Chapter 8

Elizabeth stretched and pushed up her glasses, trying to ignore the little thrill of anticipation when she saw Darcy had texted. Smiling, she quickly tapped a reply.

I have wine and good cheese. All is well.

Good. I won’t make the whining joke Charlie would.

Thank you

She frowned at the uneaten veggie empanada and half-full glass of wine sitting on her coffee table.

This relationship consultant scheme was your idea. Are you taking it seriously?

Yes, of course. I’m just inept

In the world of dating?

Sure, if you say so.

Elizabeth smiled. Then she called him.

“I love a good pity party, but you are the last man in the world who gets to host one.”

The brief silence before Darcy replied was all she needed to remind herself that she’d spoken nearly exactly the same words to him only a few months ago. ‘You are the last man in the world I’d ever go out with.’

If that had ever been true it certainly wasn’t now. I’ve met John Thorpe and Bill Collins, and a thousand other guys I’d never swipe right on.

“Well, I beg to differ.” His voice took on an exaggerated, whiny quality. “It’s rained all day, I dropped bits of eggshell into my omelet and now I’m out of eggs, and I don’t know how to cook anything else, and the only thing in the house is frozen pizza, so yeah, I’m hosting a much-deserved pity party.”

“Aw, can’t your assistant DoorDash you something?”

“I can order food all by myself, thank you. It’s Sunday night, and even I allow my assistant some time off.”

“Such a good boss. And you can cook an omelet!” Elizabeth laid back against a pillow. “Points for the erstwhile Goth. Did you paint your nails black and wear?—”

“No,” came his quick reply. “It was a very brief, highly regrettable rebellion from wearing school ties and jackets all week.”

“Which is all you wear six days a week now, so clearly it didn’t take.”

The image of Darcy in a crisply tailored dark suit, an expensive silk tie loosened at his unbuttoned collar, rose in Elizabeth’s memory. He’d been exhausted, fresh from a fight in his boardroom and trying to fend off an overly attentive Caroline Bingley. Jane said he’d adjourned his meeting so he could support Charlie at the soft opening of his restaurant. He was a good friend, turning up where he was really needed. Charlie had been a nervous wreck—which likely contributed to his breaking up with Jane days later.

Realizing Darcy had yet to reply to her last joke, Elizabeth heard his footsteps, then the rustling of paper, before a heavy sigh. She tried to envision his house in Lincoln Park; Jane had been there once, briefly, and described huge rooms with high ceilings and an eclectic mix of mid-century furniture and antiques.

“Hey, you still there? Don’t keel over from hunger.” She bit her lip and ventured the question that had nagged at her since they’d spoken the previous afternoon. “You never said, exactly... Is it a thumbs up or down on Claire?”

In a voice that sounded wearier than it had a few minutes earlier, Darcy said, “Did you choose her because you think I’m like her? Intelligent with a cutting wit, cool and arrogant...”

“What, no!”

“She implied you thought us a great match.”

“She told you I said that?”

“More or less. After she praised you for being resourceful enough to ‘hook her up with the most impressive man’ of your acquaintance.”

“Well, based on your car and the rumors about a few paintings in your possession, you are the richest man I know. But—” she took a sip of wine, readying her wording— “honestly, the two of you are only alike on the surface.”

“She did dress well for a Saturday morning coffee date,” he said, in a voice that almost sounded like teasing.

“I bet. She cannot detach herself from her Birkin. Look, I respect Claire’s business sense and I figured you two had that much in common. She’s smart, sees every angle, and doesn’t much worry about anyone’s feelings—just the quality of what they produce every day.”

“Do I detect a wee bit of a compliment for my business skills?”

“Maybe,” she said, yawning. “And I figured she’d find your endless use of ‘thus’ to be a turn-on.”

His rich laugh filled her ear. “Fine. It was a perfunctory hour. We exchanged business cards. All in all, this one was a swipe left but maybe a win for you anyway.”

