yes, I have.” He lightly knocks his shoulder into mine.

“What do you think you’ll do?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

“Have you ever thought about it?”

He shakes his head. “No. Running Foothills has always been the plan, since I was young.”

“Switch,” he says, holding his carton out for me, but I lean away, keeping the banoffee pie away from him, not wanting to go back to boring chocolate.

“Oh, fine,” I say, relenting. “I guess you do deserve some banoffee pie with all you’ve got going on.”

“That’s true. Don’t be so selfish, Macey,” he says in a teasing voice as we switch pints.

I take a bite of the chocolate, which is definitely disappointing now, after the other flavor. “Well, if you want my opinion—“

“I do,” he cuts in, an earnest look on his face.

“You didn’t let me finish.” I snort out a laugh. “I was going to say, I’m not the person to ask because I’m not even doing what I want to be doing at work.”

“And I’m not going to tell you what I think you should do there, because I already have, and I promised not to push you on things anymore.”

“You literally made me come here tonight,” I say.

He smiles. “You didn’t even argue.”

“That’s true,” I say, and then eat a large spoonful of ice cream.

I didn’t argue. It’s funny—before, my crush on Zane made me act weird around him. But now it’s back in full force, and yet I feel more like myself with him than I have with anyone in a longtime. Strange, isn’t it? Is it being here? The essence of Elizabeth Bennet running through me? Or is it just that we’ve gotten back on equal footing here? Maybe that’s been my problem all along—I put him on a pedestal. Maybe I do that with too many people in my life.

“Okay, but if you were in my shoes, what would you do?” he asks, his look indicating that he’d really like to know. I love that he’s asking me, that he seems to honestly value my opinion.

I think about it while eating disappointing chocolate ice cream. But I don’t have to think too hard. I know what I’d do. I’d work for my family’s company out of obligation and hate every second of it, but gaslight myself and everyone around me into thinking it was the best job ever because I wouldn’t want anyone to feel bad and like they put me in that position. And I’d probably apologize to everyone, all the time.

I let out a breath. “I don’t know, Zane. I think if it were me, I’d stay, but I’d be doing it out of obligation and not because I wanted to.”

“Huh,” he says, contemplating my words.

“But we’re different that way.”

“I guess,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“So ... what doyouwant?” I ask him.

“What do I want?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “What does Zane Porter want?”

The question triggers something in him. His face takes on a more serious look, and his eyes roam my face. It’s as if the answer to what he wants is ... me. Which is crazy. Ridiculous, even.

I think he’s about to lean toward me, to erase the distance between us, but instead he shakes his head, like he’s coming out of a trance.

“Switch,” he says, handing me his carton, and I give him mine.

The moment—whatever it was—is gone.

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