Written in the Stars

by Alexandria Bellefleur

  “It’s nothing. Brendon told me the deal with Oh My Stars was finalized this morning and then he asked if the two of us had plans to celebrate and I didn’t know what to say and Brendon looked at me like I had dropped the ball. Like I was, I don’t know, being a bad girlfriend. So I’m buying Elle a box of wine because it’s her favorite. You know. To congratulate her.”

  Annie didn’t say anything for so long that Darcy glanced at the screen, checking if the call had been disconnected. “Huh. Okay. That’s. Hm.”

  “That was a lot of noise for managing to say nothing.”

  “I was emoting, you bitch. Read between the lines.”

  “If you have something to say, say it.”

  Annie laughed. “Is your brother going to be there when you gift Elle with this box of wine?”

  “You sound like a snob, Annie.”

  Like the drama queen she was, Annie gasped. “Said the pot to the kettle. Stop avoiding my questions.”

  “No.” She leaned against the aisle endcap. “Brendon’s not going to be there. What’s your point?”

  “Just interesting is all. What’s the point of giving Elle a gift if your brother isn’t there to see it? Unless you like her.”

  “I—”

  She did. She liked Elle. She just didn’t know what it meant or if it meant anything. It was the last thing she wanted to think about, but of course, because her brain was a fucking traitor, that kiss was all she could think about. That kiss. Elle’s smile. The way her eyes had shone beneath the streetlights. Her laugh.

  Brendon might’ve planted the seed that brought her to this liquor store, but she wanted to see Elle.

  Annie gasped. “Oh my god. You’re shitting me. You like her? Elle? The girl who spilled wine all over your favorite dress and believes in one twu wuv?” She giggled. “This is perfect. You realize that, right? You’re starring in your own romantic comedy, Darcy. Next thing you know, there’s only going to be one bed at the B&B and you’ll have to huddle for warmth beneath one tiny blanket and—”

  “Stop.” Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Annie.”

  “You just whined at me.” Annie cackled. “Oh my god. I’m dead. You’re so fucked. I love it.”

  She was right. Darcy was well and truly fucked.

  “I hate you.”

  “You love me.”

  “You had the audacity to compare my life to a romantic comedy.” Darcy scoffed. “You sound like Brendon.”

  Annie said, “Speaking of your brother. You didn’t tell me he’d gotten so cute.”

  Kill her now. “Don’t be gross, Annie. That’s my little brother you’re talking about.”

  “I know.” Annie said something else to the driver in German, too fast for Darcy to catch. “He was always adorable, but now he’s—”

  “Stop. Do not pass go and whatever you do, do not finish that sentence.” Darcy shivered.

  “I’m just saying! Objectively. He rarely posts pictures of himself and when he does, they’re these shoddy cropped selfies with the worst lighting and half the time he’s got his thumb partway over the camera. You’d think with limbs as long as his he’d get his whole self in the frame, but no. He posted that group picture of you guys and it was a shock. Little Brendon grew up nice, is all I’m saying.”

  Darcy sniffed. “Brendon is handsome, yes. Of course, he is. He’s my brother.”

  Annie chuckled. “Okay, okay. No more drooling over your little bro. Got it.”

  Gross. “Thank you.”

  For a moment, Annie was silent. “How are you really doing, Darcy?”

  Darcy sucked on her lower lip, shrugging even though Annie wasn’t there to see. “I’m all right.”

  “Darcy.”

  She dropped her chin. “I’m confused.”

  Annie’s sigh was soft. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Not if you’re not laughing, too.”

  Friends since fifth grade, Annie had been there through it all—Darcy’s parents’ divorce, moving away to the same college, the death of her grandmother, new jobs, new relationships, failed relationships. Annie had packed up most of Darcy’s apartment, the apartment she’d shared with Natasha, just so she wouldn’t have to deal with it. Annie might tease, but if anyone could imagine how confused Darcy felt, it was her.

  “I know you didn’t. It’s fine. It’s— I just need to calm down. I’m blowing everything out of proportion.”

