Page 47 of Inventing Mr Darcy

“That’s fantastic news,” I tell him, then I hear the door knocker. “Oh, just a second.”

I go to the door, and sure enough, it’s Geoff, hours later than I expected him, with two thick padded envelopes, one full of bookmarks and the other flash drives, not unlike the one on which Fisher saved my files, except these have OWEN-C stamped on the side opposite the Grantham College Eagle. “I’ll make room,” I tell him as I take both envelopes in one hand and gesture to show I’m on the phone.

“This is quite the place,” Geoff says, ignoring my hint as he peers past me into the foyer.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s Fisher’s house.”

A strange expression crosses his face, a mixture of surprise and maybe envy? “I figured you two weren’t on speaking terms anymore.”

“Well, we are,” I say and motion again with my phone.

This time he nods his understanding. But he still takes his time turning around and heading back down the steps, and as he does, his gaze sweeps greedily over everything it can reach, me included. A chill scuttles through me, which I choose to blame on the night air.

“Sorry about that,” I tell Fisher as I close (and lock) the door behind Geoff.

“Was that Winkworth? In my house?”

I can’t help but think of every romance I’ve read where the man’s voice is described as dangerously soft. I don’t think I ever really understood what that meant. Until now.

“Not in your house,” I clarify as I make my way into the living room. “On your porch. Dropping off some materials for the convention. I’ll be in New York in two days—or had you forgotten?” I try to sound fun and a little flirty, but his expression is stern as he slowly shakes his head.

(As it turns out, I find stern Fisher kind of sexy, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.)

“You aren’t …?” I begin, reluctant to put my thought into words. “You can’t really be jealous of him.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because he—” I stammer. “And you—”

He looks a little exasperated now. “I realize you may feel I don’t have any right—”

“You don’t have any reason,” I correct.

“Why do you think he sent you those stories about me? To drive a wedge between us.”

That can’t be true, though it scares me how close Geoff came to doing just that anyway. “That wasn’t his motive,” I insist. “He was trying to protect me. Trying to be a friend.”

Fisher rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s it. Look, you can’t deny he has some advantages. Obviously, the two of you share more common interests. Even I can see that he understands your work in ways I probably never will. And even though I can’t stand the guy, from what I can tell, most people seem to find him charming. While I’m … what was your word? Salty?”

“Well, it just so happens I like you salty,” I retort. “In fact, I love you …”

That sentence starts off one way, a silly attempt to emphasize how much I enjoy our banter. But it trails off in a very different place. I blame all the sappy prose that’s been pouring from my fingertips in the last week.

And then, to top it all off, I repeat myself. A little breathlessly, at that. “I love you.”

At first, I think he’s dropped the phone. I start to babble nonsense to cover for the bombshell I’ve just blurted out. I only realize someone’s actually taken his phone out of his hands when I hear Gaby say, “Are you talking to Elle again?” Her brilliant smile fills the screen. “Hey, there. Nice to finally see you!”

In the background, I hear Fisher demand his phone back. “Really bad timing, Gabs.”

“What?” The video image shifts to the front of her sweater, as if she’s lowered the phone to speak with him and is determined to keep it out of his hands. “I just wanted to thank the famous Elle for keeping you sane-ish these last few weeks. I think”—here, she raises it to show her face—“you deserve some kind of medal for putting up with him.”

“I, uh, I’m glad to do it.” Glad? Good grief, I sound like I’ve been taking care of his goldfish while he’s out of town. And then, because I haven’t humiliated myself enough, I add, “I really like your wine, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks! You’re sweet to mention it. Yeah, the winery is a lot of fun, though lately I’ve been thinking it might be time to move on, find some new challenge. I’ll be sure to send you a case, though—care of my brother, ok? He tells me you’re temporarily staying at his house.” Her lips quirk and her eyebrows shoot up. The expression is familiar; Fisher makes the same one. Her next words are spoken in an exaggerated whisper designed for her brother to hear. “Mom and I are both wondering—”

“Enough, Gaby.”

Then there’s an actual tussle over his phone and in the process, we’re disconnected. I wait for several moments, staring at the screen, trying hard not to speculate about Gaby’s meaning or Fisher’s reaction. But he doesn’t call back.