“They can be.” Elle’s earrings, dangling azure baubles shaped like planets, skimmed her jaw. She cleared her throat and tilted her head to the side, meeting Darcy’s eyes, her lips crooking. “I got into grad school and got my master’s in astronomy with an emphasis in cosmology.”
Her teeth scraped against the swell of her bottom lip making the muscles in Darcy’s stomach quiver and clench. It was Elle’s lip Darcy was jealous of now, the desire for Elle to sink her teeth into Darcy’s lip fierce, consuming.
“I was working toward my PhD. It was a six-year program, the first two geared toward coursework for your master’s, and the rest was teaching, research, writing your dissertation, and preparing for what comes next, whatever that was. I was stuck teaching this intro course that was full of freshmen looking for an easy A and staying up until all hours working on my thesis, and it all just hit me that it wasn’t what I wanted but I kept plugging along because what else was I supposed to do? Then Oh My Stars—it was Margot’s and my side hustle at the time—took off when we got a job writing horoscopes for The Stranger. Grad school had zapped the magic out of learning, but Oh My Stars was something I was excited about, the thing that got me out of bed each morning. I woke up the next day and decided I wasn’t going to let anyone take the stars from me so I quit the program.”
“I’m guessing your family didn’t take it well?” Darcy arched a brow.
Elle ducked her head, chuckling in that self-deprecating way people tend to when what they’re saying means more to them than they’re letting on, than they want you to know. “My family was . . . I want to say concerned, but I think they were horrified. They sat me down for an intervention. Everyone thought I was burned out or having a quarter-life crisis. Mom thought I’d lost my mind.”
Elle leaned her elbows on the railing and rested her chin in her hands. “I don’t . . . I don’t expect them to agree, or even completely understand, but I wish they’d respect it. My choices. Me. I wish I didn’t have to be so . . . so serious in order for them to take me seriously. Does that make sense?”
Mom liked to joke that Darcy had been born serious, but that wasn’t true. She knew how to have fun; her interests just leaned toward quiet, individual pursuits. Reading. Crossword puzzles. Yoga instead of team sports. Even her more whimsical hobbies—watching soap operas and TV Land—put her firmly in the camp of millennial grandma.
That didn’t mean she didn’t understand how Elle felt. “Fewer than a third of actuaries are women and even that’s five times higher than it was a decade or so ago. It’s not the same. I’m not trying to say—” She sighed. “My job is conventional. It’s garden variety. No one thinks you’re peculiar when you say you’re an actuary. Boring, maybe.”
Elle chuckled softly.
“But I’ve had people assume I’m an administrative assistant. If they know I’m an actuary, they assume I’m a career associate—which there’s nothing wrong with, don’t get me wrong—but they balk at the idea of me reaching FSA designation. Why would I take all those tests? Aren’t I happy being an associate? The pay’s good, but—”
“You want more than that,” Elle said.
She nodded. “I want more than that.”
“I know why I want more, but how about you? Is it proving that you can? That you can be the best? Or I assume the pay is better . . .”
It was, but that wasn’t why. Or it wasn’t only why.
How much did she want to tell Elle? She didn’t want to talk about it. Simply churning up the memories in turn churned up her stomach until she was queasy. But Elle had been so open, so honest, let herself be vulnerable. Darcy owed the same, and a tiny part of her wanted Elle to know. Know her.
“I told you about my parents.” Darcy rubbed the hollow of her throat. “About how my mother quit working when I was born. My father made enough that he was able to support the family on one income, so even when we got older, she didn’t go back to work because she didn’t need to. She had hobbies and volunteering to fill up her time, and over the summer, she went with my father when he traveled for business. She didn’t like that he was gone so often, or . . . she didn’t like that she didn’t know what he was doing, she didn’t trust him, and seeing as the reason for their divorce was that he left her for his twenty-four-year-old personal assistant, I suppose her worries weren’t unfounded.”
“Shit,” Elle muttered.
