Written in the Stars(45)

Darcy sniffed softly, the move making her nose twitch. All Elle would be able to think about each time she wore the jacket was Darcy’s pert little nose wrinkling.

The box of wine wasn’t nothing and this, this was definitely not nothing. It was something, Elle just didn’t know what. But she liked it, liked that Darcy had thought about her, had gone out of her way to do something kind just because. Despite what she’d said, what they both had said, not once all evening did Darcy press Elle to commemorate the night with a photo she could post so Brendon would see them together. Elle didn’t know what any of it meant, only that it felt like this thing between them had shifted.

Elle slid the jacket over her arms and pushed the sleeves up over her wrists. A perfect fit.

“And you liked it. So.”

There was that word again. So. Imagining what came after that teeny tiny word was too tempting.

So tempting that later that night, as Elle lay in bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling, the ones that brought her joy no matter how silly some people might think them, she let herself hope that something real could come from this fake arrangement.

*

“—and the engineers want to know how the planets could be represented visually. Like, with emojis. I was thinking eggplant and peach beside Mars since that’s most strongly representative of action and sex drive. And a smoochy face and diamond ring next to Venus for values and— Elle? Elle.”

Elle blinked, tearing her eyes away from where she’d zoned out staring at the purple beaded curtain that partitioned off the private room inside Wishing Well Books from the public portion of the bookstore. Elle had had an in-person reading scheduled at five thirty and another at eight, so Margot had tagged along so they could get some prep work done for OTP between her appointments. “Sorry. Eggplants.” She frowned. “When did we start talking about dicks?”

Margot snorted and chucked her pen at Elle. “Let me guess, daydreaming about”—she swooned, draping herself over the arm of her chair—“Darcy.”

“Stop.” Elle lobbed the pen back at Margot where it left a fuchsia streak across her arm. Elle opened her mouth to argue, but paused. Anything she would’ve said to the contrary would’ve been a bald-faced lie. “Okay, yeah, I was.”

While Margot still wasn’t pleased with the circumstances that had thrown Darcy and Elle together, or how Darcy had behaved on their blind date, Margot had taken the stance that if Elle was happy, she was happy for her.

“Of course you were.” Margot set her notebook on the table between them beside the sage, cypress, and lemongrass scented pillar candle whose flame flickered softly in the dimly lit room. “What was it this time? The kiss? The jacket? The wine? Her nose?”

“All of the above?” Elle shot Margot a subdued smile and shrugged. “I just . . . I want her to like me. Is that silly? You probably think I’m being ridiculous.”

“Do I think you’re ridiculous for wanting the girl you like to like you back?” Margot tsked. “Of course not, Elle. I’m worried you might be playing with fire, but if you think this thing with Darcy, whatever it is”—Margot rolled her eyes—“is worth your time, then I support you. Although, speaking of time, have you given any more thought to how this is supposed to end?”

“I don’t know.” Elle plucked at a loose thread on the hem of her sweater, avoiding Margot’s too-perceptive stare. “Who’s to say this has to end?”

When Margot said nothing, Elle lifted her eyes, flinching at the way Margot’s entire face, from her furrowed brow to her pinched lips, screamed pity. “Elle—”

“Maybe,” Elle tacked on. “Maybe it won’t end. Maybe she’ll . . . we’ll . . .” She sank down in her chair with a sigh. “Just because it started out fake doesn’t mean it can’t become real, right?”

Margot shrugged. “Sure, Elle. Anything’s possible.”

Right. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to get us off track. What were you saying? Engineers and emojis?”

Margot snatched her notebook off the table and slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Back to business. “We’ve got to pick a sampling of placements because, according to the team, the rest of the chart won’t be accessible unless users go premium.”

Fair enough. OTP had to make money somehow, and as far as incentives went, access to the rest of a match’s chart would be a solid draw for users to upgrade. Curiosity was an incredibly powerful motivator. Didn’t Elle know it.

“All right. Sample . . . Sun’s a given so I’d say . . . Moon, Rising, Mars, and Venus. Shoot, Mercury’s important, too.”

Without a complete chart, it was difficult to determine compatibility. But most people who hadn’t studied astrology extensively—and to be honest, few had, despite the absurd number of astrology accounts cropping up claiming to know what they were talking about—wouldn’t be able to parse out the nuances of a natal chart.

Behind the scenes, she and Margot were working with engineers at OTP to fine-tune the algorithms behind matching in a way that considered a more thorough approach to synastry. Most users didn’t need the nitty-gritty. And if they wanted it? They’d have to pay.

Margot twirled her earring between her fingers and frowned thoughtfully. “I’m right there with you about Mercury. So much of communication isn’t what we say, but how we say it.”