Written in the Stars(4)

She’d heard this argument before. “It’s not about blaming your personality on the planets; it’s about understanding yourself and becoming aware of why you might be prone to certain behaviors and patterns. What people choose to do with that knowledge is up to them.”

Darcy took a delicate swig of wine and set her glass aside. “Agree to disagree.”

Elle bit the inside of her cheek. That was fine. She believed in it, and her five hundred thousand Twitter followers believed in it, too.

It was a bit of a bummer that she and Darcy weren’t on the same page, but it was one topic. Granted, it was a topic near and dear to her heart, but it wasn’t as if they came down on opposite ends of the political spectrum. She wouldn’t press the issue . . . not on the first date. “At any rate, Margot and I are super excited to be a part of, hopefully, helping people find their soul mates.”

Darcy snorted and not in that I agree, or God, you’re so funny kind of way. It was a sardonic little puff, condescending when paired with the roll of her eyes. “You sound like my brother.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a romantic notion.” Darcy dropped her eyes, her expression shuttering.

Elle frowned. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s silly. Soul mates. Your one true pairing.” Darcy shook her head like it was ridiculous.

The butterflies quit fluttering, Elle’s stomach souring, though that might’ve been the wine. What was Darcy even doing on this date if she wasn’t looking for love, or at least the chance of love?

“I think it’s nice,” Elle argued. “If you don’t believe in love, what’s left to believe in?”

Darcy’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek. “Sweet in theory, but a bit starry-eyed, don’t you think?”

Was that a dig and a quip about her profession? “I’d rather be starry-eyed than jaded.”

Reaching for her wine, Elle’s fingers skimmed the stem, her grip slipping. The glass teetered, tottered, swaying back and tipping forward. Her stomach rioted, mimicking the motion. In slo-mo, the red wine sloshed over the rim of the glass as the whole thing tumbled, merlot soaking into the linen tablecloth and splashing across the table, splattering Darcy’s dress.

“Oh fuck.” Elle scrambled for a napkin and stood, knees knocking into the table and—

Fifty-six dollars of wine toppled right over into Darcy’s lap.

Elle froze, white cloth napkin poised to—what? Blot? Fuck, she’d better start waving it in surrender.

“I am so sorry.” Heat crept up her throat, making her uncomfortably warm.

“It’s—it’s fine.” Darcy shoved her chair back, legs squealing against the wood. The wine not soaked into her dress dribbled down her legs when she stood. “Excuse me.”

Darcy shuffled off toward the back of the restaurant, where there was a sign pointing to the restroom.

Elle’s pulse lurched in her throat and her eyes went damp as she set the now-empty glasses to rights. Fuck her life. She had not meant for that to happen. She wasn’t usually clumsy, nowhere close, but Darcy had put her on the defensive.

Astrology was one thing—granted, an important thing—but not believing in love? How in the hell was she related to adorkable Brendon, creator of OTP? Brendon who rambled about Harry Potter and spoke with his hands and made “May the 4th Be With You” an official companywide holiday. Brendon who, in her two in-person meetings with OTP Inc., several lunches, and countless DMs, had displayed more verve for life in his pinkie than Darcy possessed in her whole, admittedly gorgeous, body. Elle had felt sparks, she absolutely had, but had Darcy? Apparently not if she could so easily scoff at the idea of true love.

Elle stuck her hand in the air and flagged down the waiter.

He frowned at the table. “Let me grab something to clean this up.”

“Just . . . could you . . . I’m ready to leave.” She handed him her card, forcing her fingers to release the plastic when he tugged.

One swipe of her Visa later, he returned, handing her the receipt folded around her card. Good. She didn’t want to look at the bill right now, anyway. “Have a nice night.”

Nice night, her butt. That ship had sailed and sunk and was now nothing but wreckage on the bottom of the ocean.

Time to cut her losses. As soon as Darcy came back, Elle would make her exit.

She crossed her legs and tried to ignore the twinge in her bladder. What was taking Darcy so long? Maybe she would hit the restroom first. If she ran into Darcy, she could kill two birds with one stone, making her good-bye brief before more damage could be done. Literally.

Decided, Elle stood and tossed her napkin on the table before heading to the restroom.

“—didn’t even want to go on this date in the first place and now my dress is ruined, Annie.”

Darcy faced the end of the hall, her back to Elle. Phone pressed to her ear, she paced slowly in front of the door to the ladies’, one spindly stiletto placed perfectly in front of the toe of her other foot as if she were walking on a balance beam as she held her phone to her ear.

Elle’s legs locked, trapped in the evolutionarily stupid choice between fight and flight. Freeze.

Darcy gave a dry laugh. “I don’t see how that’s relevant but, yes, she’s pretty. I’m sure she’s loads of fun, too. She’s also a mess.”