“Yeah, it was. It was shit.” A gust of wind blew, bitter sharp air biting at the tip of Darcy’s nose and messing up her hair. She brushed her curls out of her face and sighed. It wasn’t like she’d never told anyone this story. Annie knew all the dirty details; Natasha, too. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to talk about. Not because the words were unfamiliar on her tongue, but because she’d hoped that Natasha knowing this, knowing how she felt about the mistrust and disloyalty and how it had wrecked her mother, would’ve been decent enough not to break Darcy’s heart. To be decent enough not to repeat history, in a sense.
Darcy bit the inside of her cheek, the sting of her teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her mouth enough to quell the tears making the stars twinkle and blur. “Mom got custody and child support and a lump sum alimony, but she didn’t have the best money management skills, so it was gone in no time. And she hadn’t worked in over sixteen years so she had trouble finding a job and getting back on her feet. Having seen her go through that, I promised myself I’d never put myself in the same position. I liked numbers and I was good at math, it made sense. I wanted a job with benefits, a job that paid well. And I was going to be good at it, the best at what I do, so I’d always have job security. I wanted a job that would never just disappear or where I’d become obsolete.”
Mom might’ve had Grandma to fall back on, but Darcy didn’t. She only had herself.
“Anyway. That’s why.”
With a wry twist of her lips, Elle shook her head. “You must think I’m crazy. You have the sort of job my mom would love me to have. You want stable and secure and I want—it’s not the opposite, not like Mom thinks. I’m not throwing my life away or trying to self-destruct, I just wanted the right fit. But she’s not wrong. There isn’t job security. All our followers could disappear tomorrow or a platform could, poof, become old news. Or maybe our book bombs or I mess something up some other way.” The forward curl of her shoulders was subtle as Elle drew in on herself. “That would suck, don’t get me wrong, but I’d rather fail at something I love than succeed at something I don’t.”
“You’re not going to fail.” Lifting her head, Darcy glanced up at the sky, at the stars, her eyes catching on the one Elle had pointed out. Polaris. “Despite whatever your family thinks, you’re . . . you’re brilliant at what you do. Not to sound conceited by affiliation, but my brother wouldn’t have wanted to work with you if you aren’t the best.”
“Yeah?” Elle’s teeth were frustrating Darcy again, sunk into her bottom lip. “You think?”
“I know.” Darcy nodded. “And for what it’s worth, I take you seriously.”
Elle rolled her eyes. “Sure. Thanks.”
“I mean it.” Darcy gripped the railing and rocked back on her heels. “What I said at Thanksgiving . . . I did do research. Some of what you said about astrology made sense and I wanted to know more. It wasn’t for the sake of selling it, Elle. I didn’t say it because of that. I meant what I said.”
Elle turned her head, meeting Darcy’s eyes. “I never actually thanked you for saying what you did. For defending me. For whatever reason you did.”
It hadn’t even been a question, sticking up for her. Elle who wanted terribly for the world to be full of love and understanding, or at the very least, for her own family to understand.
In retrospect, the impulse terrified Darcy. Protecting Elle had been practically instinctive, but protecting her meant she cared and Darcy wasn’t supposed to care. Not about Elle, not about her hopes and dreams, certainly not how she might factor into them. Or how Elle might factor into hers.
Darcy turned, gazing pointedly at the building behind them. “You still come here. Even though you dropped out. It’s not a reminder? A sore spot for you?”
Elle’s throat jerked, her lips pressed together. “No, it’s the opposite. When I’ve had a crappy week, I come out here and look at the stars and I remember being six years old and watching my first meteor shower on a family camping trip and feeling awe like I’d never felt before. Stars shooting through the sky, it was like . . . it was magic. Carl Sagan said we’re made of star stuff and it’s true, you know? Stars, the really big ones, don’t just make carbon and oxygen but they keep burning and burning and burning and that burning produces alpha elements like nitrogen and sulfur, neon and magnesium all the way up to iron. It’s called supernova nucleosynthesis. Say that five times fast.” Elle laughed and Darcy’s chest ached as if something inside her was stretching, making space. Growing pains.
“Eventually, when those massive stars reach the end of their lives, they go out with a bang, a supernova so bright, so beautiful it drowns out all the other stars. And when they do, they throw out all those elements they created. That’s what we’re made of. We’ve got calcium in our bones and iron in our blood and nitrogen in our DNA . . . and all of that? It comes from those stars.” Elle’s eyes glistened, sparkling as bright as the stars she spoke of as she blinked and pointed up at the sky. “We are literally made of stardust.”
