Free A Gift to Remember by Melissa Hill Page B

Aidan’s accident, they were likely to be back at the hospital.
    Damn again
, she whispered silently. So much for getting all of this sorted out quickly. She reached down and caressed Bailey’s silky head. ‘Sorry, buddy, looks like
you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.’
    The Husky’s tummy rumbled out loud, making Darcy aware of the fact that he likely wouldn’t have eaten a proper meal since breakfast that morning. No wonder he was so anxious to go
inside.
    She’d have to find a way to feed him then, and while she was at it, feed herself too. She’d missed breakfast on account of being late for work and the only thing she’d eaten
was the muffin at the café a little while ago.
    But Darcy didn’t figure on finding anything to eat for either of them around these parts. Not without taking out a mortgage in any case.
    ‘Sorry, Bailey, back to Plan A,’ Darcy informed him jadedly. ‘You’re going to have to forgo your usual creature comforts for a little while. We’re going
downtown.’

Chapter 7
    Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house
. Henry Ward Beecher
    After finding a taxi willing to carry the Husky with surprising ease – Darcy guessed doggy transport was a common occurrence amongst the pet-loving Central Park West set
– soon they were back along her own elm-tree-lined streets, cars wedged bumper to bumper against the kerb. Luigi’s was quieter after the lunchtime rush; no line at the counter and only
a few late stragglers pressed against the window, sharing a Coke and a slice of pizza. She was relieved, guessing that she wouldn’t have to wait too long for the order she’d phoned in
on the way.
    Two flights full of excitable yipping led her up to her apartment and Darcy fiddled with her keys, eager to get Bailey inside before grouchy Mrs Henley heard the commotion and poked her
prominent nose out to see what was going on. In contrast to his staid behaviour earlier, the Husky now seemed positively excited by the change in scenery. Or more likely, by the scent of roasted
garlic and meaty bolognese coming from the restaurant.
    Darcy had just found her key when she heard feet pounding up the stairs. Heavy, male feet. Terrified that her stowaway would be discovered, she frantically slid the key in, swinging wide the
door to sneak him through to her apartment. At that moment Ricardo, one of Luigi’s waiters, rounded the corner, a white and red chequered pizza box in hand, the contents so hot, fresh steam
seeped out of the side.
    Her mouth watered. For the pizza, that was – not Ricardo.
    In his mid-twenties, Ricardo was six feet tall and stocky in his wheat-coloured cords and green and red Luigi’s shirt beneath his stained apron. The newest addition to the staff at the
restaurant, for some reason he had latched onto Darcy.
    Maybe he had a thing for (older) bookish types, that whole hair up, reading glasses on and open shirt collar thing that some guys went for, though she felt almost old enough to be his mother,
and had told him so on several occasions. Almost instinctively she tightened her tousled ponytail and checked her neckline to ensure there was nothing for him to get in any way excited about.
Though it was unlikely. The look Darcy was currently sporting – a combination of flushed cheeks from the freezing cold, frizzy hair and damp dirty clothes covered in greyish dog fluff –
was unlikely to be a turn-on for any guy.
    ‘You ordered pizza, Darcy?’ he queried, reaching the top of the stairs. ‘How come you’re not at work today . . . and hey, who’s the big guy?’
    The waiter spotted Bailey inside circling Darcy’s Christmas tree and slipped into the apartment uninvited, as if he’d been there a dozen times.
    Uh oh.
    ‘Hey Ricardo,’ she sighed as he slid the pizza box on her kitchen counter. She was exhausted, her feet ached, her limbs were sore, and right then all she wanted to do was slump