NOTES: Welcome to the new series! Each chapter will focus on how one character (or couple, probably couple) spends their summer break.

Thank you so much, faithful readers, for caring about our little AU. the_wordbutler and I really appreciate it.


Don't get Darcy wrong, she loved having students in the building, but summer. Oh, glorious summer. It meant she got to do her work without being interrupted with parent phone calls (about things they'd already been told about fifteen times, check your damn e-mail), kiddos showing off the tooth they just lost (and the blood that came with it), or chasing down adults supposedly responsible for their children in order to schedule conferences and meetings.

She got to have a set schedule and was mostly able to follow it. In the mornings, she snuck coffee out of the coffee maker hidden in Jasper's office while he walked around the halls . She caught up on what e-mails she had and just lounged her way into the day for the first half-hour. After that, she spent time helping Pepper, who only came in during the mornings, organize rosters for next year's classes. Darcy used what rumors from students and angry phone calls from parents to separate troublemakers.

During lunch, she helped update the school's website with the latest news. She'd been put in charge of the school's Twitter feed (something Fury repeatedly admitted was a mistake, but he never seemed bothered enough to assign the job to anyone else ). She'd developed a daily story series that depicted the mostly empty school building as haunted . Darcy'd even convinced Clint, on a summer mission with Phil to re-color code all the Accelerated Reading books in the school, to throw a sheet over himself to look like a cartoon ghost. She'd never heard Phil laugh so hard in her life, but then again, she wasn't sure she'd heard him laugh out loud at all.

The afternoon was spent doing paperwork for Fury and Sitwell. They were under the impression that this particular task would take her all day, and maybe it would if she were stuck in meeting after meeting like they were. Rarely did it work out like that— but she was going to admit that to her bosses.

Since it was summer, teachers filtered in and out of the building at their leisure. Most people just assumed that educators spent their summer on their couches watching Netflix, and while some did, most did not follow that misconception. Darcy always thought it was awesome that these people who spent so much energy in their work would give up their free time to come in to learn how to be better, to redesign their classrooms, or to help tutor kids who were here for summer programs or to keep from repeating a grade.

She was also grateful that crazy, smelly, old Mrs. Howard was not one of those teachers.

But Darcy's favorite part of her work week was between the hours of one and two on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, also known as the time between the class Loki taught and his office hours. For the summer, he taught classes about Norse mythology, the focus of his studies. He then tucked himself away on a café just off campus—he was obsessed with their salads, an infatuation Darcy could never understand—before opening the door to his tiny office to help his students. And while he ate, he made sure to text Darcy.

They caught each other up on their day. Loki talked about something idiotic a student said in class; Darcy updated him on how many times Jasper'd made an excuse to go over to the middle school . They made plans for when they could see each other, made up new details about their non-existent significant others, and reviewed the rules to make sure no one named Odinson found out about their relationship.

"Am I paying you to text?" Fury asked as he entered the office from his latest meeting at the board of education's office.

"No, the school board is paying me to text."

Fury snorted at that before tossing a Ziploc bag full of chocolate chip cookies into her lap. "Eat those. Melinda gets bored after thirty seconds of summer and ends up baking all the time. I'm going to go into a diabetic coma if she doesn't stop."

Darcy gave a skeptical look at the bag and poked at it with a neon yellow fingernail. "You're sure they're safe?"

Fury rolled his one eye. "Of course they are. If I wanted you dead, you don't think I'd do it myself? My wife is not trying to poison you."

"You said she was bored," Darcy argued.

"Suit yourself," Fury replied as he stalked off to his office.

Darcy waited for him to close the door before she stuffed the Ziploc bag into her purse. She was tempted to pitch the cookies, but her boss would find out and then he'd actually be pissed instead of just pretending it. Instead Darcy decided to take them home and give one to her mom, just in case .


"Did you hear that?" Darcy asked.

