by RC Boldt
I press my lips thin and lift my chin in the direction of the room. “Step in here, and we can talk.”
She nods and steps inside the room Violet uses when she stays over. It’s painted a soft shade of coral, and through one door, it leads to a shared bathroom with the next spare bedroom.
I close the door behind us because I know without a doubt the guys will do their best to eavesdrop on our conversation.
I grip the back of my neck and massage the tense muscles. “I, uh… I bake, sometimes.”
Darcy’s walking around the room, taking in the décor, when she stops so abruptly I fear she’s about to topple over. She whirls around to eye me.
“You bake,” she repeats slowly, sounding a bit stunned.
I nod. “I do.”
That crease between her brows pops up, and she tilts her head to the side. “As in… you bake cakes?”
“Among other things.” I lean my back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “Sometimes, it’s protein muffins or cookies. Or an occasional birthday cake.” I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “The guys like it when I bake them a birthday cake.”
She folds her arms across her chest, mimicking my stance. A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Fascinating.”
I wave her on, ready to show her the rest of the upstairs space. Finally, we come to the last room—my own.
“This is beautiful, Dax.”
I watch as she takes in the bedroom. It’s written on her face that she’s genuinely impressed. She turns and gazes at me with a touch of scrutiny.
Shit. I have a feeling I know what’s coming. Especially since she didn’t address it earlier.
“You never did answer the assessment question asking about your version of happily ever after.”
I blow out an audible breath and lean back against my dresser, focusing my gaze on the plush throw rug settled against the dark cherry hardwood floor. “Because I’m not sure…” I raise my eyes to meet her blue ones. “I don’t want to pigeonhole myself with some grand idea.”
Her features are etched with concern. “How do you mean?”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “Whether I end up as a sportscaster or as a stay-at-home dad who works from home ninety percent of the time, I’m cool with it. But I don’t want to have some preconceived idea in my head. I want to take everything as it comes, in stride.”
Her mouth gives way to a wider smile now. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Mr. Kendrick?”
I shake my head with a laugh. “Not really.”
“Oh, trust me.” Her tone is confident. “We’re going to find you a perfect match.”
“Think so?”
“I know so.” She winks at me. The gesture strikes me as… cute, and two things hit me.
One, Darcy is pretty damn cool.
And two, she definitely deserves to find her own match.
10
Darcy
Hitched® Tip #3:
Be a good listener. When they talk, truly listen. Don’t simply wait for a chance to talk about yourself.
♥
One week later…
The office is eerily quiet. Not like horror movie quiet but just… not normal. Our office floor isn’t normally bustling and boisterous with chatter or anything of the sort, but I’ve become accustomed to the low murmur of Ivy’s voice when she’s on the phone with clients or the sound of her laughter when Becket stops by to see her.
It’s far too quiet now that she’s at home on bedrest, per the doctor’s orders. A few weeks ago, he’d called her into his office after she’d complained about pain radiating along her lower back. Evidently, she was experiencing symptoms of early labor, and as her doctor wanted to ensure she wasn’t putting herself under any undue stress at work, he immediately insisted she start her maternity leave.
I gaze out my office windows at the hazy view of downtown Jacksonville. Instead of standing here idly, I should be weeding through Dax’s possible matches. I’m not sure why I seem to be plagued by a strange sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the idea of doing so, but I need to ignore it. I have an important job to do.
A faint ding sounds from my computer, alerting me of a new email. With a sigh, knowing I need to get my butt in gear, I stride to my desk and take a seat. Rapidly, I type in my password to unlock the screen that timed out and jerk to a stop when I lay my eyes on the name listed as the email sender.
Kendrick, Dax.
Huh. He’s been busy spending most of his waking hours with Becket scrambling to finish the nursery. Becket’s convinced the baby will be here earlier than expected, so he’s insisted everything be in place ahead of schedule.
I open the email.
Darcy,
I’m sending this back to you now that I’ve completed it—finally. I apologize for the delay since Slavedriver (A.K.A. Becket) has been working my fingers to the bone to get things ready for the bambina.
Thanks for putting up with me and helping me out. Please know I appreciate it.
Also, if you’re interested, I’m going to the Zumba class this Saturday. It’d be fun to have you join me again. I’ll even promise to treat you to coffee afterward.
Dax
Attachment: Client Traits document
I open the document before responding to his email. Curiosity rolls through me as I scan his answers. My attention keeps coming back to three of his responses.
What types of things cause you stress?
People who aren’t on time because I worry that something’s happened to them. Even the habitual offenders.
I stress about those close to me and worry that they’re not honest when it comes to needing something I can provide. Like my family—they refuse to accept my help financially even when they need it. It drives me nuts, and I worry they’ll go to the extreme in avoiding asking me for help.
How do you deal with stress and stifle it?
I work out and bake—usually in that order when I’m at home. Baking helps me because it’s all exact—there normally aren’t any surprises if you follow the recipe and instructions.
How do you settle arguments?