  She’d give Elle her wine and get out, go home, and put her head down. With eight weeks until the FSA exam, she needed to focus. Not on how Elle tasted or how her laugh made Darcy’s chest throb, but on studying. Just yesterday, her boss had asked how her exam prep was going before dropping the bomb that her coworker Jeremy was also scheduled to take his final FSA exam in January. Mr. Stevens wanted to give the promotion to Darcy since Jeremy had only been at the company four months to Darcy’s six, but if she didn’t pass . . .

  She’d pass.

  More of Annie’s rapid-fire German came through. Darcy eyed the wine at her feet. “Look, Annie, I should let you go. Call me later, okay? When you’re not in a cab.”

  “Wait. Darcy? I’m not going to be like your brother and pressure you to put yourself out there if you’re not ready, but life’s short. Carpe diem.”

  * * *

  What Holiday Activity Are You Based on Your Zodiac Sign?

  Aries—Snowball Fight

  Taurus—Baking Cookies

  Gemini—Ski Trip

  Cancer—Holiday Movie Binge

  Leo—Caroling

  Virgo—Secret Santa Gift Exchange

  Libra—Volunteering

  Scorpio—Photo Session with Santa

  Sagittarius—Santa Pub Crawl

  Capricorn—Christmas Tree Decorating

  Aquarius—Shopping at the Holiday Market

  Pisces—Ice Skating

  Elle’s foot was asleep, her toes tingling, full of pins and needles as soon as she put her weight on it. Whoever was at the door knocked again. “Just a sec!”

  It was closer to a minute by the time she hobbled across the room and opened the door. Darcy stood in front of her apartment cradling a box of wine wrapped in a hot pink bow. Elle blinked. She was seeing things. She had to be.

  Only, Darcy cleared her throat, hefting the box of wine upward. Not a figment of her imagination. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she echoed. “Sorry, um, come in.”

  Elle stepped back, letting Darcy pass. She stopped just shy of the kitchen entrance, barely far enough inside for Elle to shut the door.

  “Here.” Darcy thrust the box of wine into Elle’s arms. “I brought this for you.”

  Elle hugged the box, the satin bow cool against the inside of her wrist. “Thank you?”

  “As a congratulations. For finalizing your deal.” Darcy tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged. She was wearing another pencil skirt, this one navy, and it hugged her hips perfectly. Elle’s mouth went dry. “My brother told me.”

  “So you bought me a box of wine?”

  “Yes?”

  Elle chuckled. “Color me surprised, is all. Didn’t it pain you to purchase boxed wine?”

  Darcy crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you like it, so.”

  Elle bit down on her lip, something inside her chest squeezing hot and tight. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Do you want to come in? Have a glass?”

  Darcy’s pert nose wrinkled, a line forming along the bridge. “I’ve got to get back home. Study for my FSA exam. I just wanted to drop that off and . . .”

  “And?”

  See her?

  Kiss her again?

  Elle held her breath.

  “And congratulate you.”

  Of course.

  Not that Elle wasn’t thrilled—not to mention relieved—the deal was official, but she’d hoped Darcy showing up meant maybe their kiss had changed things for her. That Darcy had felt the way the earth had shifted beneath their feet, too. That it was something more.
/>   Maybe not.

  And yet, Darcy lingered in the entryway.

  “Right.” Darcy cleared her throat before pointing at the box of wine. “I didn’t know if you wanted to post that online or something. Because Brendon follows you.”

  Elle’s stomach sank. Of course this was about selling it to Brendon. That was what their deal was all about. How silly of her to think otherwise. “Sure. Good idea.”

  Darcy’s jaw clenched, her chin lifting, eyes going hard, determined. “Look, Elle—”

  An unholy grumble came from Darcy’s stomach, so loud and vicious that Elle’s eyes widened. Darcy’s face turned red, her eyes slipping shut, her lips rolling inward and flattening.

  Elle’s fingers itched to trace the blush, feel the heat of Darcy’s cheeks against the pads of her fingertips. “Hungry?”

  “Clearly.” Darcy snorted. “I should go before my stomach cannibalizes itself.”

