Written in the Stars(43)

Darcy nodded. “I can do that.”

Elle’s chest squeezed, wishing Darcy didn’t have to act like she liked her.

“Anything else I should know, or is it more of a learn-as-you-go thing?”

Ha. Elle was still learning how to navigate the waters of formal family dinners.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll probably fit in with my family better than me.”

*

Despite the conventional wisdom that said no one had any business eating something larger than their head, they both managed to polish off their burgers and a shared order of nori fries.

Back on the street, Elle crossed her arms against the chill and smiled at Darcy who’d been smart enough to wear a coat. Elle had been too caught off guard by Darcy’s unexpected visit to think to grab her jacket. “Well. This was fun.”

Darcy nodded. “It was. Thanks for the food. Are you sure you won’t let me pay for mine?”

Elle waved her off. “My treat.”

She wasn’t sure if they were standing there on the street corner because the light was red, or for some other reason. “All right. Well—”

“I’ll walk with you,” Darcy blurted. “It’s nice out.”

It was freezing, but okay. Elle wouldn’t argue. The company was nice.

Elle led them two blocks south, pausing at the corner of Pike and Broadway, waiting for the light. She peeked around the corner, checking for oncoming traffic. The neon sign hanging in the window on the next block caught her eye. She grabbed Darcy’s wrist and tugged her in the new direction.

“What? Where are we going? Your apartment’s that way.”

“Change of plans,” she said, stopping in front of a store with the sign ONE MAN’S TRASH. The T in trash was burned out, turning the store into ONE MAN’S RASH, which made Elle chuckle under her breath. “This is my favorite thrift store.”

“And we’re here because . . . ?” Darcy goggled at the window display of half-dressed mannequins posed to look as if they were having an orgy.

“I forgot about my favorite Thanksgiving tradition. It’s the only thing my family does that’s odd, if you can even call it that.” Elle reached for the handle on the front door, eager to step inside out of the cold. “We all wear the tackiest ugly Christmas sweaters we can find. We’ve been doing it for years. You have to wear one.”

Darcy didn’t argue, though she did pull a face, lips twisting like she was beginning to regret this whole plan, if she didn’t already.

The inside of the store smelled like fabric softener and Lysol, and beneath that, mothballs and body odor, which Elle tried hard to ignore. Detouring past the front display of puffer jackets, Elle tugged Darcy deeper into the store where they kept their funkier offerings.

“Jesus.” Darcy tugged on a poofy, crinoline prom dress shoved between an old D.A.R.E shirt and a leather motorcycle jacket. “There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this. How do you find anything in here?”

“You don’t. Not really. Stuff tends to find you.”

“Like that doesn’t sound ominous.” Darcy set the dress back on the rack. The bar holding the hangers made a low creak before the entire rack collapsed in on itself. “Shit.”

Darcy bent down, reaching to clean up the mess. Something green and sparkly in the pile caught Elle’s eye. “Wait, hold up.”

She grabbed the item in question, sure enough, a sweater. And not just any sweater, but a delightfully hideous knitted monstrosity with a sequined Grinch.

Darcy recoiled, elbow knocking into the rack of shoes. “Ow. No. Absolutely not. Not even if you paid me.”

Elle gave her what she hoped was a convincing pout, pulling out all the stops, widening her eyes and jutting out her bottom lip. “I told you—things find you in here.”

“Nope.” Darcy shook her head. “That is odious.”

“All the better! It’s supposed to be ugly.”

“Ugly is an understatement, Elle. It offends me.”

Elle thrust the sweater at Darcy, who shrieked and backed away. “Just try it on.”

Darcy paled. “Try it on? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t know where that’s been or who wore it. I’m not buying it, but if I did, you bet your ass I’d wash it first.”

“Gah.” Elle dropped her head back and groaned. “Oh my god. Don’t be such a grinch about it. You can wear your camisole. You’ll be fine.”

With a huff, Darcy snatched the sweater from Elle and stomped off in the direction of the dressing room, grumbling nonsense under her breath.

Lingering outside the curtain of the dressing stall, Elle waited, snickering as Darcy muttered to herself about fucking sweaters and how she better not get bedbugs or something and Elle better be happy.

Happy was an understatement. When Darcy flung the curtain aside and stepped out of the dressing room, Elle doubled over. Darcy was drowning in the three-sizes-too-big sweater that nearly hung down to her knees. When she lifted her arm to flip Elle off, the sweater slipped over her hand and the excess fabric made it look like she had wings. That didn’t even account for the atrocity that was the sparkling Grinch whose eyes lined up rather perfectly with Darcy’s chest.

Darcy scratched the base of her throat, her expression twisting, eyes going wide. “I’m itching. Why am I itching?”