Page 1 of Yours

Part One

One

Darcy

After I park my car, I race up the driveway.

“Dad?” I call as I tear through the front door. The screen slams shut behind me.

“In here,” my dad’s gruff voice calls from somewhere deeper in the house.

I pass through the rooms of my childhood: the comfy kitchen with the fridge that hums too loud in the summer, the worn couch where Dad and I watched every sporting event under the sun before I left for boarding school and then college, the hallway with its scuffed molding and the pictures of the two of us.

Once I reach the room at the end of the hall, I peer inside. My dad sits propped up on pillows, his whiskered face gaunt.

“Dad,” I exclaim, practically jumping on him. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I let his Old Spice and burnt-toast scent envelop me.

“Whoa, easy,” he wheezes, then chuckles as I let him go.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” I say, settling on the bed next to him.

“Vermont is a long way away,” he jokes, but his eyes sparkle.

I attend a small liberal arts college deep in the Vermont countryside. People still milk their cows by hand and time moves like molasses, which makes it a perfect place to study. When I found out that my dad had collapsed at the shop from heart trouble, I dropped everything and began my journey home. But I had to inform my teachers, make arrangements for make-up work, and then schedule the many links in my transportation.

“Have you been to the shop?” he asks.

A tickle scrapes the inside of my stomach. “No,” I say. “I came straight here.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s not going to let this go.

I’m not sure I’m ready to visit the shop…because Brian is there.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Brian has everything under control.” The image of Brian, with his sharp eyes and crooked smile, brings the flutters back. Ever since he broke my heart, I swore I’d stay away, but it seems like that bargain is going out the window.

He nods again, his eyes clouded with worry.

“I’ll go, okay?” I say, unable to deny him anything after all the sacrifices he’s made for me. “Let me get you something to eat first,” I add, looking for a reaction. “A sandwich?”

He brightens.

“I’ll be right back.”

Brian

I’m getting ready to close up the shop when the bell above the door jingles. I’ve already sent the other guys home, so I slide out from under the car and grab a rag from the cart, rehearsing what I’ll say.Sorry, we’re closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.

I catch a glimpse of the person in the reception area. It’s a woman, her auburn hair loose and wavy, wearing a knee-length skirt and a white sweater. Curious, I glide into the room, still wiping my hands.

“I’m sorry, but we’re—” The rest of my speech dies in my throat. “Darcy?” I ask, blinking at the young woman I’ve known since I started working for her dad six years ago. Milton Reyes gave me a job when nobody else would. He taught me his trade—a feat that’s put me in his debt even though he’d laugh at the idea. I have plans to buy the business from him someday, when we’re both ready. I hope his heart condition doesn’t mean he’s ready now because I’m not. I can barely take care of myself, let alone run a business.

The fact he’s sent Darcy means he’s worried.

“Hey,” she says, turning to fully face me. I’m blown away because I haven’t seen her since she left for her fancy boarding school and went straight to college. Wow—it’s like watching those slow-motion videos of a flower blooming or a sunset. She’s gone from a pesky kid with freckles to a beautiful young woman. I try to think how old she must be now—nineteen? Twenty? I also think about what I jerk I used to be to her, teasing her about how smart she is. I wonder what she’s studying at that fancy college, and I wonder what the boys think of those long legs and the perfect tits hiding behind that sweater.

I shake my head to clear this ridiculous thought—her dad’s sick and she’s probably dropped everything, including whatever boy is currently keeping her company, to be with him. “How’s your pop?” I ask, tucking the rag into the back pocket of my coveralls.

“Okay for now,” she says, her face tense. “The doctors say no more cigars, and he has to take his medication.”

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