Chapter 18

“We need to talk,” he said before she could tell him to get lost.

“It’s late.”

“So? We’re both still up.”

“One of us was getting ready to go to bed.”

“But you’re not there yet. And you knew it was me out here, Darby. I saw you look through the blinds. If you didn’t want to hear what I have to say, you wouldn’t have opened the door.”

“Maybe I just wanted to yell at you.”

“Maybe. Except you’re not yelling.”

Her nostrils flared. With a disgusted roll of her eyes, she shoved the inner door wider and retreated into the house. “Get in here,” she said, her voice floating back to him.

He let himself in, shutting both doors firmly behind him. By the time he stepped into her Spartan living room, Darby was already curled up on her worn couch, a pillow tucked defensively in her lap. Nail polish and an open box of Q-Tips sat on the coffee table, and for the first time, he noticed the color on her toes.

“Definitely more fun than doing your taxes,” he commented.