After stripping off her wine-soaked dress and setting it aside for dry cleaning—maybe they could work a miracle on the silk—Darcy stood in the kitchen, stomach rumbling.
Her eyes darted to the cabinet rather than the refrigerator. After a day like today, the peanut butter was calling to her.
Jar cradled in the crook of her elbow and bag of chocolate chips in one hand, a spoon in the other, Darcy curled up on the couch, leather groaning softly beneath her weight. At last. As soon as she fired up the DVR, she’d be in Whisper Cove, catching up on the antics of Nikolai and Gwendolyn, Carlos and Yvette, and the whole sordid Price family who had more skeletons in their collective closet than she had shoes.
Friday nights with her DVR, catching up on the week’s episodes of Whisper Cove, were sacred. Sacred and secret. It was a silly show, ridiculous that she even enjoyed it, but it was called a guilty pleasure for a reason.
Three episodes in, Nikolai and Gwendolyn were about to kiss, a culmination of months of tension and chemistry sprinkled with tender moments. The distance between their faces shrunk as Nikolai reached out, thumb stroking the delicate curve of her cheek. Darcy’s breath quickened as she inched closer to the edge of the cushion, bag of chocolate chips clenched in her fist. This was it, the moment—
A loud bang filled her apartment and her chocolate chips flew into the air as she jumped from the couch, heart hammering jackrabbit-fast against her sternum.
Someone was at the door.
Jesus. She rolled her eyes at her dramatics. It was only a knock, but she’d been swept up in the moment, oblivious to anything else. Ridiculous.
Tiptoeing over spilled chocolate chips, Darcy crossed toward the door, footsteps faltering at another thunderous rap of knuckles against wood.
“Darcy, open up.”
Her eyes shut, her pulse slowing.
Brendon.
Her eyes snapped open.
Brendon.
Scrambling backward, she shut off the TV and then shoved the remote between the couch cushions, hiding the evidence of her date with the DVR. He banged against the door again, this time harder. For god’s sake. She blew out her breath. “Coming!”
As soon as the door was open, Brendon shouldered his way past, eyes wide, frazzled, gaze bouncing around the living room before finally landing on her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes?” Aside from the near cardiac arrest.
Brendon shut his eyes and pressed a hand to his chest like he was the one who’d been panicked. “I called you four times, Darce.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Sorry. My phone was on silent.”
For a reason. Brendon loved dissecting her dates like some sort of postgame interview. Tonight, she’d wanted to skip that. She didn’t want to talk about it, definitely not what she did or didn’t feel.
The furrow between his brows deepened as his gaze slipped down, noticing her pajamas. “Darcy.”
“What?” She spun on her heel and returned to the living room, bending low to pick up her spilled chocolate chips before they wound up ground into her nice white carpet.
Brendon collapsed into the armchair, long legs splaying in front of him as he pinned her with a stare that knotted her stomach. “What was wrong with Elle?” He barely paused, didn’t give her a chance to enumerate all their many, varied differences. “She’s sweet, she’s hilarious, she’s—she’s fun, Darcy. And God knows you could use some fun in your life.”
The scoff bubbled up before she could stop it. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it sounds like.” Brendon spread his arms wide, gesturing around them. “For one, it looks like West Elm and the Container Store had a baby and that baby vomited all over your apartment. Neatly vomited, because heaven forbid there be a mess.”
That was a shitty non sequitur. “I like my apartment clean. I’m failing to see how my preference for organization somehow correlates with my ability to have fun.”
“Look.” Brendon ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard at the ends. He was in desperate need of a haircut. “I love you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t waste my breath. God, Darcy, you’re not even trying to have a life here in Seattle. All you do is stare at spreadsheets and numbers all day, you come home, you stare at spreadsheets some more, you eat out of color-coordinated Tupperware. And how could I forget?” He gestured to the TV. “You’re invested in other people’s scripted lives.”
