Written in the Stars(6)

Margot’s lips twisted. “I’m guessing you still haven’t told her about the deal with OTP?”

Elle snagged the bowl of dry cereal she’d left on the table this morning and sorted the minimarshmallows from the boring bits, placing them into groups of rainbows, moons, and balloons. She shrugged, avoiding Margot’s hawklike stare.

“Elle.” Margot pursed her lips.

Elle poured a handful of rainbow marshmallows into her mouth and munched. “The timing hasn’t been right.”

“I know the book deal announcement didn’t go the way you’d hoped, but that doesn’t mean your family won’t be excited about this.” Margot’s grin was almost convincing, but it didn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes. “Come on. This deal is big. If your family can’t see that . . .”

Margot was right that the deal with OTP, the coolest dating app ever—for nerds, by nerds—was a BFD. The passion-project side hustle Margot and Elle had been working themselves to the bone over for years was about to become a full-time venture.

Elle should’ve been bursting at the seams to scream her good news at anyone who’d listen, but if history was anything to go by, telling Mom could go one of two ways. She would either have a million questions about what an OTP was and whether Elle had someone reliable checking over her contract and was she sure she didn’t want to just get a nice, normal job with a steady paycheck and retirement benefits? Or she would smile blandly, her eyes glazing over as soon as Elle mentioned the words dating app and astrological compatibility. Then Mom would respond with that’s nice, Elle.

She’d managed to earn a that’s really great, honey when she’d told her family about the book deal. Only, her older sister, Jane, had followed with her own happy news that after a year of IVF, she and her husband were expecting twins. Obviously a bigger deal than Elle’s news, but she was pretty sure her family had forgotten all about her book in the hubbub of Jane’s announcement.

Playing second fiddle to her older sibling’s achievements was the story of her life, but that didn’t mean she was keen on suffering through another instance of hoping her family would finally take an interest in her life beyond polite tolerance of her eccentricities.

I’m sure she’s loads of fun, too. She’s also a mess.

Not just her family.

So what if Elle took her advice from the stars instead of the self-help section? Conventional was boring, but why was it impossible to find someone who liked the beat of her drum as much as she did?

Margot waved a hand in front of Elle’s face. “Earth to Elle.”

Elle forced a smile. “Sorry. I just had a bad night. It churned up some less than awesome feelings.”

“Buck up, Buttercup.” Margot stole one of Elle’s marshmallow balloons. “Forget about Brendon’s sister. She wasn’t right for you, so just shake it off. You’ll have better luck next time, okay?”

Elle opened her mouth but as soon her lips parted, a hazy, damp film clouded her vision. She had to swallow before she could speak. “How many more next times are there going to be, Mar? How many more first dates am I going to have to go on? How many times am I going to get my hopes up? I know I shouldn’t . . . give up, but is it awful that I kind of want to . . . take a step back?”

Margot’s dark eyes widened, probably because Elle was the optimist in their duo. She’d been called Pollyannaish a time or two, and whatever, she didn’t care if people thought she was naively optimistic, but—maybe she was delusional. Maybe the beat of her own drum was best danced to alone.

“I think . . . I think you should do what feels right.” Margot gave a definitive nod. “If you’re feeling burned out and you want to take a hiatus from the dating scene? I say go for it. Your perfect person is out there somewhere, completely oblivious to the fact that their dream girl is sitting on the floor of her apartment right now, chowing down on Lucky Charms, commando. They can wait.”

Elle tried to smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off, not when the sting of rejection was so fresh. Not when she’d had such high hopes and had, for just a moment, felt a connection, the kind that couldn’t be faked.

Maybe Margot was right. Maybe her perfect person was out there, but one thing was certain.

It wasn’t Darcy.





Chapter Two


—and that’s when I said to my grandson, ‘Johnathon, you’re too talented to be working yourself to the bone for that chef. You should start your own restaurant.’ And you know what? He did. Owns three food trucks. A real entrepreneur. Can you believe it?”

Mrs. Clarence’s knobby, arthritic fingers trembled around the strap of her reusable grocery bag. Darcy had already snagged two of Mrs. Clarence’s bags on the way into the elevator, but she went ahead and reached for the third, accepting a pat on the arm when her neighbor let her shoulder the weight of all three.

“That’s nice, Mrs. Clarence.” She tried not to wince when the strap of the heaviest bag bit into the thin skin of her inner elbow. “You must be very proud.”

The older woman sighed. “Oh, I am. Now if only he could find a girl, a nice girl.” Her shrewd eyes roved over Darcy from her head down to her feet. “Say, you’re not seeing anyone, are you, Darcy dear?”

She gave Mrs. Clarence what hopefully came across as an appropriately apologetic smile instead of a grimace. “Sorry. Work has me busy.”