Written in the Stars(65)
Deleting the reminder was instinctive. She wanted that ostentatious green text gone, wanted to rewind the moment and erase that look off Elle’s face. Go back to how things had been before, before that terrible little notification had burst their bubble and injected reality into the fantasy world Darcy had immersed herself.
The moment remained fractured. Elle picked at a fraying thread on her robe with unsteady fingers, refusing to make eye contact.
Darcy needed to say something. She had never considered herself particularly skilled at this, verbalizing her emotions. Not because she struggled with eloquence but because she’d attempt to rationalize her feelings to the point of talking herself out of sharing them. In the past year, Darcy had done everything in her power to disconnect herself from them—most of them—altogether.
Two impulses warred within her, churning her stomach, turning her gut into a battlefield. There was the desire to tell Elle that she hadn’t expected any of this, but here she was. Completely upside down, but Elle was a bright star lighting up the dark, keeping her from feeling entirely lost, entirely alone in this. That yes, this had started out as a fake relationship, but now these feelings felt anything but fake.
Darcy’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, words clogging in her throat, overpowered by the second impulse, the desire to never talk about why she hadn’t wanted a relationship and was so resistant to Brendon’s matchmaking, the reason that went beyond being busy. Most of the time she did everything in her power not to think about it. Saying it was out of the question.
There had to be a balance between saying something and revealing everything. She needed to find that happy medium, find it now, because the look on Elle’s face was growing grimmer by the second.
“Brendon.” Fuck. Her tongue really had adhered to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed and tried again. “Brendon’s Christmas party. Do you . . . do you want to go with me?”
Her heart beat against her sternum like an angry kickdrum when Elle frowned. “I already said yes. That was part of our deal, wasn’t it? You go to Thanksgiving with me and I go to the Christmas party and whatever else I needed to. To convince your brother.”
Darcy was bad at this, rusty at sharing how she felt. She hated being bad at things, hated not knowing what she was doing, obvious in her ineptitude. She huffed, despising how her cheeks went hot, her feelings splashed across her face.
“I know that. Obviously, I know that. I meant.” Darcy took a deep, shuddering breath in and stepped closer into the space between Elle’s knees. “Do you . . . do you want to go? Forget the deal. Do you still want to go with me?”
Elle’s head snapped up. “What?”
That her voice was barely above a whisper emboldened Darcy, made her heart beat harder, so hard it was as if it were trying to bust out of her chest and fling itself at Elle.
“I said, forget the deal, Elle.” Darcy rested a hand on the outside of Elle’s leg, gripped the warm skin of her thigh. Her pinkie grazed the soft, thin fold behind Elle’s knee and she could’ve sworn she felt Elle’s pulse jump. “That’s not why I want you to go. Not anymore.”
Elle’s tongue darted out from between her lips. She blinked twice and her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, breath pancake-sweet. “Why?”
Because she couldn’t stop thinking about her. Because she’d had plans, very specific plans not to enter into a relationship, but Elle made her second-guess every last one. Elle made her want things she wasn’t supposed to want, not right now, not for God knows how long. Until she was ready? Darcy didn’t know when that time would come but here Elle was. And Darcy was right here, too. Wanting and hoping and being terrified of it all but not willing to let Elle go.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Elle.” Immediately, Darcy lifted a hand, clutching her neck. Her throat wasn’t the only thing left raw by that confession.
Elle’s lip popped free from her teeth, her mouth falling open.
She could do this. She could be brave, be as brave as Elle. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but this doesn’t have anything to do with Brendon. Not anymore. I’m . . . I’m not ready for this to be over.” Darcy didn’t want to wake up to a world where Elle didn’t text her, where there wasn’t the promise of seeing Elle again, of hearing her laugh. Being the reason for it. “I’m not ready to say good-bye.”
Not in one month or two. Maybe not ever.
Behind her, the refrigerator hummed. Elle was disconcertingly quiet as she stared at Darcy, eyes wide and mouth agape. A fresh wave of heat crept up Darcy’s jaw as she waited for Elle to say something. Anything to put her out of her misery.
“Oh my god,” Elle muttered. “You like me?”
What kind of question was that? That it was even a question at all was absurd, the most absurd thing to ever come from Elle’s mouth and that was truly saying something considering the number of strange, unfiltered thoughts she shared.
Wasn’t it obvious? Written all over her face? “You sound surprised.”
Elle made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff and kicked at Darcy’s leg, missing by a mile. “I am surprised.”
“Really.” Darcy gave Elle her best deadpan stare. “That thing I did with my tongue last night didn’t clue you in?”
Her words had the desired effect. Elle’s face turned scarlet as she shut her eyes and laughed. Fighting her own smile would’ve been futile, and in keeping with the theme of the morning, Darcy wasn’t in the mood to deny herself. When it came to Elle, Darcy truly was a hedonist.