So what were her options? Stomp through the sand with a stern librarian face and separate them? Forget about it? Forget about it, Darcy decided. What was that saying: Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Darcy sprinted to catch up with her group. While she’d dawdled, she missed the big news: Missy was pregnant. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry Paul, even though they lived together. She’d seen too many divorces—her parents, her friends—she was afraid to marry. The women all chimed in with their opinions, and Darcy forgot Willow.
The sound of a crying child made them all turn.
“Kiks,” Jordan said. “She often cries when she wakes up from a nap. I think she thinks we did something marvelously exciting while she slept, like eating her favorite mashed banana.”
The women laughed and made their way back to the group. The sun slanted lower. Clouds were wandering across the sky, as they often seemed to do in the late afternoon, which was nice, because they caused more color as the sun set. The men had to work the next day—and some of the women, too. All around them the beach was emptying as people made their way across the sand to the parking lot. Nash and Darcy said their goodbyes and headed to Nash’s truck.
“Want to stay over?” Darcy asked when they reached her house.
She was warm and lazy limbed, resting her head against the back of the seat.
“Better not. I need a shower and my clean clothes are at my place. Besides”—he glanced over at Darcy—“you know you want to watch Outlander.”
“No, it’s over for the season.” Darcy grinned wickedly. “But I can get Grantchester on my Roku. You’d like it, it’s a mystery with a vicar and a detective.”
Nash shot Darcy a knowing look. “You mean that red-haired vicar who makes you drool.”
“I don’t drool!” Darcy protested. But she did, in her mind.
“Maybe tomorrow night,” Nash said.
He helped her carry the cooler and beach towels into her house. In the front hall, Nash turned her toward him. “So see you this week?”
Their eyes met and suddenly even tomorrow was too far away. Darcy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing herself against him. He slid her shirt over her head and kissed her throat, her collarbone, the sweet spot between her breasts. His hands moved over her body. Sand made light clicking noises on the floor as they stripped off their bathing suits.
“Darcy.” Nash knelt, pulling her down with him.
The rug in the front hall scarcely softened the hard floor, but Darcy was so caught up in her passion she didn’t know, didn’t care. Her need for him was intense, and her pleasure with him was overpowering. Afterward, Nash smoothed back her hair, all tangled and moist with sweat.
“Good grief,” Darcy said breathlessly.
“Yeah, I know.” Nash was smiling.
They lay together for a while facing each other, Darcy’s head nestled against Nash’s chest. His breath was deep and regular. She could hear his heartbeat. His arm was over her waist, his hand lying lightly in her back. She felt safe, content, and drowsy.
“You know we can’t fall asleep like this,” Nash murmured. “I have to work tomorrow.”
Darcy stirred in his arms. “Don’t go.”
“Have to.”
He pulled on his board shorts and T-shirt. They rose, kissed lightly, and Nash went out the door. Darcy showered and creamed her face and limbs with lotion. Her skin glowed from the sun, her mouth was tender from kissing.
In the T-shirt she wore to sleep in, she watched Grantchester.
James Norton was gorgeous, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Nash. Darcy’s thoughts veered over to Nash, who had the same kind of restrained, gentle manner the television vicar had.
The episode ended. She went through the house turning off lights and locking doors, finally climbing the stairs and entering her bedroom. She slipped between the cool sheets of her bed, stretching out with a sigh.
It would be nice to have Nash in bed with her now. Just to talk with about their days, their plans for this week, and then to drift off, feeling his warm male body next to hers. She rolled on her side, placing her hand on the spot where he had slept several times before, and fell asleep.
—
Mondays were Darcy’s day for accomplishing all the chores she was too busy the rest of the week to do. Cleaning the house. Shopping for groceries—always a hellish task because their main grocery store, Stop & Shop, went from supplying sixteen thousand people in the winter to sixty thousand summer shoppers. Putting away the groceries and tidying the kitchen. Stripping her bed, putting on clean sheets, tossing sheets and towels in the washer. Vacuuming the sand she’d trekked in from the beach yesterday.
After all that, she sat down at her computer and answered emails from friends, cruised Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. She ironed some cotton shirts and a few gauzy scarves to wear during the week. She made a casserole that would last the week or serve Nash if he came for dinner. She talked to him on the phone—he couldn’t come, it was a day of long light, perfect for finishing the widow’s walk his crew was working on. He might not see her until the weekend. Darcy called Missy Linsley, the other single woman in their crowd. They walked to Cru, the restaurant at the end of Straight Wharf, for French pilgrim cocktails and roasted Nantucket oysters. They enjoyed an intimate gossip fest about their crowd that left them weak from laughter as they watched the sailors come in and the sun slant over the harbor.
—
The next day Darcy worked. Her desk was piled with seven thousand matters needing to be taken care of right now. She answered the phone seventeen times; she opened and organized the mail. At one, the director of the children’s library closed the door to the office and they ate their abbreviated lunch of yogurt while they went over the schedule for the week. When Beverly rushed off to a meeting, Darcy stationed herself at the computer and began ordering the new books from a list they’d compiled.
At the end of the day, Darcy changed into her Speedo, pulled on her street clothes, and went out into the day, heading for Jetties Beach. It was after five, so it wouldn’t be crowded. She needed a calm, cooling swim before heading home. The tide was in, so she didn’t have to wade far before arriving at water deep enough for swimming. She did the breaststroke for a long time, loving the surge of her body, the way the water’s swells washed her mind clean. When she tired, she flipped over and floated as the sun warmed her face. This was the perfect relaxation therapy. All thoughts dissipated into the salt air.