Page 78 of The Wingman

A long beat of silence. “Sleepovers lead to breakfast together,” I admit, “and that leads to people getting attached.”

We have breakfast together all the time, my brain reminds me. She makes me coffee every morning when I’m in town. It’s the best part of my day, sitting in the kitchen with her while she looks all sleepy and cute, talking about our plans for the day.

She hums, watching me. “So maybe it’syouwho snores.”

I huff a laugh. “Whatever. Don’t blame me when the windows start shaking because you’re sawing logs.”

Her smile stretches wide, and I thank that dumb bird for flying into her window and making this situationhappen.

“I’m going to turn the light out,” I tell her, and she nods. I reach over my shoulder and click the lamp off, darkening the room. Even with the blinds closed, a soft glow from the city lights outside sneaks through.

I listen to the sound of our breathing, but my mind wanders back to the bar tonight. How she looked so terrified at the idea of the team using her hockey models. A memory resurfaces—years ago, her talking with animated excitement about her new job.

For six months after we graduated from university, Darcy worked for the Canadian Department of Agriculture as a data analyst. I still remember the way her voice sounded when she talked about her job, full of interest and excitement.

“Hey, Darce?”

“Mmm?”

“What happened at your first job?”

She never told me why she got a new job, just that she was working somewhere else before she changed the subject. She never had that spark when she talked about work, though.

Not until tonight.

“I screwed up and got fired,” she says quietly. “And I got someone else fired.”

I can still make out her profile in the dim bedroom as she stares at the ceiling. “What happened?”

She exhales through her nose. “We were running a study on small-scale farms, on who could use the grant money most effectively, and my model was wrong.”

Our gazes meet before she looks away, and I have the overwhelming urge to pull her against my chest and tell her it’s not her fault, that it’s going to be okay.

“My boss checked it, but I uploaded the wrong one. People missed out on the government grant because of it, and we only found out when we were audited.” She swallows.

My chest aches at the pain in her voice. “And they let you go?”

She nods. “They let my boss go, too, though. And she was a single mom.” Her expression crumples and my body tenses. “She was so nice, Hayden. She was such a good boss. She spent so much time training me and explaining things. I could tell she really loved the work, you know?”

I nod, not knowing what to say. I hate seeing her in pain like this. I hate that this has weighed on her for years and made her feel like she isn’t capable.

“You were twenty-two. You were fresh out of school.”

“I should have known better.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Some of those small-scale farms had to close and sell off land. Some of them had been family farms for generations. A lot of people were hurt by my mistake.”

I don’t say anything for a long time. I just watch her and wonder what she’d be like if that hadn’t happened. If she was still at that job and loved her career.

Christ, I want to see Darcy love her career again. I want to see her light up like she did tonight. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Yep. Everyone makes mistakes, but sometimes they hurt people. That’s why I work in insurance,” she admits with a wry half smile. “No one gets hurt. Rich old men might lose a bit of money, but no one goes out of business, and no one gets fired.”

She gives me a quick, reassuring smile, like she’s smoothing the conversation and all her vulnerability away. But her words knot in my chest, snagging and scratching.

Her eyes close and she settles farther under my duvet. “Good night, Hayden.”

I want more for her. I want her to feel on top of the world, to be excited about work and to feel like she’s makinga difference. I want her to take risks and see that sometimes they pay off.

“Good night, Darce.”

---