Darcy leans into the bar as he waits for the bartender, his closed-off expression lingering in profile. He looks my way, and I let him catch me watching. It goes against every lesson Ming ever gave on teasing, but I force myself to hold his gaze well beyond what would be considered cool or seductive. He smiles, glancing away again. Lights on.

My heart thunders. A one-and-done with him isn’t going to be nearly enough to shake whatever’s going on here. There’s evidence enough of mutual attraction; even the time we got into it at Red, White, and Boobs was kind of hot. But every experience comes with an equal and opposite counter—Newton’s Law of Flirtation and Repellence.

I want the lights-on Darcy, not the dour, dull grump-fest he switches into. Not the Darcy who’s friends with someone who hurt Jane, and certainly not the man who ruined a childhood friend.

I pluck the folded check from the tabletop and tuck it into my purse, still trying to parse all this. The phone on the table buzzes and my hand goes to it instinctively. I turn it over, realizing it’s Darcy’s when I see Charles Bingley as the sender of the incoming message. I start to put it down—

CB: I’m getting weak. I need you to keep me from caving.

My stomach twists into a tight knot. Jane. It has to be about Jane.

The phone buzzes again: I miss him.

The knot loosens. If Charles misses Jane so badly, maybe Darcy can talk some sense into him and tell him he’s made a mista—

CB: I know what you said, but it felt real!

The relief drains out of me like there’s a hole in my chest. I put the cell back on the table, facedown, pushing it toward Darcy’s side. My blood rings in my ears. What you said? What could Darcy have—

Darcy places a coaster and a pint of beer on the table. He takes his seat with a strained smile, avoiding my gaze as he settles, readjusts, and shifts again. Is he . . . fidgeting? It’s enough to rouse me from the turmoil brought on by the text. He meets my eyes, then raises his beer. “Cheers?” His voice is unsteady.

I clink my class to his without thinking. “Cheers.” I take a too-large swallow of the reposado, and my eyes water.

Darcy’s features relax, his shoulders losing some tension. He rests his elbows on the table, hand fixed at the base of the pint glass. “Clearly, I could have had someone else bring the check, or handled it online. But I wanted to see you.”

I nod, my head still reeling at Charles’s message. What could he have said?

“I know things are complicated right now. I wasn’t expecting this. To feel . . .”