She closed her eyes, happy he couldn’t see her relief. Claire might be a valuable business connection, but the idea of Darcy actually liking her enough to date her was nauseating. “And thus we continue in our search for the one perfect swipe right.”

“Yes.” Then, unexpectedly, rather than laughing in agreement, his voice turned more serious. “I know the next date is my last chance to swing for the fences, so give me some help here. Tell me about that last guy you dated so I make sure not to set you up with anyone like that.”

“He was nobody, really.” Really.

“The Matt guy? Jane said you dated for a few months.”

Groaning, Elizabeth sat up and took the last sip from her glass before setting it back on the table. “Okay, swear you will not tell anyone?” She paused, nervously waiting for his soft if hesitant ‘of course’ before launching into her mortifying revelation.

“Work has been intense lately and I needed my mom and Jane to give me space and stop trying to fix me up with the priest’s nephew or the dentist’s cousin, so I pretended I was seeing someone. It worked—they stopped bothering me—but it’s so weird to say it out loud: I made up an imaginary boyfriend.” She was babbling, but in her mortification, she couldn’t stop herself. “Seriously, I never lie, except when my sisters or Charlotte ask whether they look fat in their jeans or if?—”

“I get it,” he said abruptly. “A couple of years ago, when I was tired of my aunt Catherine’s crusade to marry me off to some heiress, I pretended I was seeing someone. It only worked until my cousin found out and told his mother. She made me go out for dinner with her therapist’s neighbor’s daughter.”

“You were smart enough to make up a name that couldn’t be Googled or checked on social media?”

“Well, I did go to Harvard. Thus, I know things.”

“Except how to cook food or stock your fridge.” She laughed before breaking into another yawn.

“Good point. I need to order dinner, and maybe you should get some sleep.”

“Okay. But don’t screw me over next Saturday. It’s your last chance.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise. And thanks for letting me know about the elusive Matt. Does anyone else know?”

“Jane finally figured it out, but I made her swear not to tell anyone—not even Charlie.”

Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was curled up in bed trying to absorb herself in the fantasy novel Kitty had pressed her to read. But rather than getting lost in the story, she felt restless. Her unease centered on what had happened earlier with Darcy; not only had she told him the embarrassing story of how she’d made up a boyfriend—but he had been sweet and told her he’d done the same thing to placate his family.

It was astonishing.

Only a few weeks ago, she had disliked him, and now she was telling him a secret she hadn’t even told Charlotte? It was unnerving how quickly she had come to enjoy talking to him, how comfortable their conversations flowed. It felt that way to her, at least. Darcy had been eager enough to hang up and get on with his evening. I was the one who called—but he texted me first.

A glance at the clock on her nightstand revealed it was barely nine-thirty; she felt ridiculous being in bed at such an early hour. Not to mention, being in there alone, worrying over a guy, and struggling to read a YA novel. She set aside the book and reached for her phone to scroll through her Instagram feed. Jane was posting pictures of sumptuous-looking pasta and tiramisu, so Elizabeth was assured her elder sister had had a nice date night with Charlie at his restaurant.

Did Darcy get something to eat?

She tapped out a message.

Thai or frozen pizza?

She held her phone, waiting nervously, for a very long minute before the little bubbles indicating a reply began appearing. When they stopped, she groaned. When they started again, she felt a relief that surprised her. She curled into her pillow and read Darcy’s message.

You are supposed to be asleep, or counting sheep, or reading a trashy novel in bed.

Only the last bit of your sentence is close to being true. The book is unreadable. How about your dinner?

It just arrived. Korean barbecue.

Oooh yummy!

Should I add bulgogi to your list of likes?

Kinda spicy, and really not need-to-know info for coffee dates.

True. Thus, it’ll be our secret.

Elizabeth tapped on what she thought was the laughing emoji. A split second too late, she realized she’d hearted his comment.