“That’s normal, Darce. Everyone’s scared. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t.”
But not everyone was afraid of this. “I don’t want to be like Mom. She built her entire life around Dad and . . . look how that turned out.”
Maybe Darcy hadn’t built her life around Natasha, but she’d built a life with her and when that life had come crashing down, there was no clean break, no easy way to separate out the parts of that life that belonged to her alone. There was too much overlap, too much muddying of the waters. She’d lost her apartment and her friends, save for Annie. Darcy still had her job, so no, it wasn’t exactly the same as Mom, but the fear of everything else crumbling around her again, the thought of having to rebuild her life all over again, after having already done it once, was suffocating enough to make the differences in their situations feel nominal. It was the whole reason why she’d sworn off dating and buried herself in her work and exam prep in the first place.
“I’m not trying to take anything away from you or downplay what happened with Natasha—you went through a breakup, a really bad breakup granted, but it’s not the same. That’s not the type of person you are.” Brendon took a deep breath. “Running at the first sign of something serious because you’re afraid someone’s going to hurt you isn’t any better. You’re just going to hurt yourself like you’re hurting right now. And you’re going to keep hurting until you do something to fix it. Try. Be honest with her. Trust her.”
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.
“I think I should tell that to Elle.”
Margot shoved her thumb under the ridge of her brow bone. “Shockingly, something else we agree on. Question is, are you going to say something or are you gonna fuck up all over again?”
“Aiming to not fuck up. Hence the reason I’m here.”
Margot dropped her hand, eyes lowering to stare at the plant in Darcy’s arms. “What the fuck is that?”
Darcy cleared her throat, heat creeping up the back of her neck. “It doesn’t matter. Could you please just tell me where Elle is?”
Margot sighed. “Look. I told Elle I wasn’t a fan of this, this fake dating shit you sprang on her. I told her from the beginning not to expend emotional labor you didn’t deserve. Quite frankly, I’m still not sure you deserve Elle because she’s my best friend and the greatest person I know. I will always think she deserves the absolute best and I don’t like you right now so in my book, you’re the worst. But who’s best for her isn’t up to me to decide. I pour the drinks and feed her ice cream and hold her hand when she cries and yeah, I give my opinion and plenty of advice, but Elle can make her own decisions. For whatever reason, she wants you. But so help me god, if you break her heart again, I will slash your tires, Darcy Lowell.”<
br />
“I sold my car when I moved here,” Darcy admitted.
Margot rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll break into your apartment and move everything three inches to the left and fuck with your flow, okay?”
Darcy stared because, shit, that actually sounded awful.
The sentiment, however, was nice. Nice that Elle had someone who had her back, who loved her enough to make those kinds of eerily unsettling threats. Good thing Darcy wasn’t planning on ever breaking Elle’s heart. Not if she had her way.
“Got it. Loud and clear. Now, can you please tell me where to find Elle so I can try to fix this?”
A slow smirk tugged at Margot’s lips, easily as unsettling as that threat to induce paranoia by subtly altering Darcy’s surroundings. “How do you feel about metaphysical bookstores?”
* * *
A bell above the door chimed loudly as Darcy stepped into the bookstore. Patchouli and sandalwood tickled her nose, nearly making her sneeze. She coughed lightly and gripped the plant tighter in her arms, glancing around the hole-in-the-wall bookstore.
A dizzying maze of wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed inside the store, the aisles between them narrow, a fire hazard. Near the front of the tiny shop was a wide rectangular table wrapped in silver garland and covered in colorful, translucent crystals and nonfiction paperbacks. How to Awaken Your Third Eye. Tantric Sex 101. You and Your Yoni.
“Can I help you find something?”
Darcy jumped, nerves getting the best of her. Behind the counter stood a man in a red-and-green caftan and a woman decked out in a black corset, leather pants, and an ear full of piercings. Darcy glanced down at her wool trousers and sensible green sweater, plant cradled against her chest. Out of her comfort zone was putting it lightly.
They were both watching her expectantly. Darcy pasted on a smile. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for Elle Jones.”
The woman with the many silver piercings in her cartilage grabbed a binder from under the desk and ran her coffin-shaped candy-cane-striped nail down the page. “She should be finishing up with a client in the next few minutes if you—”
Beside the counter, a purple beaded curtain parted. Out stepped a woman who looked to be in her midfifties wearing a smile as she spoke in hushed tones over her shoulder.
Elle stepped through the curtain, batting the beads out of her face and Darcy’s heart seized.
Gently patting her client on the shoulder, Elle then waved good-bye. She performed a quick double take before staring at Darcy.
Darcy shoved down the nerves threatening to choke her, render her mute. That was the opposite of what she needed. “Hey.”
Elle sucked her lower lip between her teeth, eyes dropping to the floor in front of Darcy’s feet. Her shoulders rose and she lifted her eyes, pinning Darcy with a merciless glare. “Darcy.”
The look in Elle’s eyes turned Darcy’s stomach, weakening her resolve. No. She’d come this far. Hunted down this plant, faced Margot. She could do this. “Can we talk?”
Elle crossed her arms over her chest. “Not gonna have Brendon run interference?”
Ow. She deserved that but it didn’t make the jab sting any less.
Darcy squared her shoulders and shook her head. “No. I’m not. I’d like to talk to you.”
A flicker of interest passed over Elle’s face, her eyes narrowing briefly before her expression smoothed into a mask of indifference. Darcy knew that look. She’d perfected that look. “I’m busy. Working, in case you didn’t notice.”
Darcy hadn’t come all this way to have the door metaphorically slammed in her face. “How much for a . . . reading?”