She watched Loki's eyes travel around her kitchen, his face growing increasingly puzzled. "I didn't hear anything."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed with glee. "No nagging mother, and my adorable-yet-constantly-under-my mother's-thumb father is getting his rocks off reenacting yet another Civil War battle. And the best part is that I don't have to go with them being some water wench to grown men moaning in a field. And also—did I mention that my mother is in a different state?"

He smiles and shakes his head before taking her hand and pulling her toward the kitchen. If the ten-second trip takes five times longer than necessary, neither of them will complain about one of the pushing the other against a surface to make out a little . Eventually, they arrive at the trio of grocery bags Loki brought in with him. Darcy's idea of cooking is limited to only using microwaves, so when Loki offered to cook her a meal, she was all for it. At least, after she confirmed it wasn't some traditional Swedish dish; she doesn't eat moose.

Darcy hopped up on the counter and was content to watch him work and give him directions where to locate knives, cutting boards, and a big pot. She was slightly hesitant when he offered to cook a stew in the middle of the summer, but now that aromas are tickling her nose, she's nearly drooling.

"Don't be too impressed," Loki warned. "This is pretty much the only recipe I know, and it's fairly difficult to screw up."

"Dude, my specialty is nachos in the microwave. You're practically Mario Batali right now."

He smiled at that, stalking over to her like a big cat to stand between her legs. His kiss was slow, hot, and promising. Basically, everything Darcy never imagined when it came to Loki fucking Laufeyson, but there it was. She moaned in delight as his nimble fingers slipped inside the hem of her t-shirt. They slowly ran up her right side, inching closer to her chest. She was about to cut to the chase, grab his hand, and put on her boob for him when the sound of little hands beating on the glass door out to the patio filled the kitchen.

"Miss Darcy! I have to potty," Alva yelled. "It's an emergency."

Darcy swore under her breath and shoved Loki's head between her legs. The act was not nearly satisfying as the many times she'd imagined it—it took them a while to learn how to kiss around his nose, but his tongue has never been an issue, okay?—including the way he also sputters a curse. That's probably due to his hand getting caught in her shirt, causing him to bang his elbow against the counter when he ducked.

"Miss Darcy!" Alva shouted again.

Darcy jumped off the counter, looking over her shoulder to make sure Loki was hidden from sight, and opened the door. She'd been so distracted by her boyfriend cooking her food, she failed to hear the Odinkids swimming in her backyard. Thor, stuck in a cast for another three days, shot her an apologetic look from his lounge chair. "I fear I would not be able to get her to a bathroom in time," he said.

"Please, Miss Darcy," Alva pleaded as she bounced around. "Mama said we can't pee in your pool, even if the boys do it sometimes, and I need help getting out of my bathing suit ."

"C'mon," Darcy replied as she ushered the little girl into the kitchen. Alva started to head to her left, and Darcy remembered exactly who she would run into if she went to the half bath off the kitchen. "No, wait!" she shouted. Alva froze on the spot and turned to look at her with big eyes. "Uh, that bathroom isn't working. Let's go upstairs."

Alva bolted for the steps and climbed up to the second floor. Darcy helped her peel off her floaties and swimsuit. Alva hugged her wet, skinny arms around Darcy's legs from her perch on the toilet in a thank you hug. Darcy shook her head and patted Alva's curls as a you're welcome.

"What smells good?" Alva asked.

"My dinner."

"Who cooked it?" she prodded. "You said you don't cook."

Darcy shrugged. "I thought I'd try something new."

"You should make it for us the next time you babysit us. When will that be?"

"Well, your Dad gets his cast off in three days, so probably then."

Alva looked up at her confused as she finished her business and started redressing. "We need a babysitter for that?"

"Not necessarily for him getting his cast off," Darcy answered. "But definitely for after."

"What comes after?"

"Your Mama and Daddy will want some alone time."

"I like alone time," Alva replied with a naïve smile.

"I was about to get some alone time," Darcy muttered as she yanked the last floatie back into place. "Alright, kid, let's get you back in the pool."

