Written in the Stars(53)

But Elle had loved it enough to take it home.

Elle loved herself, but what a feeling it must be, being loved by someone else exactly as you are, quirks and warts and all. She wouldn’t know.

Santa’s knit face blurred before her eyes. Over the ringing in her ears, footsteps approached down the hall, getting closer, the loose floorboard near the kitchen door squeaking. Shoot. Elle swiped a hand over her face, mopping her tears with her sleeve.

Darcy ducked her head around the corner, eyes flaring when she spotted Elle. Elle who undoubtedly looked like a wreck, face streaked with salty tears and . . . she looked at the sleeve of her sweater. Plum-colored eyeliner smeared the wool. What else was new. Elle was the definition of an ugly crier, her complexion going splotchy and her eyes swelling like she was having an allergic reaction, her body trying to shove her emotions out violently through her tear ducts. Of course, Darcy was there to bear witness to another shade of Elle in all her messy glory.

“So. Your family kind of sucks,” Darcy said, plainly.

Elle snorted, but her nose was stuffed so it came out like an awkward honk.

“It’s no big deal.” She forced a laugh. “If you think about it, it’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m so upset. Cilantro, I mean . . . shit. Saying I taste like soap to a vocal minority of the population, that’s— It’s ridiculous.”

It didn’t feel ridiculous.

Darcy’s shoulders rose as she stared hard at Elle. Elle crossed her arms, hugging herself tight, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, briefly lifting one leg to scratch the back of her knee with her opposite toe.

Darcy took a careful step toward her, then another and another until she was close enough that Elle could count the freckles on her nose. Only there were too many, countless others spreading out along Darcy’s cheeks, spilling down her jaw. Of course, there was that special freckle shaped like the moon beside Darcy’s mouth, the one bracketed by her dimple.

She was so busy trying in vain to count Darcy’s freckles, to remember what the freckle at the corner of her mouth had tasted like when they’d kissed, that it wasn’t until Darcy’s thumb brushed the skin beneath Elle’s right eye that Elle even realized Darcy had reached out to touch her.

“For what it’s worth,” Darcy said, her right hand joining the left to wipe away the tears and liner from beneath Elle’s eyes. “I like cilantro.”

Elle blinked, thoughts jamming because there were too many of them competing for space inside her brain. Overriding everything was the fact that Darcy was cradling Elle’s face in her hands and staring into Elle’s eyes, her perfect teeth sunk into the swell of her lower lip, so sharp her lip had turned white from the pressure.

When Darcy released her lip, the flesh plumped, turning red. Her hands slipped lower, thumbs no longer grazing the thin, delicate skin beneath Elle’s eyes, but the side of her jaw, her fingers curling around the back of Elle’s neck. “And when we kissed? I really liked how you taste.”

Warmth seeped from Elle’s chest down into her stomach like she’d taken a shot of tequila. It spread lower, heat settling between her thighs. Her thoughts turned syrupy slow and candy sweet as Darcy leaned in, erasing the distance between them inch by torturous inch.

This was really happening and it couldn’t be for show because it was just the two of them inside the kitchen, their faces growing closer together. Elle could taste the sharp, fruity, warmth of Darcy’s breath and her chest started to ache, arms and legs and the muscles in her stomach quivering, all but vibrating from keeping still. Waiting . . . waiting . . . Anticipation was the sweetest torture as Darcy exhaled, lips curling in delight at the whimper that clawed its way up Elle’s throat when Darcy’s nose brushed hers, Darcy’s nails—

“There you two— Whoops.”

Elle stepped back, hip knocking into the counter, sending a frisson of pain radiating from her hip bone all the way up her side. A pink flush crept up Darcy’s jaw as she stepped away, ducking her chin and staring at the floor.

Frozen in the doorway, Dad smiled sheepishly. “Right. Just coming to make sure you were okay, Elle-belle.”

“Fine, Dad.” At least her voice had barely shook. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

He coughed lightly, feet already carrying him backward through the door.

A moment passed, Elle weighing words that would do her feelings justice. She wanted to chase after the moment, snatch it back, crawl inside that bubble where she and Darcy breathed the same air, but she didn’t know how to revive it.

Darcy opened her mouth and a sudden pulse of panic clawed its way up Elle’s throat not knowing what Darcy was going to say but terrified it would erase the progress they’d made.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Elle blurted.

Darcy shut her mouth, lashes fluttering. “Why?”

Elle swallowed and took a leap of faith. “Do you want to do something? With me?”

That moment was gone. But they could make a new moment. Several moments. If Darcy wanted. If this, Darcy following her into the kitchen, and saying what she had, meant what Elle hoped it did.

Darcy’s lips drew to the side. “Not with your family, right?”

“Definitely not.” Elle laughed, relieved beyond belief that Darcy hadn’t immediately said no.

“And not with my brother?”