Honestly, I don’t tend to have many arguments. I know it sounds odd, but I prefer to mull things over that upset me and organize my thoughts so when I sit down with the other person, my words aren’t attacking. My goal is always to have a discussion and not an argument. Heated words are dangerous.
God, he’s just plain sweet. Dax is a legitimately good guy.
“You’ll make one lucky woman happy,” I muse as I sit back in my desk chair and absentmindedly strum my fingertips on the arms of my chair. With a sigh, I reach for the keyboard to type a response when my cell phone rings. At the sight of Becket’s name on the caller ID, I rush to accept the call.
“Hey.”
“Darcy, it’s time.” Becket’s voice echoes like he’s in the car on speakerphone. “We’re on the way to the hospital.”
“Wait, what? Shit!” I dart up from my seat and frantically rush to gather my things together.
“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. Don’t push just yet.” Becket’s voice takes on a more soothing quality when he speaks to Ivy.
“Please hurry.” The sound of my sister’s faint request in the background has me rushing from my office with my purse and briefcase straps tossed haphazardly over my shoulder.
“We’re almost to the UF hospital, Darce. See you soon.” He disconnects the call, and I’m already in the elevator, jamming the button for the lobby.
I don’t care to admit how many traffic laws I broke getting to the hospital as quickly as I could. And the stiletto gods—or goddesses, if you will—smiled upon me because I literally sprinted from where I had to park in freaking Timbuktu to the automatic doors. It’s a damn miracle I didn’t break both my ankles in the process.
The blast of air from the vents above the doors barely registers as I frantically inquire for my sister’s whereabouts at the information desk. Moments later, after s
howing my identification and being verified that Becket left my name on the list, due to security reasons, I’m escorted to Ivy’s private room. Evidently, Becket’s still considered a celebrity even though he’s retired, and the paparazzi haven’t completely ceased their fascination with him or Ivy.
A wide grin begins to stretch my lips. My nurse escort informs me my sister gave birth in the SUV nearly the instant they pulled up to the hospital entrance. My goddaughter just couldn’t wait to enter this world. One thing’s certain, I sure can’t wait to hold her in my arms.
I skid to a stop at the sight of Dax a few feet away. He leans against the wall outside the room, his attention trained on his cell phone.
“Hey.”
His head jerks up in surprise before his mouth forms an affectionate smile, and he pockets his phone. “Hey.”
I sidle up beside him and nudge him with my shoulder. “We’re officially godparents.”
His eyes are alight with happiness, and those crinkles at the corners are more pronounced, indicating his delight. “We are.”
I glance at the closed door. “Any word?”
He shakes his head. “They were cleaning her up, but they’re both fine. Said the baby was seven pounds, and her lungs and everything are perfect.”
I heave out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”
He slings an arm around my waist and tugs me against his side. Somehow, it seems natural to slide my arm around his back and settle my body against his. My cheek rests against his shoulder, and he speaks softly. “I was scared shitless when I heard.”
I nod and whisper, “Me, too.”
“Should’ve known she wouldn’t play by the rules.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Not their kid.”
I let out a tiny laugh. “Isn’t that the truth.”
The sound of the door opening has us drawing apart and directing our attention to an emerging Becket. His smile is enormous and brimming with pride. “Ready to meet our girl?” At our energetic nods, he leads us to the bathroom just inside the room to wash up. Dax defers to me, which I’m grateful for.
Once I’ve dried my hands, I practically pounce, rushing farther inside Ivy’s room, and draw to a stop beside her bed. With her long dark hair fanning against the pillows, she gazes adoringly at the tiny infant snuggled atop her chest. My breath lodges in my throat at the sight of them, my mind flashing back to scenes in our lives.
Ivy and me when we were first thrust into each other’s lives, settling into the same foster home. The two of us forging a friendship that surpassed anything either of us had ever experienced. Soon after, we became the first genuine family either of us had. We may not be biological sisters, but it’s never mattered to us.
We were determined to make more of our lives and did everything in our power to get a college education.
Though we’ve been through some shitty experiences, this right here is a testament that love—the real honest-to-goodness love—can happen. And my sister deserves it all and more.
I swallow past the growing lump in my throat and carefully reach for my sister’s hand. She turns her head to gaze up at me and links her fingers through mine.
“Meet your new niece,” she murmurs.
“She’s perfect,” I breathe out, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.
Ivy smiles tiredly. “She just couldn’t wait to meet everyone.” She laughs softly. “I thought Beck was going to lose his mind.”
The guys stop at the foot of the bed. Dax smiles at Ivy, his dimple prominent. “Someone had to enter this world with a bang, huh?”
Ivy laughs softly. “Apparently so.” She smooths a hand along the blanket covering the sleeping infant. “Come and meet your new goddaughter.” Ivy’s blue eyes lift to mine. “This is little Ella.”
Dax approaches the side of Ivy’s bed opposite me and bends slightly. His voice is a low, deep rasp as he gently skims a finger along the dark hair atop the baby’s head. “Why, hello there, Ella.”
