Page 76 of Heart Over Heels

Darby didn’t deserve to be kept a secret, and even if I managed it, Molly would doubtless mention a new partner in my life. As skilled as my ex-wife already was at keeping my daughter from me, the last thing she needed was evidence that I was a bad influence. That I’d lost myself so fully I was flirting with danger, leaning into corruption, and possibly even sleeping with a former resident of Hell.

And the worst part was that the courts might believe her. A judge would take one look at Darby’s horns and tail, his clothes, his career, and hand Rachel the custodial victory she’d been angling for since our divorce papers were signed.

I could lose Molly for good.

Fear wasn’t new to me, but this kind was different. It was personal and pervasive, stemming from a place so intrinsic I couldn’t possibly fight or outmaneuver it.

But then I heard Darby in the kitchen, ransacking my pantry while muttering under his breath, and all I wanted was to be near him.

It took some finagling to get myself off the couch. Levering myself upright prompted a groan, and the sofa groaned right back. Falling asleep with my prosthetic still strapped on hadbeen a mistake. My thigh ached like hell, and when I stood, I had to brace myself on the armrest.

I eased back down onto the edge of the couch and then leaned forward, rubbing around the stump below my knee. My thumb worked at a particularly tender spot, kneading the scar tissue.

That was when I caught movement in my periphery.

Darby peeked around the corner from the kitchen, curls mussed and lips curved in a smile that was more sunshine than sin.

He was still wearing my clothes. The tee shirt hung halfway down his thighs, and the sleeves swallowed his arms. The sweatpants bunched at his ankles where he’d rolled them up. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked ridiculous. On Darby, it only made me want to pull him closer and wrap him in something more tender than fabric.

I pulled my hand off my leg, suddenly self-conscious and wondering if he’d seen more than I meant to show. But he just smiled wider.

“Up and at ’em, soldier,” he declared then shifted, bare toes curling against the floor. “I uh… had some time. So I made us breakfast.”

I cleared my throat and tried not to grimace at the pain still spiraling from my knee to my hip. “Yeah? What’d you make?”

“Eggs. Toast. Nothing fancy.” He paused, fingers fidgeting at his side like he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or apologetic. “I don’t usually cook, but I promise it’s edible.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” I replied.

His tail gave a little shiver, betraying nerves he probably thought he was hiding. “You wanna eat at the table?”

My leg hadn’t loosened up yet, and the last thing I needed was to try to bear weight and end up eating carpet in front ofhim. “Actually, maybe in here?” I asked. “I promise not to pass out on you again.”

Darby’s smile tilted. “I didn’t mind. You aren’t quite nocturnal yet, but you’ll get there. Becky’s still getting used to it too. I found him face down on the desk in his office the other day. Very undignified.”

He tittered a laugh then ducked into the kitchen. A moment later, he came back balancing two plates plus forks and paper towel napkins. He set them on the coffee table and went back for glasses of water.

When he returned, I eased forward to take the drinks he offered. “This looks wonderful. Thank you.”

Darby grinned and settled in beside me, sitting cross-legged with his plate balanced on one thigh.

We ate, and between bites, Darby filled the room with chatter, spinning wild tales about the club—nothing heavy, nothing dark, and no Maslow lurking in the wings. Just stupid bets between dancers, costume malfunctions, and outlandish practical jokes.

I found myself smiling more than I had in a long time. Darby had a way of blooming wherever he landed, and the more he opened up, the more breathtaking he became. Sitting beside him, owning the whole of his attention, I felt spoiled by it.

More than that, I feltincluded. Invited into something that was larger than either of us. It had become clear in the short time I’d spent at the club that the Dollhouse was a home as much as it was a business. The dolls were a regiment all their own, which made Darby their commander. I felt like I’d been smuggled into their ranks and granted a seat at their mess table.

My leg had stopped throbbing by the time we finished eating, so I got up and gathered the dishes. Darby leaned back on the couch, eyes half-lidded, and covered a yawn with his hand.

“I’d better be getting back,” he murmured. “This princess needs her beauty sleep.”

His phone had been left to lie on the coffee table, and he scooped it up, pressed the power button, and frowned when nothing happened. “Battery’s dead.” He flashed me the dark screen. “Mind if I borrow yours? I’ll call a ride and get out of your hair.”

“I’ll drive you,” I offered quickly.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”