Written in the Stars(96)

Darcy had a choice. Not whether to love Elle, because Brendon was right. There was no choice in that. What she was going to do about it was a different matter. Because maybe she couldn’t control what happened in a month or six months or a year or twenty years, but she could do something about this. Here and now.

Brendon’s lips quirked as if he knew what was going through her head.

Darcy scrunched the hem of her shirt in her hands, wringing the fabric. “What if I’m too late?”

“You love her?”

Darcy screwed up her face. Obviously or she wouldn’t be in this pathetic state on her bathroom floor crying over glitter. Not that she didn’t appreciate the wake-up call, but why did it have to be glitter?

Brendon laughed at her expression and kicked her gently. “Then it’s not too late. It’s never too late if you love someone.”

“Wow,” Darcy teased. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“What occasion would that be? Belated anniversary? Birthday? Just because?”

“It’s going to be sympathy if you don’t get out of my apartment.” Darcy smiled, softening the threat. She grabbed the counter and used it to heave herself to standing. “I have to clean myself up and figure out what I’m going to say.” Her heart raced frantically. No matter what Brendon said, this was going to be no small undertaking.

“I’m good with grand gestures if you need help.” He cracked his knuckles and hopped to standing. “My favorite movies have prepared me for this.”

Darcy was less concerned with what to do and more concerned with what to say. “I’m going to have to tell her . . . everything.”

Darcy gritted her teeth. Fun.

“About that.” Brendon raked his fingers through his hair, wincing sharply. “Don’t hate me, but I, uh, might’ve meddled.” He held up his hand, thumb and index finger nearly touching. “A little.”

*

Darcy shifted the potted plant in her arms and grimaced.

Too late to ask Brendon for advice on grand gestures now. Standing in front of the door to Elle’s apartment was it. Showtime.

Darcy knocked just below the shiny silver wreath hanging lopsided from a Command Strip hook. Then she waited. And waited. And—

The lock flipped, the door opening. The beautiful, haunting voice of Joni Mitchell singing “River” poured out into the hall as an arm rested against the doorframe, blocking her view into the apartment.

Margot.

A decidedly pissed-off-looking Margot. Darcy gulped and stood up straighter, smoothing her expression into a mask of disaffection no doubt undermined by the terra-cotta planter cradled in her arms.

“Margot.” Darcy dipped her chin in a polite greeting.

Margot glared. Hard.

Fuck. The air was stifling, the building’s heat turning the hall into a sauna. Darcy shifted the plant again and swept her hair over one shoulder.

“Elle’s not here.” Margot began to shut the door.

She had not hiked all the way to the market to buy this stupid, precious plant and then all the way up to Elle’s apartment only to get turned away. No. This was not her dead end. All she needed was a chance. Needed to try, needed Elle to know how she felt.

Darcy clenched her back teeth and shoved the boot of her toe in between the door and frame, wincing a bit when the door bounced off her foot. “Then where is she?”

“Alexa, stop.” The music cut off midverse. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s Christmas Eve. I have an hour-long drive ahead of me if traffic’s clear, which it won’t be. All I want is to finish packing, hit the road, make it home before my dad eats all the gingerbread cookies, and then I want to drink several strong glasses of eggnog. Talking to you doesn’t rank very high on my to-do list. In fact, it doesn’t even warrant a spot. So, piss off, Darcy.”

“I just want to know where Elle is and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Margot narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Look—”

“No, you look.” Margot let go of the door and leaned against the frame, crossing her arms over her chest and thrusting out her chin. “You don’t get to come here, demanding to see my best friend if you can’t even tell me why you want to see her.”

Darcy bit the side of her tongue. Not that she’d ever thought for a second Elle hadn’t told Margot about what had happened between them, but there was the confirmation. Confirmation that Darcy had fucked up.

She met Margot’s eyes so she’d see how sincere Darcy was. “I fucked up.”

Margot pursed her lips. “Huh. Something we agree on.”

Darcy huffed. “Well. Can you help me un-fuck up?”

“I could.” Margot’s way of making it painfully clear Darcy’s fate partially rested in her hands.

Between the nerves and the hike to Pike Place and her difficulty finding this plant, the right plant, Darcy was at her wits’ end. “Are you going to help me?”

Margot cocked her head, one slender brow arching sharply above the frames of her glasses. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Do you love her?”

That question. A flicker of fear lit up her brain, the part that signaled to her legs to flee the danger. Darcy planted her feet and gripped the plant in her arms tighter.