“What?” Elle’s eyes bugged.
Darcy juggled the plant in her arms, shifting until she could reach inside her crossbody purse and grab her wallet.
A soft noise of distress slipped from Elle’s lips. “You don’t . . . you don’t believe in astrology. It’s a waste of time. Yours and mine.”
“You accept cards, I assume?” Darcy slid her Visa across the glass counter.
Elle made a tiny choked sound in the back of her throat, half shriek and part huff. “Darcy.”
Darcy took her card back from the woman and signed the receipt with a flourish, turning back to Elle with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, Elle.”
She held her breath as Elle deliberated, chewing on the side of her lip, eyes locked on Darcy’s face. After a gut-wrenching moment wherein Darcy tried to mentally and facially communicate how sincere she was—likely looking crazed or worse, constipated—Elle finally sighed, tossing her hands in the air before stepping back through the beaded curtain. “Fine. You want a reading? I’ll give you a reading.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elle threw herself into the velvet wingback chair behind the slightly wobbly round table and watched as Darcy’s nose occasionally wrinkled, no doubt having all sorts of opinions about the Nag Champa wafting from the incense burner in the corner of the room.
She tucked her right leg beneath her and crossed her arms over her stomach. This was fine. Darcy wanted a reading? Elle would read her to filth.
“Have a seat.” She reached for her phone and pulled up the chart she’d saved weeks ago. She set her phone on the table, eyes staring shrewdly at Darcy’s houses and alignments. “Let’s see, you want to start with your Capricorn stellium? Maybe dig into your seventh house Pluto? Hmm, we could spend a whole hour talking about your south node in Virgo.”
Darcy shifted that stupid-looking plant—why in the world was she carrying a fucking shrub?—on her lap and nodded quickly. “Okay. Sure.”
Just like that, Elle deflated.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take Darcy’s chart and use it against her. Astrology was a tool for empathy, not one to exact payback. She wasn’t going to twist something beautiful into something ugly, make it malicious, because her feelings were hurt. Understatement. But still. This wasn’t how Elle operated and she wasn’t going to change that, no matter how heartbroken she was. She wasn’t cruel and she didn’t want to hurt Darcy with barbed words, tear her down. Hurting Darcy wouldn’t mend Elle’s broken heart.
Elle flipped her phone over. “I can’t do this.”
Darcy pursed her lips, sitting up straighter. “I paid.”
“Go ask Sheila for a refund, then. I’m not going to waste my time giving you a reading when you don’t even believe in this. Especially not on Christmas Eve, Darcy.”
Darcy’s hands hugged that ugly terra-cotta planter, knuckles turning white from her grip. Her nail polish, that same boring pink shade she always wore, was chipped, peeling away from her thumbnail. All her nails were bitten down to the quick. “You’re right. I don’t believe in astrology.”
Despite having given Darcy the out, Elle’s throat narrowed, her chest tightening.
What hurt the most in that moment was that she’d thought Darcy had understood. That it wasn’t whether it was real, but it was about understanding each other. Connecting. Feeling less alone. “Cool. Like I said, ask Sheila for a refund.”
Darcy didn’t move, didn’t get up, didn’t leave the room. She barely shook her head. “But you do. You believe in it.”
Duh.
“It’s been a long time since I believed in something, anything,” Darcy whispered. She opened her mouth and a little hiccup of a gasp slipped out. “You make me want to believe in something, Elle. And I do. I don’t believe in astrology, but I believe in you and I believe in this, in what I feel. And I know you’re mad and it’s probably too late, but could you let me explain? Please.”
Elle’s heart went haywire. Stuttering, speeding, stopping before clawing its way up her chest. Speaking wasn’t something she could do with her heart lodged inside her throat. She nodded instead.
“Yes, I never planned for this. I didn’t want to fall in love, not again, not after—” Darcy broke off, air stuttering from between her lips, lips that quivered gently before she swallowed and got ahold of herself. She m
et Elle’s eyes across the table, didn’t so much as flinch at the contact. Her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable, brow lightly pinched, but the rest of her face was lax. “Brendon told me he already told you about Natasha. I’ll spare you the dirty details but putting myself out there again was the last thing I wanted. Then you came along.”
Elle snorted. Ah, yes. She came crashing into Darcy’s life, uninvited. How could she forget? Spilled wine and butting heads. Charming.
“You were the exact opposite of what I wanted,” Darcy said.
Elle clenched her hands into fists. She’d asked for sincerity, but she hadn’t asked for this. Hearing her worst fears confirmed. “That’s—”
“Please,” Darcy whispered, shaking her head. “I’m not . . . you were the opposite of what I thought I wanted but it turned out you were exactly what I needed and somewhere along the way you became the one thing I wanted more than anything. What I said to my mother, it wasn’t true, Elle. I lied to her and I lied to myself. This is so much more than me just having fun.”
Elle took the deepest breath she could with her arms crossed snug over her stomach. “I know I’m not the most punctual person and I can’t tell the difference between a cabernet sauv—whatever and a pinot to save my life. I believe in astrology and I follow my gut more than I follow my head. And all of that? It’s who I am.” Her stupid eyes had to go and water. Elle blinked fast and shrugged. “I like who I am. A lot. What I do, who I am, it makes me happy. And I . . . I deserve someone who likes me exactly the way I am, mess and all. I need to be able to know that. I need to hear that. I need to believe it. I deserve someone who can say it.”
Each time she said it, she believed it a little more, and a little more. This time, she believed it all the way, believed it the way she believed in the stars, and the moon. Elle believed in herself, and no matter how much she wanted Darcy—which was an absurd amount—loving herself was no mere consolation prize.
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