Johnny announces intermission and the house lights come up, filtering through the curtain to wash the stage in a soft red glow. Jane and I move to the stairs to find most of the audience filing toward the bar. The flow of bodies has created a blockade on the far side of the room, stranding Ming and Charles, who wave to us excitedly.

“Should we cross the stage to get to them?” asks Jane. “Oh! I didn’t know Darcy was coming with Charles.”

“What?”

Jane points to the increasingly crowded bar, where Darcy stands beside Ginn and Tonic. Beside, to be sure; the Twins are huddled with their backs to Darcy, making his exclusion clear.

“Meet you over there?” Jane suggests, already starting across the stage. “I’ll get Ming and Charles and we’ll make our way to you guys.”

I nod, still puzzling through Darcy’s unexpected attendance as I head toward the semi-trio. While I can’t fathom why he’d make the trip out here, I can’t help but wonder when he arrived. Did he see the peel?

Tonic catches my eye and elbows Ginn. They wave, the movement as synchronized as when they’re performing. Behind them, Darcy gives me the kind of strained nod generally reserved for hostage victims trying to signal distress without alerting their captor. He’s back to the more formal look he wore at Meryton: a trim-cut suit, though no tie, his shirt open at the collar.

Ginn beams at me. “Kitten! That peel was hot.” She has her arms outstretched like she wants to hug, then claps her hands to my upper arms. “Tag.” She releases me. “You’re it.”

“What?”

She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “Tall Guy is friends with Jane’s boo, but he doesn’t speak and it’s creeping us out. He’s all yours.” She takes Tonic’s hand, and the two stride away.

I turn to Darcy with an apologetic grimace.

“I take no offense,” he says. “Small talk with new people has never been my strong suit.”

“Ah,” I say thoughtfully, though his admission makes me smile. I rest my elbow on the bar and lean in like I’m going to share a secret. To my surprise, Darcy lowers his face closer, and I pick up the faintest trace of his body heat.

“I can relate. I’m not a good dancer. It’s part of why I kitten.” I tip my head. “Though I’ve always figured it’s my own fault—because I don’t take the time to practice.”

This gets me a smirk and a tease of the fullness a proper smile would give his lower lip. “Perhaps I’ll fare better now that I have a more compelling partner.”