Page 38 of It's You
When he looked up, his eyes had darkened.
“But it shouldn’t have been you. It should have been one of the girls I grew up with. If I’d known…” He shrugged, his eyes shuddering with seeming regret. “I never would have kissed you. I just liked you so much, and I?—”
Darcy put her hand on his cheek, and he leaned into it, closing his eyes and exhaling low and soft. “Hey. Hey, come on, now. It’s just a legend. It’s just a story.”
He swallowed, opening his eyes and turning his lips into her palm for a moment before answering. “I never got over you. It’s been twenty years. I never forgot. I never found anyone else I wanted to be with more than you.”
She smiled at him gently, sorry to break the romance of the moment with what she was about to say. “Jack, we barely know each other.”
His eyes burned into hers, copper flecks churning into fire.
“Okay. Then how do you explain the eyespeak between us?”
“I can’t explain it. But there are mysteries the human body hasn’t revealed to us. I guess it isn’t impossible that we’re…evolving.”
“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Then answer me this. Do youreallyfeel like you barely know me?”
She looked away. She’d be lying if she said yes. She felt like she’d known Jack her entire life. She felt like she knew him better than any other person on the face of the earth. Oh, she might not know his favorite color or what kind of toothpaste he used, but she felt intimately connected to his mind, to his body, to his heart, to his very soul. Since she couldn’t explain this logically, she didn’t answer.
Finally, he squeezed her hand and returned it to her lap. “I have to check on dinner. Do you want a glass of wine?”
“Please.”
“Red okay?”
“Oh—” she started. Red gave her hives.
“Sorry. That’s right,” he said, walking away from her. “I have white out in the cellar. I’ll grab a bottle, then check on dinner.”
She heard the front door slam behind him, and it took her a minute to realize that she hadn’t actually said that red gave her hives, nor had she been looking at him when she thought it. Maybe she’d mentioned it at the wedding while they were drinking champagne. There was no other way he’d know.
Left alone in his living room, Darcy turned her attention to the bookcases that flanked the rustic stone fireplace and walked over to look at the titles, running her fingers over the leather- and paper-bound spines. She wasn’t surprised, but strangely relieved, to find several about the Métis people:The Métis People,Contours of People: The History of the Métis,Métis Lore and Legends,Children of the Fur Trade. Knowing what she did of the Métis people, both from Willow and from her own research, Darcy was quickly settling into the idea that Jack was of Métis origin, complete with superstitions and some unexplained mysticism.
She kicked off her ballet flats and curled up on the comfortable leather couch across from the fire, watching the flames leap higher, trying to understand what was happening between her and Jack Beauloup.
He seemed convinced that they somehow bound themselves to one another as teenagers with one scorching kiss, and while she loved the romantic intentions behind such a story, the scientist inside of her was skeptical. Despite her own personal experiences with Jack Beauloup, she wasn’t disposed to believe in such unsubstantial fairy tales. She felt more comfortable believing that two kids who shared a passionate moment couldn’t quite shake each other over the years, drawn to one another by the sheer force of their attraction. Still, she’d have to look up this Métis legend of eighteen-year-old men confirming their soulmate in the space of a single, perfect kiss, because it was such a beautiful love story. But as far as Darcy was concerned, Jack was a boy with whom she’d shared a glorious teenage moment, with whom she still had a strong connection. Now that he was back, they’d have to get to know each other better to figure out the rest.
“I like your necklace,” said Jack, returning with two glasses of white wine and scattering her thoughts. “I meant to say so before.”
“Thanks, I thought you might.”
“Did you?” He sat back down on the leather trunk across from her and smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”
No more beating around the bush.
“I figured out what you are.”
She saw the copper start leaping around his surprised eyes before he looked away sharply. His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched tightly.
“What am I?” he half-whispered, half-growled.
Damn Vale Proctor and every other bigot who make the Métis and other Indigenous people feel inferior!She was desperate to let him know she bore no such prejudice against his people.
She leaned toward him. “When you…you know, on Saturday? With the bear? You used a word.Shipawaytay, right?”
He looked up and nodded, his face still guarded, but slightly more curious now.
“It’s Michif. Willow recognized it.” She smiled at him, taking his hand. “You’re Métis, Jack, aren’t you?”