  “Sexy.” Elle leaned her shoulder against the wall and shifted the box of wine, her biceps beginning to burn. “Or you could stay. I’ve got—”

  She performed a quick mental inventory of the contents of her fridge. Salsa. Juice. Freezer-burned breakfast sandwiches. “Or we could go out?”

  Darcy’s lips twisted in genuine-looking remorse. “I can’t. I’ve got—”

  “To eat, yeah? We could do that together.” When Darcy didn’t immediately fire back a no, Elle pressed on. “I could Instagram a picture of us there. Better than posting a picture of a boring box of wine. And I could brief you on Thanksgiving. Tell you what to expect.”

  Darcy dropped her chin and chuckled. “I’m too hungry to cook.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  * * *

  It was only four blocks to Katsu Burger, a little hole in the wall joint that served the best Japanese deep-fried burgers Elle had ever tasted. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but the food was fantastic, inexpensive, the service was stellar, and it wasn’t too rowdy, a combination not easy to find on this part of Broadway.

  Elle jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “You want to snag a table while I order for us?”

  Darcy stared at the sprawling menu on the wall with rounded eyes. “I don’t have any idea what I want.”

  “Just go sit down. I know what’s good.” Elle shooed her off. “Seriously. Trust me.”

  “Nothing with dairy, all right?”

  “Roger that.”

  Inching her way toward the bank of empty tables, Darcy shot her one final wary glance that made Elle roll her eyes.

  After placing their order, Elle wiggled her way through the maze of tables until she reached the one Darcy had claimed in the far back corner. She collapsed into the seat across from Darcy and performed a quick double take at the state of the table. “What the—”

  The salt and pepper shakers, bottle of hot sauce, both bottles of soy sauce, and the napkin holder had been moved toward the center of the table, dividing Darcy’s table space from Elle’s. Like a moat, only without the water.

  Darcy smirked. “I happen to like this outfit.”

  “What does that have to do with—” Oh. Oh. Her face heated, an undeniable blush creeping up her neck. “One accident and you’re taking precautionary measures?”

  “Twice,” Darcy argued. “You spilled in my kitchen, too.”

  “Once is an instance, twice is merely a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.” Elle winced. “But I really am sorry about that. It was . . . ugh.” The shame of that moment returned, the memory of spilling first her glass of wine and then knocking the table and spilling Darcy’s wine as fresh as if it had just happened. Elle dropped her face into her hands and groaned. “Not a great first impression.”

  “Not like mine was much better.” Elle lifted her head to find Darcy looking contrite, lips tugged to the side. “Hindsight makes it seem trivial. It’s just— I was wearing my favorite dress. It belonged to my grandmother. So.”

  Elle’s stomach plummeted. “Did it come out? The wine stain?”

  Darcy lifted her eyes and offered a small smile. “It did. My dry cleaner is a miracle worker.”

  Elle breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. Thank God.

  “Two sake bombs?”

  Elle glanced up, smiling at the waitress who held a tray with two beers, two shots of sake, and two pairs of chopsticks. “Thanks.”

  Darcy glowered at her from across the table. “Sake bombs?”

  All right, so maybe it wasn’t the best choice, but it didn’t have to be messy. You could chug neatly . . . if you set your mind to it . . .

  Shrugging, Elle unwrapped her chopsticks and set them across the top of her pint glass, wide enough apart to balance the shot. It appeared Darcy needed a little cajoling when all she did was cross her arms and stare. “Come on. It’s fun. You pound the table, pound your drink, and try to finish first.” She wiggled her brows. “You aren’t scared, are you? Worried you won’t win?”

  Eyes narrowed, Darcy snatched her chopsticks off the table and placed them across her glass. She reached for her sake, hand hovering in the air over the shot glass, and then changed course, finger reaching for the topmost button on her blouse. Brown eyes meeting Elle’s across the table, the corner of Darcy’s mouth twitched as she undid the pearl buttons of her blouse one by one.

  Elle’s mouth went dry. “What are you doing?”

  Darcy’s nimble fingers reached the middle of her chest, revealing a strip of nude lace. A camisole. “As I said, I’m fond of this outfit. If you’re going to all but dare me to drink with you, I’m not keen on ruining this top.”

