Page 70 of Brewbies

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Not that the East Hamptons estate where she’d grown up had felt like much of one either.

Aside from the camper, the closest thing Darby had ever known to a place that felt like hers would be the brownstone in Back Bay she’d shared with Aidan.

It had been a prewar money pit patched within an inch of its life, but she had loved it. One rogue thought of the morning sun pouring through her bay window and crawling across the parquet floor, and the ache in her chest deepened.

“What kind of services we talking about, exactly?” Myrtle asked, gratefully drawing Darby back from the edge of a self-pity suck hole. “Because I’m sure I could think of a few things we could use some help with around the farm.” She waggled her penciled-in eyebrows suggestively, causing Vee to roll her eyes and Cady to stifle a snort.

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Gabe’s dimples deepened as he grinned. “Well, I was thinking more along the lines of lifting heavy shit, but if you have something else needs doing, I’m all ears.”

Something about the way he said this made Darby wonder if he’d done more than gyrate for bachelorettes at the club he’d worked at while on parole.

Myrtle beamed, clearly enjoying the attention, but before she could respond with a wildly inappropriate suggestion, a commotion drew their attention to the entrance of the carnival.

“Holy shitballs,” Cady muttered.

Following her gaze, Darby couldn’t even find the words.

Protestors.

While they’d been distracted by Gabe, a swarming phalanx of shouting, sign-waving, angry-faced zealots had assembled across the 101.

Darby felt her stomach flip as the sheer force of their anger hit her like a physical blow. She could almost taste the bitterness, hatred, and contempt as it rolled over her like a cloying wave of smoke. Her heart began to race, and she felt a telltale heat in her fingertips as panic bubbled up from some deep well inside of her.

She scanned the line, reaching the end just as a familiar vehicle pulled up, its lights strobing an official red-blue warning.

The tires screeched to a halt, and Ethan Townsend got out, his face a mask of grim determination as he took in the scene before him. As he approached, the dull roar of the protestors’ chant ratcheted up in volume, their signs and banners jerking and shaking with renewed vigor. Darby felt a cold trickle of fear slide through her middle as Ethan faced the mob.

But then thereallyweird shit happened.

Ethan began to speak, his voice low and calm. Darby strained to hear what he was saying, but his words were carried away on a mingled stream of carnival and highway traffic. All she could see was the way he held himself, strong and unyielding even in the face of hostility.

The protestors’ voices grew quieter as Ethan gestured toward the carnival. Darby watched as some of the rabble turned to look, their expressions softening as they took in the colorful lights and the sound of laughter and music.

Time slowed as Ethan’s piercing blue eyes locked with hers across the crowd, his gaze moving down her body as if they were the only two people left in the world, and all the time in it belonged to them alone. He lingered on her breasts, her corset-cinched waist, her hips and legs in her rhinestone-bedazzled panties and fishnet stockings.

Despite everything that had unfolded over the last several days, Darby couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement deep within her.

Probably implantation pains,her conscience conjectured.