She led Alva back the way they came, making sure her uncle wasn't in sight. Once she'd ushered the girl back outside, Darcy spun around. "Loki?" she called out softly. "Coast is clear." She gasped as arms grabbed her from behind.

"I thought I heard you say you wanted some alone time," Loki murmured in her ear. "Should I leave?"

"Absolutely not," she answered as she turned in his hold and pulled him down for another kiss. Unlike before their interruption, Darcy set the pace for this one, and slow wasn't at all what she had in mind right now.

By an unspoken agreement, the pair of them began to maneuver themselves up the stairs to Darcy's bedroom, dropping articles of clothing along the way. "Food'll be okay, right?" Darcy asked between kisses.

"Why do you think I offered to make a stew?" Loki replied with a dangerous grin.

"We have to be quiet," she instructed as they reached her bedroom door, mentally patting herself on the back for tidying things up in her room.

"I'm not really one to be loud," Loki told her.

"One—I was mostly talking to myself. And two," she added with a sly grin. "Challenge accepted."


Darcy's mom played dirty.

She'd started when Darcy was really young, dropping hints about her "goals" for Darcy instead of just flat-out telling her. Darcy guessed her mom meant well—she couldn't be a complete pill all the time, right?—but she'd always resented finding flyers for tap lessons and ballet on her bed, or new girly clothes in her closet when she wanted to wear her overalls. As she got older, her mom got more subtle: signing her up for mailers from better colleges than the ones Darcy wanted to go to, circling ads in the paper for part-time summer jobs, leaving out the little newspaper write-up on her friend's cousin's son with the coffee shop or the dot-com or whatever.

Darcy always threw them all away.

It didn't surprise her, really, when the Career Builder and Monster print-outs started popping up around the house the second school let out for the summer, mostly because they always started popping up when school let out. Every one was a reminder, a red flag that said, "Please remember that your mother doesn't approve of your career choices." Darcy pulled them off the fridge, threw them out of her car, even ran several of them through her mom's shredder before flopping back down on the couch to watch another episode of Scandal on Netflix. She liked her job. She didn't need a new one, no matter how feverishly her mom highlighted the salary range on the printouts.

Loki had chuckled at it the first time he spotted one; her mom, in a stroke of sick genius, had stuck it under the flag on the mailbox, and Darcy'd grabbed it before hopping into Loki's car. She'd balled it up and thrown it at his head. "It's not funny."

"Your mother probably means well. Most mothers—"

"Most mothers are not my mother," she'd cut him off. When he'd raised his eyebrows, she'd snorted at him. "Go ahead, keep talking about her good intentions and see if you find out what color bra I'm wearing."

He'd reached over to tug lightly at her t-shirt, and she'd smacked him. He'd laughed as they'd driven away, but she'd stared out the window, back at the shadow of her mother standing just inside the house.

The last straw—the one that broke the camel's back and left him crippled in the middle of the desert—came on a Saturday. Darcy'd spent the morning helping her mom clean, and they'd kind of laughed. At least, until her mom dragged down a box of old keepsakes and found Darcy's high school yearbook.

"Oh, don't," Darcy whined, reaching over to slam it shut. "Those were the years of big hair and bigger braces. I don't ever want to see those pictures again."

"You were cute," her mom insisted. Darcy scowled and went back to the rest of the junk in the box—actual junk, most of it yellowed newspaper clippings and weird clay creations from Darcy's elementary school days—until her mom sighed. "Most likely to succeed," she said, kind of dreamily.

Darcy glanced over at her. "What?"

"Myra Davis's son was voted most likely to succeed, but I always thought it would be you." Darcy bristled, her jaw tightening, and returned to the crap in the bottom of the box. "You know, I saw some interesting jobs online you might—"

"Don't," Darcy cut her off.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make this the thing where you ruin an okay day by deciding my job's a joke." Her mom pressed her lips into a pissed off line, and Darcy rolled her eyes. "You always do this. You always pick a day where it's going okay to decide I'm not 'living up to my potential.' The stupid computer printouts just serve as your back-up singers."

