Written in the Stars(91)

Elle chewed on the side of her thumbnail, frowning at the brick building but not yet going inside. Brendon was waiting for her, waiting to talk. About what, Elle wasn’t sure, but she’d been having flashes of that stress dream, the one where Brendon ripped up their negotiations.

Contracts had been signed; there’d have to be some massive breach to void them, or else OTP would have to pay her and Margot out. Regardless of the legalities, Brendon wouldn’t be spiteful like that. Then again, what did Elle know? Nothing. Her gut was all wrong, miscalibrated.

Hopefully when this was all said and done there would still be a deal to tell Mom about. “Sure. But right now, I need to go. I’m meeting a friend for coffee.”

“Darcy?”

The sound of her name put a lump in Elle’s throat. “Brendon, actually. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“You’ll be home for Christmas, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll drive over on the twenty-fourth, okay?”

One phone call didn’t automatically undo years of damage, and she’d bet Mom still wouldn’t approve, but maybe she wouldn’t be so antagonistic. It was a start, a tiny weight lifted off Elle’s shoulders. She’d take it.

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Elle stepped through the door, the warm, nutty aroma of coffee hitting her like a wave. In the back corner of the coffee shop, Brendon sat, frowning at his cup.

Elle’s chest throbbed at the sight of him. The resemblance was obvious, painfully so.

Rather than dawdle in the doorway, Elle skirted the ordering counter and headed straight for Brendon’s table. Her stomach was too unsettled for caffeine and the acid in the coffee would only amplify the burn in her chest. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could head home and— Well, then she’d figure out what came next. This—whatever urgent matter Brendon had requested they meet to discuss—was eating up all her focus, all her energy, her attention.

Brendon looked up from staring morosely into his cup, his brown eyes widening as he caught sight of Elle. Unfolding his long legs from beneath the table, Brendon stood and took a half step toward her before awkwardly freezing like he didn’t know how to greet her. “Elle. Hey. You made it.”

Elle rested her hands on the back of the chair across from him. “I said I would.”

“Right.” He nodded, too quick. Frenetic. Jerky. “You did.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the chair with a silly little sweep of his hand. “Sorry. Sit. Please.”

Elle lowered herself into the chair on wobbling knees. She set her hands on the edge of the table, fingers curling around the wood. Ugh, that made her look nervous. Which she was. But Brendon didn’t need to know that. She dropped her hands into her lap and clasped them tightly before finally shoving them between her knees. “So.”

Brendon collapsed into the chair with a heavy sigh, raking his fingers through his hair and messing up the strands. “So.”

So. This was awkward, more so because Brendon was acting awkward, exacerbating an inherently thorny situation. It set her teeth on edge, wondering what exactly it was that had Brendon all in knots. “Is . . . is everything all right with the partnership. OTP and Oh My Stars?”

She held her breath, shoulders tensing.

Brendon’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Is—”

“No, I heard you.” Brendon ran a hand over his face, eyes shutting for a second before opening and looking tired. He looked . . . exhausted. Not as rough as she felt, but not well rested, that was for sure. He met her eyes, lips curling in a weak smile. “Everything’s fine with the partnership, Elle. Of course, it is. It’s . . . it’s perfect.”

Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “Good. That’s good.”

“I didn’t ask you to meet me here because of work,” Brendon said, shifting forward in his seat. He pushed his tea aside and rested his arms on the table. “This doesn’t have anything to do with OTP.”

Elle bit the corner of her lip, too nervous to ask what he had asked her here to discuss.

Brendon dropped his chin, staring at his hands. “Darcy.”

Even knowing, realistically, what was coming, hearing Brendon say his sister’s name made Elle’s heart stutter pathetically. “Hmm.”

“Elle.” Brendon stared at her, with wide eyes the exact same color as Darcy’s. “I need you to be honest with me.”

She blinked, trying hard not to take offense. “Excuse me?”

Brendon licked his lips. “I said—”

“I heard you.” Elle shook her head, knees pressing hard in on her hands. “When exactly have I ever been anything other than totally honest?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, I—”

“Implied it,” she said, shoving down her rapidly rising hackles. Now wasn’t the time to lose her chill. “I’ve always been honest. With you and with your sister, too, for that matter. And I’m sorry, but I don’t exactly appreciate you implying otherwise.”

Brendon lifted his hands in supplication. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m . . .” He raked one of his hands through his hair again. “Out of my depth, yeah? I’m trying.”

Trying to what, exactly? She shook her head. “Why’d you ask me here, Brendon?”