Chapter 7

“Hey, Lizzy is texting you. What’s up with that?”

Darcy glanced at the phone he’d carelessly left on the car console. “No idea.” He couldn’t deny the small thrill he felt anytime she texted him—no matter the subject, it meant she was thinking of him. But he certainly didn’t want Charlie to know how much it mattered. He reached for his phone but Charlie got there first and held it away from him, in his right hand, next to the passenger door.

“No texting while driving!”

“Don’t read my texts.” Darcy didn’t want to think how her date had gone. He’d done her no favors with Thorpe, and she might be angry.

“I’m not. Look at me and smile.”

Darcy turned and found his phone, clutched in Charlie’s hand, inches from his face. “What the?—”

“Voila! Now it’s unlocked and you can just talk to her.”

“No, you?—”

Charlie smiled, tapped Elizabeth’s contact info, and plugged the phone into the console. As it began to ring, he held up his own phone and slipped in his earbuds. “No worries. I won’t listen but I’ll want the lowdown later.”

A moment later, before Darcy had a chance to really think about what exactly she might want to say to him, Elizabeth’s voice sounded through the speaker.

“You’re a brave man, calling me instead of texting.”

“Yeah, well, I’m driving with Charlie and thus didn’t have much choice. You texted? Thumbs up or thumbs down?”

“I have learned things I never needed to know about motor oil.”

“So, a swipe left?”

“It was among the most insufferable thirty minutes I’ve ever spent.”

Darcy tried not to smile. “More insufferable than with Collins or me?”

“You’re not always insufferable, and you’re not weird. Much, anyway.” The gaiety in her voice took any edge off the insult, but it wasn’t exactly how Darcy wished she would sum him up.

“Glad to know I’m moving up in your estimation.”

“Weird isn’t bad, but some weird is too much. I once had a friend who got seriously fixated on a K-pop star and made endless TikToks about him. It was a lot, but I suffered through her weird phase because I had my own obsessions that she tolerated.”

“Like what?”

“Twilight, button collecting, and sea turtles when I was young. Then Iron Chef, truffle oil, true-crime podcasts...” Her voice trailed off. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Harry Potter. Submarines. Goth. Ayn Rand. Tolkien. Stupid ways people die taking selfies.”

“Wow, you have the perfect hair for Goth. Are there pictures?”

Silence held for a moment. He could feel Charlie staring at him, holding in laughter. Darcy gave him a death stare and cleared his throat.

“So, John wasn’t into sea turtles or truffle oil?”

“Shockingly, no,” she replied, mock seriousness in her tone. “Unlike most of us, who outgrew teenage fixations on sparkly vampires, he likes nothing but cars. He was horrified I don’t have a car nor want one.”

“Frankly, I’m horrified, too.” He waited for a joke about male chromosomes but Elizabeth surprised him with a serious question.

“How was your date with Claire?”

“She’s intelligent, attractive, career-minded.”

“Right.”

“I mean, she was no John Thorpe. She was fine.”

“Oh, great,” she said, a little hurriedly. “Hey, I’ve got to get some things done here, and meet Jane. Have a great weekend. Bye.”

“Bye.” What just happened? Darcy glanced at Charlie, ignoring his friend’s strange look.

“Goth, huh?”

“I’ve destroyed the photos.” Darcy’s voice lowered. “Look, it’s just this thing she and I are doing?—”

“Yeah, what is this exactly? Matchmaking?”

“It’s a bit of a dare.” Glancing at Charlie, he added, “She’s rebounding from that other guy, so...”

“Matt.”

“Yes.” Eager to glean whatever information he could but loath to show his interest, Darcy kept his voice light. “What was he like?”

“I never met him. Elizabeth kept that whole relationship under the radar.”

“Was it serious at any point?”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t serious. Just some fling.”

His gut curdled; his grip tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled off onto the exit. “So whoever I fix her up with needn’t fear he’s merely a potential rebound?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m impressed by how much you care about this. You seem pretty invested, even if your attempts so far are a big fail. Thorpe? What were you thinking?”

When Darcy arrived home late that afternoon, the house felt very empty. Not that he was fit company after playing a terrible round of golf, but having no other social obligations for the weekend only worsened his mood. By Sunday evening, when a thunderstorm rolled in, he was exhausted by a restless night of tossing and turning and a day of reading quarterly reports. He closed his laptop and walked to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Thorpe. What was I thinking? Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want Elizabeth dating anyone she’ll actually like.

He cracked two eggs, cursing when he saw bits of shell floating in the bowl. He dumped the mess into the sink, washed his hands, and considered the past two Saturdays. If his own attempts to match Elizabeth to a decent, likable guy were less than well-meaning, what was he to think of hers? On paper, Jade Fairfax was a good match for him; in person, she bored him until he clenched his teeth. Claire Elliot, too, could be assumed a good match, but her cheekbones were nearly as sharp as her tongue.

And yet he had dated women just like them because they had looked good on paper as the type of woman he should be dating. Elizabeth had known that about him—his so-called type. She was sincerely trying to find him a girlfriend while he was trying to show her—what, exactly? That there were no decent men in the world? That only oafs would be attracted to her?

That I don’t know any intelligent, ambitious, kind men who would like her?

Leaning against the counter, he stared out the rain-streaked window. I’m a genius, always finding new ways to insult her.

He grabbed his phone and sank onto a chair, texting her before he could overthink it.

Hope you’ve recovered from Car and Driver 101. I promise there’s no follow-up test.