Written in the Stars(14)

What the hell? Elle wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. What did that mean? Never seen her so what? “Oh?”

He lifted his head, smile still lovably lopsided. “She said you two really hit it off.”

Elle’s jaw dropped. The fuck? “She did?”

Brendon nodded. “She’s . . . God, Elle, I mean it when I say I’ve never seen my sister so . . . so smitten before.”

“Smitten,” Elle echoed dumbly.

“Could you not tell?” Brendon laughed as if his sister’s feelings were utterly obvious.

All she could do was shrug. “Darcy is . . . not the easiest to read.”

Brendon nodded like he understood. “She keeps her cards close to her chest, that’s for sure. But trust me when I say she had a great time.”

Could’ve fooled her.

Either this was some gigantic misunderstanding, or Darcy had lied to her brother. But to what end? Elle had been the one who was late and had spilled wine all over the place, so why lie?

His smile fell. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”

Ah, fudge.

Elle chanced a quick glance at Mom, who wasn’t even pretending she wasn’t listening, and tugged on her earlobe. “I—”

Almost cried on the way home?

Lost her new underwear in a public bathroom she was forced to use because she was too embarrassed to confront Darcy in the restaurant?

Had really hoped they’d hit it off and had been inordinately disappointed when the breath-snatching chemistry hadn’t been enough?

Everything she could think to say seemed wrong.

The look on Brendon’s face was so hopeful, like he honest to God believed his sister’s happiness hinged on Elle. It didn’t help that Mom was staring at her, that same hope reflected in her blue eyes.

Lying was something Elle avoided, but owning up to her part in last night’s disaster date? Copping to spilled wine and lateness and head-butting over her job and hopes? Elle was tired of everyone looking at her like she was a mess when she was just trying her best.

“I just . . . I’m kind of speechless,” she confessed, forcing out a laugh.

Mom looked at her strangely because if there was one thing anyone who knew Elle, really knew her, was aware of, it was that she was seldom at a loss for words.

“You sound like Darcy.” Brendon’s smile went sly as he leaned in, dropping his voice. “Until she finally spilled and told me all about your off-the-charts chemistry.”

Not a misunderstanding, then. At least not one between Darcy and Brendon.

Torn between righteous indignation—because, ha, there were sparks, she knew it—and heavyhearted melancholy—because the confirmation of those sparks meant zilch—Elle chuckled nervously over the rim of her macchiato. “What can I say?”

Brendon, who continued to look a touch too smug, as if his matchmaking skills were out of this world, looked at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to finish her statement, but . . . what could she say? Darcy had put her in a pickle, a no-win situation.

Fortunately, the waiter swooped in, saving the moment from becoming too awkward when he dropped off their food. Regardless of how rude it was with Brendon still standing there, Elle promptly stuffed a forkful of crepe into her mouth. The cinnamon sugar melted on her tongue, not like butter, but like ash.

Blue eyes bright and smile poorly restrained, Mom looked inordinately pleased by this turn of events. Elle swallowed, wincing as her bite of crepe made a slow, dry descent, sticking thickly in her esophagus.

Brendon ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I should leave you two to your breakfast, but be on the lookout for a text from Darcy, okay? She said she’ll be in touch.”

For a moment, Elle’s chest swelled with a strange surge of something that felt suspiciously like hope. Had she read the situation wrong? Maybe—

No.

There was no way. It just wasn’t possible.

That didn’t mean Elle didn’t have questions. Darcy had some explaining to do. She owed Elle that much.

Elle pasted on a smile. “Not if I text her first.”





Chapter Four


Steam wafted off the top of Darcy’s mug, tickling her nose as she brought the ceramic to her lips. Her eyes shut as she sipped then let out a contented sigh, her body sinking deeper into the couch cushion.

Bliss. Her apartment was silent, her coffee just this side of scalding, and she had nowhere she needed to be for the entire weekend. Two whole days where she could do what she wanted, when she wanted. No pointless dates or Brendon complaining she was behaving like a homebody.

Darcy cracked open an eye and glared at the coffee table. At her phone, which was dancing its way across the surface of her coffee table, vibrating noisily.

UNKNOWN NUMBER (11:24 A.M.): you have some explaining to do

Darcy wrinkled her nose and swiped at the screen, quickly tapping in her passcode with her thumb.

DARCY (11:26 A.M.): I think you have the wrong number.

After pressing send, Darcy spared a moment to consider what sort of explaining this person who was certainly not her had to do and to whom. Was it a lovers’ spat? Some kid about to get a stern talking-to from a parent? Darcy set her phone down beside her. Not her problem.

Against her hip, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER (11:29 A.M.): do i darcy?