No. Heat crept up the back of her neck and wrapped around her throat. She needed to sit down. “Excuse me?”
Brendon’s lips twitched. “You thought I didn’t know about your thing for daytime soaps? Come on. I’m a lot of things, but oblivious isn’t one of them.”
“It’s not a thing.” A thing would be writing Days of Our Lives fanfiction and she hadn’t done that since college.
“What, did you think I’d judge you? Me? I’m the king of nerdy obsessions. Proud of it, mind you.”
Darcy bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “The king, huh? Awfully pretentious to crown yourself, isn’t it?”
Not that it wasn’t true, or that she wasn’t proud. He was her baby brother. Gone were the days of shuttling him and his friends to summer STEM camp. Regardless of her feelings on love and dating apps, Brendon had turned his passion into an empire before he’d turned twenty-five. Of course, she was proud.
“Eh, I think the whole nerd bit balances it out.” His self-effacing chuckle trailed off, his smile dropping. “Seriously, Darce, don’t feed me that line about not being interested in a relationship. I’d respect that—I really would, I swear—if it weren’t obviously a load of crap.”
She opened her mouth to refute that, but he kept going.
“You sure as hell were interested in a serious relationship two years ago when you were engaged.”
Her heart stuttered. “Don’t go there.”
“You refuse to talk about it, so maybe we need to go there.” The way he winced screamed pity and she hated that. Hated it so much it made her stomach ache. “Not everyone’s like Natasha.”
Swallowing suddenly required effort. “I said, don’t go there.”
Brendon shook his head, jaw hard and expression fierce. “You’re my sister, and you’re also one of the greatest people I know, and you’re . . . you’re amazing, Darce. You’ve got so much to offer and there’s someone out there for you, the right person for you. I know there is. I just . . . I don’t want you to wind up alone and miserable because you’re scared of getting your heart broken again.”
Darcy blinked fast and crossed her arms, staring past Brendon at the iridescent oyster shell wall art over his shoulder.
Last she checked, she couldn’t get her heart broken if she never put it on the line. That didn’t make her scared, that made her realistic. Was she terrified of getting hit by a bus? No, but that didn’t mean she had any intention of stepping out into traffic.
Brendon might’ve been a romantic idealist, and if that made him happy, great. More power to him. But she knew the truth. Life was not a fairy tale and she was not the exception.
Darcy’s heart threw itself against her sternum as she gritted her teeth, pasting on the smile she’d perfected since . . . since. “I’m not scared. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Brendon cut his eyes, head tilting, studying her, so obviously appraising her for chinks in her armor. The muscles in her face twitched, smile wavering. Shit.
His answering smile was an infuriating mix of smug and sympathetic. “See, I think the reason you don’t want to go on these dates is because you know, one of these days you’re going to meet someone who makes you want to take that risk, and that terrifies you.”
For some asinine reason that was entirely beyond comprehension, Elle’s pretty heart-shaped face flashed through Darcy’s mind. Her neck broke out into a damp sweat, her hair sticking to her clammy skin.
“I said I’m not scared.” Her voice just had to go and crack. Salvaging what remained of her dignity, she clear
ed her throat and fixed him with a stern glare. “Or if I am, it’s because I’m worried about your listening comprehension. Is your hearing okay?”
“Sure, Darce, whatever you say.” Brendon rolled his eyes.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“So if you’re not afraid—”
“And I’m not.”
Brendon lifted his hands. “Then you won’t have a problem with me signing us both up for speed dating next Saturday over in Kirkland. Eight o’clock. Goes for two hours, there’s a nice break in the middle. Tapas, wine, mixing, mingling. You know, fun.”
“I can’t.” Her tongue traced the contours of her upper teeth. “I have . . . I have plans. I have, um . . .” Saturday. “My FSA study group is meeting that night.”
