Written in the Stars(48)

Elle might not have had on the jacket, but she was wearing a truly out-of-this-world Christmas sweater. Truly. Colorful bauble planets with sequined rings popped against the black knit, but it was the addition of actual light-up stars operated by a battery pack tucked against Elle’s back that set the sweater apart. Darcy fingered the hem of her atrocious Grinch sweater that she’d only purchased because it made Elle smile. She felt a little less out of place than when she’d tried it on.

Thumbs tapping absently against the scuffed leather of the steering wheel, Elle pulled alongside the curb in front of a pale green bilevel house in a quiet, older-looking neighborhood. All the homes looked like they’d been built in the fifties, maybe sixties, but had been well-kept, the lawns manicured and the stoops swept free of leaves. In the driveway, there was an ostentatious green sports car parked alongside a white Honda CR-V and a silver Tesla.

“This is it,” Elle said, hands clenching around the wheel. “Home sweet home.”

“It’s nice.” Darcy rested her fingers on the handle, cracking the door. Elle continued to stare through the window, teeth worrying her bottom lip. Darcy wanted to reach out, tug it free. She cleared her throat. “Are we heading in?”

Elle relaxed her grip on the wheel and nodded. “Yeah. Probably should. It looks like everyone else is already here.”

Darcy wouldn’t say it, definitely not when Elle looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but here, but she was oddly looking forward to a family Thanksgiving even if it wasn’t her family and even if this thing between her and Elle was contrived. The last official family Thanksgiving Darcy had had was five years ago when Grandma was still alive. Even then, the family was broken up and small—just Grandma, Mom, Brendon, and her. Now, Mom spent every holiday other than Christmas gallivanting off to some foreign country, a ski lodge or a sunny escape like Bali, with her flavor of the week, leaving her and Brendon to fend for themselves. Nothing new. It was the sort of behavior she’d learned to expect from Mom—frivolous, self-centered, careless. Brendon had learned to shrug it off; Thanksgiving was never his favorite holiday anyway, no matter how hard Darcy had tried to make it something they could celebrate together even if it was just the two of them. If there weren’t costumes involved or some tie-in to a movie franchise, Brendon wasn’t interested. At least, for some reason, he still liked Christmas.

Darcy followed Elle up the brick steps. The closer they came to the front door, the slower Elle’s steps became, like she was marching off to the executioner’s block and not her childhood home. On the landing, Elle spun on her heel, nearly knocking into Darcy who was right behind her. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a grimace. “Look, Darcy—”

The front door opened, stopping Elle from finishing what she’d been trying to say. “Elle, you made it.”

This must have been Elle’s mom. The woman opening the door had the same blue eyes, the same tiny cleft in her chin. Fine lines appeared beside the corners of her eyes when she smiled and reached for Elle, hands curling around her shoulders, tugging her in for a brief hug before drawing back, her eyes darting over Elle’s face, before she caught sight of Darcy over her shoulder. “You must be Darcy. It’s so good to meet you. Call me Linda.”

Darcy slid the strap of her brown leather hobo bag down her arm and withdrew the bottle of wine she’d packed as a hostess gift. “Likewise. Thank you so much for having me. I wasn’t sure what kind of wine you like, so I brought my favorite.”

Linda’s eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “Why don’t I take this to the kitchen and open it up?”

Elle goggled. “Mom, it’s barely after noon.”

“And?” Linda waved for them to follow as she slipped inside the house.

“How come when I day drink on holidays, it’s all ‘Elle, be reasonable. Tequila’s not a breakfast food.’ Or, ‘Elle, take that onesie off. You’re scaring the kids.’ But now you’re all, it’s five o’clock somewhere. What gives?”

Linda ignored her.

“Mom.”

“I’m sorry.” Linda didn’t even look over her shoulder. “I thought that was rhetorical.”

Elle frowned sharply as Linda disappeared around the corner, a dismissal if Darcy had ever seen one.

She snagged Elle by the elbow. “You own a onesie?”

“A unicorn onesie, yes. What’s your point?”

Darcy tried not to wince when the itchy polyblend of her sweater scratched her shoulders. “Sounds cute.”

Laughter drifted down the hall.

“Come on. Let’s go meet my family.” Fingers tangling with hers, Elle tugged her down the hall, stopping in the entry of a spacious living room, the walls painted a soothing shade of pale olive. The conversation cut off, all eyes on them.

Lifting a hand, Elle was nearly bowled over by the force of a tiny shouting boy. “Aunt Elle!”

Voices blended together into one synchronous, “Hey, Elle,” and six sets of eyes quickly turned to Darcy, studying her with looks ranging from openly curious to shrewd.

Elle coughed lightly, hand drifting down to rest on her nephew’s head. “Everyone, this is Darcy. Darcy, this is . . . well, everyone.”

“I’m Ryland.” Elle’s nephew peeked up from where he was hugging Elle’s knees. He lifted a hand, thumb and pinky folded against his palm. “I’m three.”