"I've never said that," her mom retorted.

"You say it all the time!" Darcy snapped back, almost knocking over the box. "And if you don't say it with computer printouts, you say it with looks and sighs and that disappointed nose-thing you do every time I leave the house." Her mom's face crinkled, her nose wrinkling, and Darcy pointed at her. "See? That! You do that all the time!"

"I want you to live up to your potential," her mom returned. "Myra, Bonnie, Carla, they all have—"

"Kids with two degrees and two kids of their own running around behind white picket fences?" Darcy demanded. Her mom crossed her arms over her chest, and Darcy huffed a breath. "You don't want me to be successful unless it's exactly on your terms, because it's not good enough until then. Can't brag about me at book club, and that's the kind of kid you want."

"I want a kid who's not wasting her life!" her mom half-shouted, and Darcy jerked back a few inches. Anger flared across her mom's face, and suddenly, there was a finger aimed right at Darcy's nose. "I have done everything—everything—to give you all the advantages in life and you sit on the couch like a useless lump or read trashy books or go out with that guy! An entire lifetime of potential, wasted on Netflix and weird TV and—"

"And on trying to reason with you." Darcy's voice sounded distant even in her own ears as she shoved to her feet. The box of junk fell over, and she heard something crunch and break. She didn't look back, though, not as the flush of embarrassment and guilt climbed all over her face and definitely not as she felt her throat thicken. No, even when her mom yelled at her to stop, she grabbed her bag and slammed right out the front door.

She didn't even realize she'd climbed in her shitty old car until the road blurred in her vision. She wiped at her face as she turned corner after corner, her mom's words (potential, success, waste, useless) running back and forth through her head like a skipping record.

She parked and climbed out of the car without really noticing where her autopilot'd taken her. And she only really registered who she'd gone to see—out of all of her casual buddies and her very best friend—when she fisted her hands in Loki's t-shirt and dragged him down to kiss him.

Loki, caught in his doorway like a deer in headlights, stumbled them against the wall, and within a half-second, he'd pushed her away to stare at her. His eyes were huge and confused, his clothes slouchy and comfortable—and why not, it was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. He looked good, better than anything Darcy'd ever known before. Definitely better than Darcy probably looked, with her raccoon-eye makeup and tear-streaked face.

She needed a mirror. God, she was the wreck her mom thought she was, after all.

Her whole body trembled without her permission, and Loki spread hands on her sides. "Look, I know— I'm the worst, okay?" she asked, and he stared down at her like he'd never seen her before. "I'm the worst, and you can tell me that later, but right now? I need to turn it all off. My head, my brain, all of it, I need to not think."

"I don't—"

"It's my mom," she interrupted, and leaned her forehead against his chest. "It's my mom, and it's me, and I need—" Her breath caught, and she forced herself to look back up at him. "I need to feel like I'm worth something. Even if it's just for five minutes."

For a second, Loki just kept looking at her, his face so even and steady that she wondered whether she'd said anything aloud. Maybe she wasn't talking at all, just living a bad dream that'd all go away. She could hope, right?

She almost said all that, too—about the bad dream, the silence, Loki's serious eyes—when Loki reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. "You are always worth something to me," he murmured, and this time, he closed the door when they kissed.


What r u wearing?

Loki tried to keep his face straight as he slid his phone back into his pocket before helping his mother finish setting the table. He knew Darcy figured it was dinner time, and she was using letters instead of words to drive him a bit mad. And she knew that, for the next hour, his back pocket would be vibrating every five minutes or so. Each time, he'd fidget in his seat, and it didn't take long for his relatives to notice. His mother shot him amused looks, his father sighed every time it happened , and his nephews and niece asked more and more questions as the night wore on. He dodged each about who was texting him (it's a secret), could they read the texts (absolutely not ), and could they text back some smiley faces (while Darcy would appreciate that, still no).