Moonlight danced off the tips of Elle’s pale blond eyelashes and made her eyes twinkle. If anyone was made of star stuff, it was her.
“No matter how old I got or how much everyone told me I needed to get real or be practical I never stopped wishing on stars or dreaming impossible dreams.” A watery laugh spilled from Elle’s lips. She shook her head and sniffed, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Whether you take me seriously or not, I know you think it’s silly. Astrology and magic and soul mates.”
“It’s not. I think it’s nice,” Darcy whispered. “That you still believe in all that.”
That Elle woke up every morning and hoped for the best instead of anticipating the worst.
“But you don’t, right? Believe in that? Soul mates?”
Darcy gripped the ledge like the safety bar of a roller coaster, her knuckles going white and the bones in her hands aching as she swayed on weak knees. Elle tucked her hair behind her ears and turned her head, blue eyes meeting Darcy’s and for a moment, one tenuous moment, Darcy forgot how to breathe.
She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what she’d say even if she could. Instead, Darcy let go of the railing and reached for Elle, resting her hand on Elle’s waist, thumb stroking her through the fabric. Elle lifted her chin, stars reflecting in her eyes, and the curve of her lips dared Darcy to take a chance, a leap of faith. Jump.
Lips covering Elle’s and fingers bunching in Elle’s hot pink sweater, Darcy threw herself off the cliff’s edge and let herself fall. Not to Earth, but toward Elle. Elle, who was magnetic and made it sound like nothing was impossible. That even gravity could be defied if Darcy simply believed. That even if she didn’t defy gravity, she could fall anyway and it would be okay because Elle would give Darcy a soft place to land. That Darcy could trust Elle with every fragile inch of herself.
What started slow and soft, a tentative exploration, turned desperate when Elle sucked Darcy’s lower lip into her mouth, teeth scraping her flesh. Darcy crushed herself closer, hands circling Elle’s neck, her fingers raking through the soft strands at her nape as she rocked her hips into Elle’s.
Now that she’d given herself permission to want, to want Elle, she wanted everything, wanted it all with an unbridled urgency. Tearing her mouth from Elle’s, she sucked in a gasp of air, lungs filling as she dragged her lips down Elle’s cheek, skimming the soft, silky skin of her neck where her pulse beat wildly, an echo to Darcy’s own. Tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of sweat dotting Elle’s throat, Darcy let her hands drift, explore, sliding from Elle’s waist down to her hips, around, fingers cupping her ass and squeezing, anything she could do to bring her closer, make her gasp, make her pulse dance harder under Darcy’s lips.
The sexiest mewl slipped from Elle’s lips when Darcy sucked on the lobe of Elle’s ear and tugged, teeth scraping her skin. The sound went straight to Darcy’s core, making her ache.
“I— Fuck, Darcy.” Elle shivered in Darcy’s arms, body going tense, then pliant, sagging against the railing at her back.
Fuck, yes. Darcy slotted her leg between Elle’s and rocked against her, delighting in the way Elle moaned, the sound vibrating against Darcy’s lips, and traveling all the way down to her curling toes.
She wanted more. Wanted more of Elle’s noises, more of Elle’s lips against hers, hers against Elle’s, the feel of Elle beneath her hands and between her thighs. She wanted to strip off the rest of Elle’s layers and lay her bare, physically, the way Elle had been brave enough to bare her soul beneath this clear, starry sky. She wanted all of Elle—the good, the bad, the messy.
Elle’s fingers, the ones that had crept under the cashmere of Darcy’s sweater, her nails raking against the sensitive skin above the waistline of Darcy’s jeans, pressed, pushing Darcy away.
Darcy stumbled backward, heart pounding. “Sorry.”
“Shut up.” Elle panted. Her fingers, those fingers that had pulled Darcy closer then pushed her away, slipped around the belt loops of Darcy’s jeans, keeping her from fleeing farther. “You’re just . . . ugh.” Elle’s head dropped back on her neck as she groaned, thumbs stroking the thin, sensitive skin over Darcy’s hip bones. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
The laugh bubbled up inside Darcy’s throat unbidden. “Me? I’m the impossible one?”
