Page 32 of Christmas in Whitehorn
“I did great from about five until seven this morning.”
She thought about asking what was wrong, but she had a feeling she knew. His lady friend. That’s how she’d come to think of the woman who had killed herself over the weekend.
At first Darcy had tried to convince herself they were just friends, but Mark’s reaction had been all wrong for that. He’d come to her house because he’d needed close, physical contact. The loss of a friend required a hug. The loss of a lover needed much more.
Darcy told herself it wasn’t her business. Mark’s past was his problem. It’s not as if she expected him to have been a virgin the first time they’d done it. When he’d come calling on Sunday she could have told him no. But she hadn’t. She’d wanted to take away his pain—if only for the moment—and making love had been the only thing she could think of to do.
The thing was, she wasn’t sure she would have reacted the same way if she’d known the person in question had been a woman.
She didn’t think Mark had kept the information from her deliberately, but the knowledge had changed everything. Unfortunately, their shift in relationship had left her unsure of what was going to happen next.
He studied her carefully. “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping much, either. Any of that have something to do with me?”
“No. I’m fine,” she told him, hating that his concern made her go all gooey inside.
“Really?”
“I swear.”
He didn’t bother picking up the menu she’d placed in front of him. “Then I’ll have the usual.”
“I don’t think so.”
He nearly smiled. “We’ve had this discussion before and I always win.”
“Not this time. I’m tired of you trying to eat yourself into an early grave. One day this week you’re going to have oatmeal for breakfast. I don’t care what day and I especially don’t care if you try to refuse. It’s gonna happen. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you.”
She expected an argument, but Mark surprised her by leaning back in the booth and agreeing.
“Why not?” he asked. “I might as well get it over with, so I’ll have oatmeal today.”
She was shocked enough not to do much more than blink at him for a full minute.
“Darcy?” He waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Darcy.”
“Does this mean you’re going to have a salad for lunch instead of a burger?”
“Don’t push it.”
“A girl can dream.”
She regretted the choice of words as soon as they passed her lips. Rather than try to explain she hadn’t meant anything by them, she gave him a quick smile and disappeared toward the kitchen to write up his order.
Five minutes later she was back with a bowl of oatmeal, a small pitcher of two percent milk, brown sugar and raisins.
He gazed at his meal as if she’d offered him stir-fried bugs. “Does it have to be so gray?”
“It’s not gray, it’s kind of ecru.”
“And that’s more appealing how?”
His words were light, but she could still see the lingering pain in his eyes.
“Youall right, Mark?” she asked, turning the tables and studying him.
“Sure. Fine.” He glanced at her. “Okay, how about I’m putting it in perspective.”
“That one I’ll accept. I’ve been worried about you.”