Thor offered to cover his dirty dish duty so he could go check his messages. Loki thanked him for his generosity before sneaking off to his old bedroom as quickly as possible. He thankfully had enough sense to shut the door behind him before he opened his messages. He tried to stop the moan that erupted from him, but wasn't entirely successful.

"Uncle Loki, are you okay?" Alva's little voice carried from the hallway.

He wasn't. Not at all. He had a girlfriend who loved tormenting him. It was the best combination of awful and delicious. "I'm fine, dear. Thank you."

"Can I get my horsey?"

Loki stuck his phone under his pillow and told her to come into the room. Thor and Jane slept in his brother's old room. His nephews slept on the pull-out couch in Father's office. And Alva, for the last few summers, had spent the traditional week at his parents' house sleeping on the floor of Loki's room in a sleeping bag . Normally, he didn't have any issue with it, even when she talked in her sleep. But this year, he longed for privacy.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stuffed horse clutched to her chest.

"I was going to look at some pictures my girlfriend sent me."

"Oh, can I look at them?" she asked, starting to climb up on his bed before she finished the question.

"Not this time, sorry."

"Please?" Alva pouted.

Loki sighed. He hated telling her no, but he'd glimpsed at just enough pale skin to know that showing his five-year-old niece would be a terrible idea. He had no desire to be eviscerated by his sister-in-law.

"I think I hear your mother calling you," he lied.

Alva's face scrunched up. "I didn't hear anything."

"I'm pretty sure. You better go check."

He was a horrible person for being dishonest to his niece, but he really needed to inspect the pictures Darcy'd sent him. Thoroughly.

Alva gave him one last dubious look before running out of the room, horse tucked under her arm. Knowing she'd return a minute later to call him out on his lie, he quietly slipped down the stairs after her and out the front door. Circling around the house to the backyard, he took a seat on the large wooden swing that overlooked the lake attached to his parents' property.

Looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed, Loki reopened his texts and smiled in admiration. Darcy had taking it upon herself to answer her own question. She'd apparently found a sale on bras and was determined to send a gratuitous shot of each purchase. Loki once again lamented the fact that the only place he could get some privacy was in the shower, and even then his father griped at everyone who took a shower for longer than five minutes . The owner of a chain of banks had no issue spending money on horseback riding lessons for his grandchildren, but heavens forbid Loki was able to spend some quality alone time in the bathroom. Hot water was apparently outrageously expensive .

"Mind if I join you?" Thor asked.

Loki quickly locked his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. He blamed the miles of pale skin he'd been admiring for not hearing his lumbering brother come up behind him . While Loki wasn't in the mood for company, it was good to see Thor walking under his own power again. Thoughts of his brother's accident still churned Loki's stomach.

"Of course not. What's on your mind?"

Thor pulled a look of hurt. "Can I not come and stare at a lake with my brother?"

"Not without an ulterior motive, no."

Thor ducked his head guiltily before meeting Loki's eyes. "I was hoping we could have a conversation about the woman you are seeing."

Loki smiled tightly at his brother. "I appreciate your need to meddle in every one of my life's affairs—"

"I believe that is a lie," Thor muttered.

"—but despite what you or mother may think, I can actually handle a relationship on my own without having advice spouted at me every two minutes."

"I just wish we could meet her," Thor replied in that annoyingly quiet tone of his that screamed I meant no offense and I'm just trying to protect you. Loki hated how much it still tore up his insides . "But it is good to see you happy."

Loki turned his head to hide his small smile. Happy was rarely a word he applied to himself, but it was true. He felt the urge to spill everything to his older brother, but knew Darcy would kill him for it.

"How did you talk this young woman into dating you?" Thor asked while clapping a hand on Loki's shoulders.

"I followed Alva's advice and simply held her hand."

