“You’ll be wonderful. Like your dad is.”
They hugged and Charlie, flushing, left to man a grill.
The flattened grass had become a makeshift dancefloor. Admiring the scene, Bennet drank his sticky, sweet Coke and caught a glimpse of Darcy through the pines, leaning against the library caravan, alone.
Bennet stuffed his hands into the pockets of his short shorts and approached.
Darcy pushed off the caravan exterior. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Darcy?”
“Yes?”
“It’s everything I hoped for and more.”
Darcy’s smile was fire to Bennet’s chest. “Can we?” He motioned inside the library.
They ducked inside together, trading nervous glances. Darcy checked out the pride shelves, his finger stilling atop The Charioteer as if he drew courage from it. He opened his mouth to speak, when gossipy voices outside the library door caught their attention.
“He shunned our Bennet once on stage, you know. How is he involved?”
“I heard that his son is bisexual and now he’s a big advocate for the community. I suppose he’s changed.”
Bennet caught a glimpse from his angle and spoke audibly. “He’s never not been an advocate, and I don’t think he’s changed so much as we’ve learned to understand him better.”
The two gossipers startled, stumbling into view before mumbling apologies and announcing their sudden need to drink.
Bennet laughed, shaking his head, and met Darcy’s serious expression. “You okay?”
Darcy touched the flag as he gazed out the door, toward the music and life of the party. “I thought I wanted to do this in here, but I don’t want to hide away.” He held out a hand to Bennet. “Would you like to dance with me?”
“In front of your kids?”
“In front of everyone.”
Bennet slid his hand into Darcy’s and let him lead them past the floats—where Henry and Georgie and Cameron sat grinning at them—through the trees to the flattened grass. They found a spot in partial shade, close to the gridded windows and lattice of the greenhouse.
Darcy looked around, and Bennet felt the quiver through his hand. Gently, Bennet pulled him close and coaxed him into a sway.
“I should have warned you dancing is not my strong suit.”
“That’s okay, it’s not mine either.”
“True,” Darcy conceded. “I remember the Wool Ball.”
“You were paying close attention to me there.”
“I’ve been paying close attention to you everywhere.”
Bennet laughed and spun himself around. Darcy caught him against his chest, hands firm and warm at his hip, his back. Darcy’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes darkened, their breaths mingling heavy and warm.
Bennet swallowed.
“Darcy, I know I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve hurt you, and I wish I could take it back. You’ve been so good to me—today, another example of your kindness, your thoughtfulness—and I want you to know how grateful I am—how grateful we all are—for your support.”
“I didn’t do it thinking of the wider community,” Darcy confessed. “I didn’t even do it thinking of Lyon. I was only thinking of you.”
Bennet flushed.
Darcy’s grip on him doubled. “I can’t not know any longer. I feel the same as the first time I kissed you, as I always have. But I’ll understand if that moment in my library was purely physical for you. If you don’t feel an emotional connection. Tell me that, and I’ll never compromise our friendship by bringing it up again.”
Bennet’s hands pressed against Darcy’s chest and Bennet could see how Darcy might interpret that as wanting to push away. He balled them into Darcy’s shirt, keeping him right where he was. “I do feel an emotional connection.”
Darcy tipped his face toward the sky, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The raw smile of relief touching his lips stole Bennet’s breath. This was joy. This was pure, unfiltered joy.
“I feel so much, Darcy,” Bennet whispered.
Dark, twinkling eyes landed on him, and Darcy clasped Bennet against his chest and twirled them around. Bennet laughed, the force between them so strong he could only hold Darcy’s gaze in short bursts before flushing and laughing again.
But there was still so much to be said. “I thought after Will, you were put off me for good.”
“No.”
Bennet looked up at the emphatic response.
“Mostly, I felt angry that he’d toyed with your emotions. I was upset with myself that I’d never properly dealt with him, that he had the chance to hurt the people I cared about.”
Relief unlocked a shudder. “Good, because it meant nothing. How did you deal with him?”
“I watched as he collected his things, drove him to the Port Ratapu bus station, and told him the next time I see him, I’d file for a restraining order.”
“That worked?”
“He tried to protest, of course. But eventually he listened.”
“How did that happen?”
“I came out to him. I told him every feeling I’d ever had for him, good and bad, since the beginning. He’d been holding onto things I’d said or done that I never meant the way that he’d hoped. I think telling him my feelings about you gave him closure. He will move on.”