  Elle tore her eyes from Darcy’s cleavage and fiddled with the chopsticks atop her beer. “Ah. Good plan. I, uh, like the way you think.”

  Darcy chuckled lowly and untucked her blouse, sliding it down her arms before hanging it over the back of the chair beside her. “I’ve never done one of these before. Do we go on three?”

  “Sake bombs?” Elle goggled. What did Darcy do in college if not attend a copious amount of cheesy around the world parties featuring alcohol from other countries? Study? Elle lifted her shot of sake to demonstrate. “Okay. You balance the sake atop the chopsticks, like so. Then you count to three, preferably in Japanese. Ichi, ni, san, then you shout sake and bang the table with your fists. The shot falls into the beer and you chug it.”

  Darcy shut her eyes and groaned quietly. “Are you serious?”

  Elle chuckled. “You don’t have to.”

  Darcy rolled her shoulders back, posture perfecting, and when she opened her eyes, her gaze was steely and determined. Elle wiggled in her seat. Piece of cake.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Darcy muttered.

  “Okay. Ichi, ni, san . . . sake!” Elle banged the table, her chuckle mingling with Darcy’s bright bark of laughter as they both tipped back their glasses. Elle squeezed her eyes shut and opened her throat, swallowing as much of the bitter beer as quickly as possible. Foamy, slightly too warm beer dribbled down her chin, sliding down the front of her throat as her eyes and lungs burned, the latter demanding she take a breath. Just a little more.

  The slam of glass against the Formica tabletop made her open her eyes. Cheeks pink and lips and chin wet, Darcy grinned, panting, all breathless and smug.

  Elle lowered her pint glass, an inch of foamy beer left in the bottom. “What the fuck.”

  Darcy threw her head back and laughed. Fuck. A tiny drop of beer trailed down her throat and Elle wanted to lick it off, taste Darcy’s skin. Her back teeth clacked together.

  “What do I win?”

  Elle snorted and polished off the remainder of her beer. “Bragging rights? I don’t know. Was there something you wanted?”

  Either the beer was hitting her hard, or Elle was imagining the way Darcy’s eyes darkened.

  Darcy shrugged and sniffed, tossing her hair over one deliciously freckled shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”
>
  So would she.

  “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

  Darcy cocked her head, frowning softly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What it sounds like.” Elle ripped the paper of her chopstick wrapper down the middle. “You’re a beer-chugging champ and you watch soap operas? Or at least know enough about them to answer a trivia question that stumped everybody else.”

  Darcy’s expression shuttered, her eyes blanking before dropping to the table. “What about it?”

  Elle didn’t mean anything by it, definitely no offense. “Nothing. It’s just . . . unexpected. I think it’s cool.”

  Darcy scoffed. “Sure.”

  “I do. Why would I bullshit you? Seriously, what do I have to get out of being anything other than perfectly honest?”

  Darcy appeared to weigh her words, the furrow between her brows softening. “Oh.”

  “Oh,” Elle teased.

  “Most people make fun of them. The plots are contrived and . . . people die and come back to life for crying out loud, but my grandmother was obsessed.” Darcy’s smile went soft and nostalgic, her voice quieting, “During the summers, and then after we moved into her house, I’d watch with her. It was our thing. Every day at one o’clock we’d bring lemonade and little tea sandwiches into the living room and watch Whisper Cove and then Days of Our Lives. Every day.”

  “Sounds nice,” Elle said, shredding the paper of her chopstick wrapper so she wouldn’t do something ridiculous like reach for Darcy’s hand.

  “I know they’re silly,” Darcy said, sounding like she still thought she needed to justify her interests. Temper it by distancing herself from them emotionally.

  “It’s not silly. Not if you enjoy it. And even then, silly’s not a bad thing.”

  There were far worse things to be.

  “Brendon said something similar.”

  “I knew I liked him for a reason.” Elle grinned. “He sounds like a great brother.”

  Darcy’s smile became achingly fond, her eyes creasing at the corners. “He is. Overbearing at times . . .”

  “I’m sure he means well.”

  “Yeah, well, he forgets that it’s not his job to take care of me. It’s the other way around.”