Thor's smile slowly faded from my face. "My daughter was giving you words of wisdom on relationships?"

"She said that was how she acquired her boyfriend."

Thor stared him down for a moment before he rose from the bench. "Excuse me," he said. "I need to have a conversation with my daughter."


"You can at least tell your dear, old mother your girlfriend's name," his mother said, and Loki laughed as she linked her arm in his. She sent him a warning look, one eyebrow cocked. "That was not meant to be funny."

"She says as she lays a trap for me to call her old," Loki replied with a little smile.

His mother smiled back, her face warm. "You can't blame me for trying," she said, and he laughed again.

Even on the best days, the trips home to visit his parents felt daunting and interminably long. Between the lack of privacy, the constant invasion of his beloved (but high-maintenance) niece and nephews, the—ahem—shower situation, and his father's insistence that they spend endless hours of "family time" together, Loki felt himself start to disintegrate after four or five days. But every summer, his mother discovered some new farmer's market, walking trail, or art museum, and they spent at least one day together.

Today, she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow as they wandered through the Friday evening "art walk." As far as Loki could tell, the event involved buskers, local artists, and a number of young women armed with free wine.

"If I cannot know her name, maybe you can tell me something else," his mother suggested, and Loki shook his head. She nudged him gently. "I know you are still hurt by what happened with that other young woman— What was her name? Darla?"

"Darcy."

"Darcy. But you've clearly moved past her. What's more, you seem happy." She leaned on the word, and Loki bit the inside of his cheek to keep from rolling his eyes. "Tell me something about her."

She peered at him, her gaze pinning him down, and he forced a smile. For the last few weeks, he and Darcy'd spent considerable time creating their alter-egos, the perfect cover stories for their prying families and friends. "Believable cover stories," she'd told him one night, her legs propped up on the couch while she laid on his living room floor. "Nothing crazy."

"My dreams of being a body builder, dashed," he'd teased.

She'd pulled a face. "Ew," she'd retorted, and he'd chuckled. At least, he'd chuckled until her face softened. "Although, if you want to model yourself off one of the guys I work with, I can send you pictures and—"

He'd tweaked one of her bare toes, and she'd squeaked at him. "I would rather not compare myself to Mister Dorito, thank you," he'd informed her, and she'd snickered for entirely too long.

His mother cocked her head to one side, and he forced a smile. He tried to remember all the various attributes of Darcy's alter-ego—a PhD student, blonde and thoroughly tattooed, a participant in roller derby and a kickboxing class—but his mind faltered. Finally, he drew in a breath. "We met through a mutual friend," he half-lied.

"And you were immediately smitten?" his mother asked.

"No. We— Well, you know how I tend to be with young women I admire," he said, and her oh-so-supportive laugh caused him to roll his eyes. "We got off to a rocky start. Which, by the way, is the greatest of all understatements."

"But you won her over," she pointed out.

"After a time. I suppose I believed relationships to be like something in the movies—conceived in a fever, fast and frantic—when, really, it took longer than that." He paused. "For both of us."

His mother smiled. "Thor is not always a good role model," she said, and he huffed out a breath to hide his laughter. She smacked him lightly. "I meant in love, thank you. He and Jane fell for each other quickly and furiously. Most other relationships smolder, instead of burning up like a wild fire." She shrugged. "At least, in my experience."

"You mean to say Father wasn't leading proverbial armies to beat down your door and win your hand?" he teased.

She snorted. "Hardly. Your father was a foolish oaf when we met. A boy, at least in his actions. He's lucky I didn't give up on him years earlier."

Loki grinned. "I might say you deserved better," he said.

"You might be right," she replied. She squeezed his hand, her face warm as she smiled, and Loki knew—despite all the anger of his youth—that she didn't mean what she said. She led him past a street violinist. "Your father and brother struggle to doubt themselves, even when doubt is more than warranted," she continued with a small shake of her head. "You, I think, learned to doubt yourself too much. And while that's served you well in academics, I fear it hurt you in finding friends." She glanced over at him. "In finding love."