It wasn’t even a lie. She was one exam away from becoming a Fellow of the Society of Actuaries, the highest designation awarded by the SOA. Back in April, when she’d interviewed for the job with Devereaux and Horton Mutual Life, Mr. Stevens had made it clear she was guaranteed a promotion to a management role as soon as she passed this tenth and final exam.
So no, Brendon was wrong. It wasn’t a matter of fear, it was about making a logical decision, one that centered her priorities. She refused to be like their mother, getting so wrapped up in a relationship that she lost herself in it, forgetting about everything else that mattered—her work, her passions, even her children. Yes, Darcy was over Natasha, but who was to say she’d be able to get over the next heartbreak, that something inside her wouldn’t fracture irreparably? Better not to tempt fate than take that risk.
He cocked his head. “No worries. There’s another speed-dating event on Tuesday. You know, for all the people who can’t make it on Saturday because they have plans.”
Darcy set her hands on her hips. “Jesus, Brendon. Will you lay off already? Quit pressuring me to do things I don’t want, okay?”
Brendon pressed his lips together and stared, eyes going wide as his jaw slid forward and back. She quickly looked away, having no interest in being on the receiving end of his stupid puppy-dog stare.
“You make it sound like I’m asking you to get a root canal.” Brendon huffed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You’ve been in Seattle for six months and you have no friends, Darcy.”
She cut her eyes. “I have friends, thank you very much.” When all he did was stare blankly from the armchair, she insisted, “There’s Annie—”
“Who lives across the country.”
“And . . . and my coworkers. My FSA study group.”
Brendon arched a brow. “Your FSA study group. Yeah, you guys sound really close.”
She sniffed. “We are. There’s Amanda and Lin and . . . and . . . M- . . . Mariel?”
“Was that a question?”
What a smartass. Darcy glared.
Brendon didn’t even smirk. He just looked at her with pity and that was a million times worse than all his cajoling. “I know what happened in Philadelphia fucked you up—”
“It did not.”
“Fucked you over,” Brendon amended. “But you’ve got to let people in, Darcy. You’ve got to learn to trust people again. Put yourself out there, make some friends, meet someone. Please, Darce. Do it for me.”
Do it for me. Fuck. He made it all sound so simple when it was anything but.
“Fine, Brendon. I’ll work on it, okay?”
“You’ll go to speed dating with me?” he pressed.
That wasn’t what she meant, but Brendon wasn’t going to stop until her calendar was full of cooking classes and book clubs and dates. So. Many. Dates. He’d keep setting her up until she was happily paired off.
Wait.
That was it.
Brendon wasn’t going to stop until she was seeing someone, until he thought she was seeing someone.
“I can’t. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I’m seeing someone.” There. She’d bought herself some time.
Except he frowned. “But you went out tonight. With Elle.”
Elle. Damn it.
Unless . . . no. With a little finesse, she could absolutely work this angle.
“Right.” Darcy nodded. “Elle. Maybe seeing someone is a bit premature, but she’s . . . she’s really something. She’s pretty.”
The furrow of Brendon’s brow deepened, forehead wrinkling as he puzzled over what she wasn’t saying. After a moment, his face cleared, his eyes doubling in size. “Hold the phone. You and Elle?”
She would not roll her eyes. “Me and Elle.”
“You two hit it off?” he pressed.
Darcy bit her lip and stared hard at the jar of peanut butter on the coffee table as she considered the question, and her answer, carefully.
Scary thing was, they had hit it off. Not at first with Elle’s tardiness, but there’d been a spark. For a moment. Until their many differences—and different desires—had become apparent. “Elle’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. That’s for sure.”
Brendon laughed, drawing her focus back to his face. He grinned like it was the best news he’d heard all day, and for a moment her stomach panged, guilt corroding her insides. “You’re seriously smitten, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m—” Denial was instinctive, but she was supposed to be selling it. “We’re obviously total opposites, but there’s . . . something there. Potential.”
