Page 45 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
His body goes rigid and without giving him a chance for the fight-or-flight response to kick in, I slip my arms around his neck and pull him down for a hug.
At first he grunts an objection and his hands touch my hips to push me away, but I don’t let him. I’ve wanted to hug this man since the first moment I spoke to him, so many weeks ago now, and he’s not getting out of it that easily. I squeeze his shoulders, let one of my palms rub across his shoulder blades, and hold him tight to me. Minutes pass but I don’t give up, until finally he lets out a shuddery breath and squeezes me back, giving in to letting himself be hugged and hugging in return.
‘Thank you for the rose. And for bringing me here.’ With the hug, I’m trying to get across what I can’t put into actual words. I doubt Darcy has ever shown this place to anyone, and the thought gives me a little flutter of hope that I might be starting to mean as much to him as he means to me.
His arms tighten around me and through many layers of material, I feel his lips press against my shoulder. His earthy aftershave engulfs me, and his body has melted against mine, and I lose track of time as we stand there holding each other. If I live to be 100 years old, I will never experience a hug that’s as extraordinary as this one.
And then Mrs Potts attacks the spider, making a clang as her paw hits the metal greenhouse frame and reverberates, and Darcy lets out a yelp and jumps away from me.
‘Oh God.’ His eyes turn from relaxed to horror-filled. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Why not?’ I say, surprised at his reaction. ‘It was just a hug.’
‘Because… you… I…’ He growls in frustration and looks skywards, clenching his fists like he’s angry at himself. ‘I can’t ever let someone get close to me again.’
‘Why not?’ I can’t help the sting of disappointment. I didn’t expect him to fall into my arms, but I didn’t expect the instant rejection either.
He paces, trying to think of an answer, and then his head snaps up and he looks me in the eyes again. ‘Because the last time I did, it nearly killed me. Literally.’
‘Darcy…’ I reach out for his hand but he snatches it out of my reach, and turns away to put his glasses back on.
‘I don’t deserve to find love again and I don’t deserve anyone to love me. Don’t convince yourself I’m something that I’m not.’
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I think the only thing that’s happening here is Darcy convincinghimselfthat he is something he’s not, and more than anything, I wish I understood why.
13
‘You want towhat?’ I say into the phone receiver, surprised by the request of the man on the other end. My tone probably sounds like he’s just asked me something unforgivably rude, but I can’t get my head around what I’ve just heard.
‘Two tags on the pay-it-forward board, please. Ten pounds each. Such a precious thing to do. Can you give me your PayPal address?’
I reel off the shop’s email account that’s associated with the online payment platform and thank him, bewilderedly, as he transfers the money while still on the line.
Why is a total stranger phoning up from the other side of the country to put money on the pay-it-forward board? How has he even heard about it? I write his two requested tags out in a daze and thank him profusely as he hangs up.
I’m just about to take them over to the board when the phone rings again. ‘Can you put your friendship form online?’ A woman’s voice comes through from the other end. ‘I’d love to be matched with a new bookish friend, but I’m not local enough to attend the friendship nights.’
I take the receiver away from my ear and squint at it. How do people know? Was the friendship date night really so much of a success that people have been sharing their experience of it far and wide?
‘We’re, er, thinking about it,’ I stutter down the line.
Before she hangs up, the woman insists on giving me her name and email address so I can let her know when friendship-finding goes online, and insists on sending a photo of herself, despite the fact I reassure her that a photo isn’t necessary.
It’s been the most bizarre of all bizarre mornings so far, and it’s only five past nine.
I take the tags over to the pay-it-forward board and the phone rings again before I’ve stuck the second pin in, and I rush back to answer it.
‘Hello, could you put a fifteen-pound voucher on your board for me? Who do I make the cheque out to?’
This is madness, I think to myself as I give her our details and write another tag with the hand not holding the phone. Good madness, but madness all the same. How do they know?
I’m just about to go online and see if there’s been some big influx of hits on the Ever After Street website or something when Cleo bursts in, thick blonde hair flapping behind her. ‘Have you seen this?’
She’s waving around a copy ofThe Wye Word, one of those free local community magazines that are distributed in stacks on buses and in shops for anyone to take. ‘It’s been picked up by the main news aggregator sites and shared online thousands of times.’
‘What?’
In the magazine she puts down on the counter is a two-page spread about A Tale As Old As Time.