He felt a flush climb across his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it's a bit early to talk about love, Mother. We've only just started dating."

She raised a hand. "It was merely a figure of speech," she promised, and led him into an antique shop.

A few hours later, after exploring almost every shop and critiquing endless pieces of art by local and less-local artists, they headed back to the parking lot. His mother was laden down with various bits and bobs for the house—"Your father will not scold me with my children present," she joked, and Loki grinned. Loki himself had limited his purchases to a small abstract print in bright colors. The colors had, at first glimpse, reminded him of Darcy's endless variety of nail polish and various bright accessories, and he thought she might like it. He had, after all, promised her a souvenir.

She'd also sent him at least a dozen texts while he was out with his mother, mostly funny little jokes or quick selfies as she prepared for her friend's birthday party. He smiled at all of them, texting her back as his mother drove them home.

He was halfway up the stairs to his bedroom to put the art away, still texting, when his mother called up to him. When he turned, she was standing at the bottom of the steps, smiling serenely.

"Do tell Darcy I said hello," she said, completely conversationally—and then, walked away before Loki could stammer out another word.


The inevitable finally occurred just before the new school year started.

In retrospect, Loki found each one of their slip-ups, the bits of hubris that, like with Icarus, led them to fly too close to the sun. For instance, he learned the comings and goings of his brother's car, and still parked at the gym six blocks away and walked the rest of the way, just to avoid detection. And Darcy watched Jane like a hawk from the windows and insisted they meet on neutral territory for two-thirds of their dates. They mastered the art of deceit and subterfuge (and every stolen moment smoldered because of it).

And then, Henry had his last t-ball game of the season.

His league purposely began and ended before the school year started, one less scheduling conflict for busy parents to maneuver, and the league organizers always turned the last game into an enormous party at the park. Not only did the teams (all six of them) play their last games, but there were hot dogs, burgers, beverages, party games, trophies—everything a small child could want. Loki stood with Thor and cheered his nephew on, while Darcy slowly drank a Capri Sun and talked with Jane and the other children.

Every so often, she raised her eyes and did something indecent with her tongue and that plastic straw.

Loki hardly knew what Thor was talking about, anymore.

Somewhere near the fifth inning, his cell phone buzzed. bathrooms, five minutes, I don't care what excuse you make up, the text read, and he felt heat splash across his face. Next to him, Thor laughed. "Your girlfriend find newly painful ways to distract you?" he asked, planting a hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki shrugged him off. "Nothing I can't handle." In response to Darcy, he typed, I am woefully unprepared for whatever you have planned.

"I can see that," Thor teased, and Loki snapped a sharp look in his direction. He raised both hands, still grinning. "The longer you date this mystery woman, the clearer it is that you've met your match. I'm glad for that."

"Glad, or nosy?" Loki retorted. Thor sent him a slightly wounded look, and he huffed off—mostly because Darcy'd texted him back to say that she was prepared for anything.

Anything, it turned out, involved the family bathroom in the park's obscenely well-kept bathroom-and-shower area. Loki groaned as he fumbled with the lock, Darcy licking into his mouth and hooking her fingers under the waistband of his jeans. "You know we'll be missed," he reminded her.

"Yeah, well, you lick that straw as many times as I did, you'd want your mouth on something else too," she shot back, and all of the blood (and rational thought) in Loki's body pooled below his waist.

In the end, they had minimal use for Darcy's mouth and clever tongue. Loki's, on the other hand . . .

He ran fingers through his hair as he stepped away from the mirror, Darcy still fighting to put all of her many assets back in order. "We look suspicious," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "I told Jane that the sushi I had for lunch wasn't agreeing with me. I'll text her that I hurled a couple times and need another fifteen."

"And what do you intend to do with those fifteen?"