“I dream about impossible things, remember?” Elle grazed a nail against the skin beneath Darcy’s navel, making Darcy shiver. Elle’s smile was somehow both wicked and sweet. “Come home with me.”
Chapter Twelve
Please don’t let Margot be awake. Please don’t let Margot be awake.
It had occurred to Elle, as they pulled into the lot behind her building, that she should’ve suggested they go back to Darcy’s. Darcy had no roommates, but Elle had blurted out the invitation and could hardly walk it back without fear of it coming across like she was walking it all back.
Which was absolutely not the case. Nowhere close, not now, when this nebulous relationship between them had finally started to take shape and become something real.
Twisting the key, Elle pushed the front door open and peered into the dark living room. All the lights were off, save the pineapple-shaped light on the breakfast bar, the one they always kept on in the evenings, no matter what.
Breathing a sigh of relief at her luck, Elle stepped farther into the apartment, waving Darcy in after her.
Darcy had been here before, but only once, and she hadn’t stepped beyond the threshold. Now, her eyes made a curious sweep around Elle’s Cracker Jack box–size living room. Every now and then she’d pause, alighting on various knickknacks scattered on surfaces, precious memories and mementos Elle and Margot had collected. Turnabout was fair play and all; Elle had definitely taken her sweet time getting acquainted with Darcy’s spartan furnishings.
Elle’s apartment was decidedly more colorful. And cluttered. A sushi-shaped pushpin holder rested precariously near the edge of the breakfast bar. Photos inside bright, Pantone-colored frames hung crooked on the walls and a cloud-shaped storm glass sat on the windowsill, small dots in the liquid foretelling foggy weather. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry of the zodiac wheel took up most of the wall beside the couch. Shoes were piled beside the breakfast bar, mostly hers, save for a pair of boots that belonged to Margot. Smack-dab in the center of the floor sat one lone sock, and Elle couldn’t remember for the life of her how or why it had ended up there.
“I’m guessing you didn’t just move in,” Darcy said, smirking over shoulder.
“Ha ha.” Elle smiled. “No. I’ve lived here . . . four years? Five?�
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“With Margot?” Darcy asked.
Elle nodded. “With Margot.”
Darcy’s eyes darted around the space. She flicked the bobblehead astronaut on the bookshelf and arched a brow. “Where is Margot?”
Elle jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Her room, probably.”
Her stomach somersaulted when Darcy nodded and stepped toward her, thumbs tucked inside her front pockets. Casual, graceful, Darcy’s footsteps didn’t even wobble at she put one foot in front of the other, stopping about a foot away from Elle. “And your room is . . . ?”
Elle tugged at the lobe of her ear. “Also, down the hall. Not to be confused with the bathroom. Not that my bedroom looks like a bathroom. Just that you’d be in for a rude awakening if you somehow managed to confuse the two. Basically, everything’s down the hall. It’s small. My apartment.”
“Can I see it?” Darcy asked, hand reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear.
Elle toyed with the rings on her Neptune earrings. “My room?”
Taking one step closer, so close there was nowhere else for Elle to go, so close their toes bumped, Darcy set her hand on Elle’s hip and nodded.
“Sure,” Elle breathed. She covered Darcy’s hand with hers, slotting their fingers together, and tugged, leading Darcy down the hall to the last door on the right. Feeling along the wall for the switch, she flipped the lights. Not the regular ones that were too bright, gross fluorescents that turned everything in the room an unflattering shade of blue and made her hair look green, but the strands of twinkling fairy lights she’d tacked up along the walls. They bathed the room in a warm, champagne glow bright enough to see, but dim enough to set a certain ambiance. Flattering as candles, but less dangerous. Mood lighting at its safest, not to mention cheapest. That, and hopefully they’d keep Darcy from spotting the mountain of laundry between Elle’s desk and dresser that she had yet to fold.
Her concern was for nothing. Darcy didn’t look around, definitely didn’t judge. She was looking straight at Elle, lids low, her lower lip captured between her teeth.
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