“And here I thought with you being home early and already in pajamas that your date hadn’t gone well.” Brendon’s crooked grin was sheepish, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Well, you know what happens when you assume.” Darcy smiled, softening the gibe.
Brendon shrugged as if to concede the point and hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about it. Tonight.”
To Brendon, every moment was a meet-cute waiting to happen, each first date he went on captured in his memory in case he found the one and needed to tell his future children about the night their mom and dad met.
She needed to sell it. Hard. Lucky for her, personality clashes and restaurant disasters were the stuff meet-cutes were made of.
“It’s actually a funny story.”
Brendon shook his head. “Don’t leave me in suspense. I’m dying over here.”
“Settle down.” If her pause was overly long, it was only because she was gathering her thoughts. And okay, fine, she was milking it, but only a little. “I won’t lie—at first, we got off on the wrong foot. Elle was late and you know I’m a stickler for punctuality.”
He rolled his eyes.
“She offered to buy me a drink and she told me about her job, which she’s extremely enthusiastic about. Even though I don’t believe in astrology, that sort of passion is attractive.”
Brendon waggled his brows.
“Stop.” She laughed.
“Sorry.” Brendon grinned. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Keep going.”
“Okay, let’s see . . . we had wine.” She smirked, not because what had happened was funny but because she couldn’t wait for Brendon’s reaction. “Or we would have, had she not spilled it all over me.”
His eyes widened. “Get out.”
“Eh.” With a shrug, Darcy waved it off. “I’m sure my dry cleaner can work a miracle on the stain.”
Fingers crossed.
“Details, Darce. Come on. Tell me about the sparks.” Brendon gestured for her to keep talking with an impatient wave of his hand.
“She said I have pretty eyes.” Darcy hadn’t meant to whisper, but it wound up being a more honest confession than she’d intended.
Her eyes were brown. Nothing was wrong with them, but no one ever complimented her eyes. They went for the obvious attributes—her hair, her legs, her breasts if they were being bold. But her eyes?
Ridiculous. If anyone had nice eyes it was Elle. Big and blue, so blue it was like staring off into the Puget Sound at midnight on a full moon.
“You’re blushing.”
>
She was not. Except, when she brought her hands to her cheeks, her face was hot, feverish beneath her fingertips. She cleared her throat. No, there’d be no more getting lost in Elle’s eyes. Capsizing, more like.
“I don’t like to kiss and tell.”
Brendon’s eyes went huge and round, his jaw dropping and it was only then she realized what she’d said, how it could be construed, misconstrued. Only . . . wasn’t that the point? Make him believe there’d been sparks, enough chemistry to put him off her trail?
There had been sparks. Just none that she had any intention of acting on. Sparks either fizzled, or they caught fire and burned you. Badly. No, thank you.
Obfuscation wasn’t quite the same as lying. Brendon could believe what he wanted. Technically she’d only embellished.
“When are you seeing her again?”
“I’m really busy this week.” Brendon’s face fell, so she hurried to add, “But I’m going to text her. We’ll play it by ear.”
Not that she enjoyed stretching the truth, especially not to Brendon, but it was sort of brilliant. Play it by ear, text when she could. If he asked, she’d make up an excuse about being busy, push it off, buy herself a little more time. She might even text Elle for real, just a quick thank-you for picking up the tab. That would be the polite thing to do, especially since she hadn’t had the chance to thank her at the restaurant. By the time she’d made it back from the restroom, Elle had already left. A fact that should not have stung, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, had. Damp silk tickling the skin of her stomach, Darcy had frozen in front of the empty table. The sight of Elle’s pink lip print on her empty wineglass but no Elle had felt like pressing on a bruise Darcy hadn’t realized was there until she agitated it. Unsettled, Darcy had booked it out of the restaurant, wanting to put as much distance between herself and that feeling as possible.
The plan was perfect . . . as long as Brendon didn’t actually say anything to Elle.
Written in the Stars Page 3