"Since I don't smoke, buy a coffee and bask," she returned. She winked, and he grinned—at least, until she smacked his hand for skimming his fingers along the neckline of her v-neck. "You start that up again, the hurling excuse won't even work."

"I'm not sure I'm that concerned," he replied, and dragged her in for a kiss by her shirt.

Nobody lurked outside the bathroom when they emerged, or along the winding path back to the baseball diamonds and parking lot. Loki considered the situation for a few seconds before pressing his hand to the small of Darcy's back. He intended to walk her to her car, but then she leaned against him. When their eyes met, he could think of nothing but kissing her.

He did.

Slow and sweet, flying toward the sun.

"Uncle Loki?" a voice demanded, and they jerked apart as though they'd both been branded. Standing in the middle of the path were Alva and George. Last Loki knew, they'd been playing together on the nearby jungle gym; now, sweat-sticky and wide-eyed, they stared up at Loki.

And then at Darcy, who swore under her breath and ran a hand through her hair.

"You were kissing," George observed breathlessly.

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend," Alva added—and then paused. Darcy started to protest, mostly in the form of a strangled sound, but then Alva clasped her hands over her mouth. "You're boyfriend and girlfriend again!" she squeaked at a pitch only dogs could hear clearly. "You're in love and you're going to have babies and we can be your flower girl and your ring boy and Mama'll cry and—"

She started physically bouncing on the balls of her feet until Darcy grabbed her shoulders. "No," she said, and Alva abruptly stopped. The joy in her eyes flitted away, and Loki felt his own stomach drop.

George shifted nervously. "You're not back in love?" he asked quietly.

Darcy looked at him, and then, for some reason, up at Loki. Loki wet his lips trying to find an answer that didn't reveal too much—like how desperately he cared about the woman beside him, or how many confessions lived on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he crouched down in front of his niece and nephew. "Do you remember when we planned to surprise your parents on their anniversary last year?" he asked.

George nodded, but it was Alva who said, "Yeah, and Henry blurted and told and then the flowers and the pancakes weren't a real surprise."

George's face creased in a frown. "Henry ruins everything."

Darcy snickered, and Loki bit down on his own smile. "Henry ruined that surprise, maybe, but that's not what I'm talking about." He glanced over at Darcy, who raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Darcy and I, we— That is to say, while we're not 'back in love' or anything like that, we're certainly not indifferent toward one another."

Alva mouthed indifferent, and Darcy rolled her eyes. "What your uncle means is that we're trying the boyfriend and girlfriend thing again, but slowly." Both kids' faces started to light up, and she held up a hand. "But it's a surprise. Something nobody else can know about."

"Not even Mama?" Alva asked.

"And not Henry?" George added hopefully.

Darcy shook her head. "Neither of them. Not your dad, not your grandparents, not your friends. It's a secret."

Alva nodded, her eyes still darting between them, but George frowned again. "Is there going to be a party?" he asked. When Loki cocked his head, George sighed. "My friend Drew said they made a surprise for his dad when he got really old. It was a party with all these people. They evensaid surprise."

Darcy shrugged. "Sure," she said, "we'll have a party. And, if you keep your mouths sh— I mean, if you keep the secret for the rest of today, we'll have ice cream."

Both children grinned. "Chocolate ice cream?" Alva asked.

"With sprinkles?" George chimed in.

"More chocolate and sprinkles than either of you can eat," she promised, and Loki laughed when Alva actually offered her brother a spontaneous high-five. Darcy put her hands on their shoulders. "But remember: no secret, no ice cream."

"We'll keep your secret forever," Alva swore.

"Until the party," George amended, and his sister nodded.

They turned around and darted back toward the baseball diamonds, Loki realizing belatedly that they were only maybe fifteen feet from where the woods gave way to open fields. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "My brother and Jane will expect an engagement or worse if we have a 'coming out' party," he pointed out to Darcy.

She shrugged. "You'll think of something, I bet," she told him, and leaned up to steal a kiss before she headed out into the sunlight.