“You’re obnoxious,” she chides. Then she picks up her fork and makes eye contact as she stabs it into a piece of cantaloupe. “And I amnotgoing on that hike.”
I catch a flurry of orange—the color of her gloves this morning—as she brings her fork to her mouth. My stomach tightens.
“Are you… feeling okay today?” I ask, lowering my voice. Darcy’s eyes flit around the cafeteria, then back to me. She leans in just barely.
“I’m fine, I just hate hiking,” she answers pointedly. “Can’t we do something else?”
“Like what?” I ask. She shrugs.
“I’m in the middle of averyangsty billionaire romance novel that I’ve been dying to finish so—”
“You read?” My brows shoot up, and the moment the words tumble out, I realize what a stupid question it is. Not just for the question itself, but for the fact that a paperback book was among the many belongings in her pocketed pants. But before I get the chance to correct it, Darcy retorts.
“If you need me to teach you, all you have to do is ask.”
I roll my eyes, forcing an intentionally fake laugh. “Funny,” I pause. “You know, I didn’t take you for the romance type.”
Her eyes narrow just a little as she lowers her fork. That damn smirk creeps onto her face, making my chest tighten in a way I refuse to acknowledge. “What? Cold-hearted bitches don’t get a happily-ever-after?”
My grin widens. “I guess you’ll let me know.”
She huffs a brief laugh before looking back to her plate, and when her breath brushes against my cheek, I think of last night.
I’m the person who usually notices things. The one who questions. The one who pries. Not just out of curiosity, though I’ll admit, my nosiness has led to some pretty entertaining moments. But mainly out of habit. My brother was never the best at talking about things. He might be three years older than me, but I’ve always been the one to initiate those conversations. Even when he’s the one in the wrong, I always have to push first. A little nudge here, a pressing question there, until he finally gives me a glimpse. He’s one of the smartest people I know, but getting him to open up is like trying to get Bubbles to eat green beans.
Darcy’s the same, though she definitely has her own way of prying back. I can imagine how hard it must have been for her to open up last night. And as much as I want to sit and dissect every word, every past conversation, to figure out how I could have known earlier, I know that’s not what she wants. She just wants to be seen as herself. Not as someone with, what was it called?
Rigamarole Arthritis?
Whatever.
The point is, she doesn’t want people to treat her differently because of it. I saw the disappointment in her eyes when she told me, like I’d reacted exactly how she thought I would. I hate that I did that, but I can’t change the past. All I can do now is make sure that from here on out, I treat Darcy exactly the same as I always have.
Which suddenly propels me into the realization that I’ve beenwaytoo nice letting her bail on this.
I cock a brow, resting a hand on my hip. “We leave in ten minutes.”
Darcy scowls. “No thanks.”
“Oops, sorry,” I say, feigning an innocent tone. “Did I make it sound like you had a choice?”
Her scowl deepens. “Who are you to say I don’t?”
I hesitate just long enough to fabricate a white lie. “Your mom said we have to.”
If I squint my eyes and tilt my head a little bit, I could argue that I read between Coach Cole’s lines of saying we have to stick together, and didn’t completely pull this out of my ass.
But Darcy doesn’t need to know that. She groans loudly, clearly irritated, and sinks into her seat.
After breakfast, we head back to the cabin to get ready. Well, I was already ready, but Darcy needed to change out of her pajamas. Of course, the cabin is only one room, so I’m stuck on the doorstep again until she’s finished getting dressed.
What a shame.
“It’s only three miles, which kind of sucks, but there’s supposed to be hammocks at the top,” I call out through the screened door.
Her silence drags on for a few beats before responding. “Sounds like hell.”
“And the view is supposed to be amazing,” I continue, ignoring her pessimism. She comes back, tenfold.