As if somehow recognizing his voice, the baby stirs and blinks her eyes open. We all watch in stunned wonder as Ella stretches her tiny hand in Dax’s direction. When he places his pinky within her reach and she grasps it, the expression on his face causes my freaking ovaries to burst.
“Beautiful girl,” he murmurs as his eyes trail over her lovingly. “You’ll be smart and a force to be reckoned with just like your mama, won’t you?”
“You can hold her if you want,” Ivy offers.
Dax hesitates, and his eyes immediately find mine. “I think Darcy would like to go first.”
I flash him an appreciative smile, and he simply offers a subtle nod. Ivy helps me scoop Ella from her, and I carefully settle into the glider chair beside the bed. With a soft smile, I speak to her in a hushed tone.
“I’m your Aunt Darcy, and I’ve been waiting to meet you.” She stares up at me with her blue eyes, and I continue murmuring softly while we glide for a moment. Reluctantly, I turn and look at Dax, silently alerting him that I’m ready to hand her over to him.
He comes around the bed, and with careful ease, he accepts Ella from me and takes my spot in the glider. I scoot back a few feet and realize he looks unbelievably at ease with this tiny baby in his arms. Like he was made to be a dad.
This serves as an additional reminder that I have my work cut out for me. Because finding a woman who’s good enough for this incredible man will be a challenge.
A short time later, Dax and I are at Ivy and Becket’s house, trying to get things ready for when they return home from the hospital. Their dog, Daisy, lay sound asleep on her pillowy doggy bed in the living room while I prep the nursery and toss the contents of their dirty laundry bins into the washer. Everything else seems to be in order, so while I wait on the washer to finish its cycle, I pad through the house in search of Dax.
The sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen leads me to discover an apron-clad Dax setting mixing bowls and measuring cups along the kitchen counter. As I settle myself on a barstool at the large island, I prop my chin on my hand and watch him.
“What are you making?”
He darts a glance at me before returning to his task, referring to whatever he’s pulled up on his cell phone. “Lactation cookies.”
Wait, what?
I squint at him, sure I misunderstood. “I’m sorry. What did you say you’re making?”
“Lactation cookies for Ivy.” He says this with complete nonchalance while he measures the dry ingredients and adds them to the large stainless steel mixing bowl. “Beck mentioned she’s planning to breastfeed. They’re supposed to help her milk supply.” Without looking up, he gestures to a pile of supplies set aside on the far left of the counter. “Those are for him.” A smirk toys at his lips. “The non-lactation variety, of course.”
“Dax.” I release his name on a sigh. This guy… He’ll give me a damn cavity, he’s so sweet.
He lifts his gaze and meets mine. “Yeah?”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
He simply winks and returns to his task. “Likewise, Cole.”
“Need any help?” I offer.
“Think I’ve got everything under control here if you want to get started on his cookies.”
I slide off the stool and circle around the island to take my place at the counter a few feet away from him. “On it.”
We work together in companionable silence, and I spoon the dough onto the large cookie sheet before I slide it into the oven. Once we’ve cleaned the kitchen and put away all the ingredients, Dax opens the freezer and withdraws a large casserole dish. He sets it on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“It’s one of the freezer meals Beck and I made ahead of time for when the baby came.”
I shake my head with a little laugh. “You both put so many other guys to shame.”
Curiosity etches his features. “What makes you say that?”
I lean back against the counter. “Because you’re thoughtful, sweet,
and simply good guys.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing out of the ordinary before a thoughtful expression settles over his face. “We were just raised right.”
A sigh slips past my lips before I can reel it back in, and I inwardly cringe at how it must sound. Yearning. Envious. Because my childhood, my upbringing was most definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum from his.
His expression suddenly morphs into a reproachful one. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I—”
I wave my hand dismissively. “It wasn’t. You were just being honest.” The last thing I want is for anyone to tiptoe around the fact that I grew up in the system.
He regards me carefully before gently posing, “Do you ever talk about it?”
My spine stiffens involuntarily, and I force my body to relax before I answer. I trace an index finger along the smooth granite countertop, avoiding his eyes. “Not really. There’s not much to share, honestly.” I offer a careless shrug and realize my voice sounds hollow to my own ears.
I tend to become detached when the subject arises—which is thankfully rare—because I don’t want to give any more thought or direct my energy to the past. I was robbed of enough and choose not to revisit that time in my life.
Instead, I focus on when Ivy and I met and everything thereafter.
“When I met Ivy and we were placed in the same home, that was when my life truly began,” I admit softly.
“Was it an instant friendship from the get-go?”
A wisp of a laugh rushes past my lips, and I shake my head before raising my eyes to meet his. “Not at all. We were both raw from some awful experiences and were prepared for the worst. It took some time before we realized we were similar and”—I break off with a rueful smile—“combined our powers for good instead of using them against one another.”
He straightens and closes the distance between us, and I can’t help but stiffen slightly in response. Without warning, I’m enfolded in his embrace. His lips dust a light kiss to my forehead.