Page 2 of Written in the Stars
“You’re late.”
Oof. Or not. “I am, and I’m really sorry about that. But there was—”
Darcy held up a hand, forcing Elle to swallow her excuse.“It’s fine. I’ve had a long day and I already settled my tab at the bar.” She pointed over Elle’s shoulder toward the door. “I was calling a Lyft.”
“What? No.” She was late, yeah, but only by a few minutes. Okay, fifteen, but that wasn’t her fault. “I really am sorry. I wanted to text you, but my phone died and it was like mommy roller derby in front of Macy’s. And let me tell you, those women are vicious with their strollers when there are sales at stake.Vicious. I swear to God, you’d think it was Black Friday. Can you believe they’ve already got Christmas decorations up? I’ve still got cobwebs and Jon Bone Jovi hanging in my apartment.” Her face flamed at Darcy’s puzzled frown. “He’s, um, my apartment skeleton. We thought it’d behumerus. Because... anyway.” She squared her shoulders and gave Darcy her most heartfelt smile. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight ever since your brother mentioned he thought we might hit it off. Let me buy you another drink?”
She held her breath as Darcy deliberated, fingers pressed to the space between her brows as if she was staving off a headache.
After an excruciating moment of silence where Elle struggled not to squirm, Darcy dropped her hand and offered a ghost of a smile. “One drink.”
Once more with feeling. Elle bit the inside of her cheek and smiled. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Lack of enthusiasm aside, this was good. Promising. There was still a chance to make this right. She could do this. She couldtotallyrally.
Darcy’s shoes, a pair of towering red-soled pumps, click-clacked with every perfectly paced step across the restaurant.Elle followed, fluffing her fringe with her fingers, quick and inconspicuous. Her first impression might’ve been lackluster, but that meant the only direction things could go was up.
“What are you drinking?” Elle plucked the drink menu off the table and— Oh sweet Saturn. Her wallet curled up into the fetal position.
“The Francois Carillon Chardonnay.” Darcy flagged down a waiter with a twist of her wrist.
The Francois... Elle brought the menu closer to her face and nearly choked. Fifty-six dollars for aglassof wine? That couldn’t be right. It had to be a typo, a misplaced decimal, maybe some trick of the candlelight playing off the gold gilded font. She double-checked to make sure she hadn’t confused the price of a glass for a bottle, maybe a case, and... nope.
“What can I get you?” the waiter asked, and when Darcy finished relaying her order, he turned to Elle. “And you, miss?”
“Erm.” She scanned the page, struggling not to cringe. Didn’t this place believe in happy hour? Or hell,happiness? Making your rent? Shoot, her rent. That was due on Monday. “The Domaine De Pellehaut Merlot Blend?”
Not only did she butcher the pronunciation, shehatedmerlot. But nine dollars was plenty more palatable thanfifty-six.
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
Salvage this date. A seemingly simple goal, only, all her wonderful, sparkling witticisms caught in her throat like a swallowed wad of gum when Darcy juststaredat her. Candlelight transformed Darcy’s light brown eyes into butterscotch and when Darcy glanced down at her phone, the light danced off the darkest, thickest lashes Elle had ever seen and—
“What mascara do you use?” Elle blurted.
Darcy flipped her phone over, screen side down, and looked up, brows furrowing as she met Elle’s eyes. “My mascara? YSL.”
“They’re really pretty. Your eyes, I mean.”
The crests of Darcy’s cheeks turned an alluring shade of pink. “Thank you?”
Elle bit her lip and smoothed the napkin on her lap, smothering her grin at having taken Darcy by surprise. Only when she was no longer in danger of beaming like a loon did she lift her eyes and... Darcy was back to staring across the table, only this time there was something more than polite interest in her gaze.
For a moment, Elle couldn’t breathe. All she could do was watch as Darcy’s blush deepened, pink cheeks turning crimson.
The smooth column of Darcy’s throat jerked as she swallowed. Her tongue darted out to wet her full bottom lip, drawing Elle’s eye to a crescent-shaped freckle at her lip line, and dear God, she hadn’t had anything to drink yet and already she was dizzy, though that might’ve had something to do with how her lungs refused to cooperate.
Magnetic. Elle couldn’t look away because this was champagne bubbles on her tongue, the first plunge into a swimming pool on a scorcher of a day, that moment right before the bass drops in a killer song. Sparks, chemistry, whatever it was, this was the sort ofit’s there or it’s notconnection she’d been chasing.
Before she could find her voice, the waiter returned, tray in hand. First, he filled Darcy’s glass from a miniature carafe, then poured a splash of red into Elle’s. He waited, clearing his throat gently.
Was she seriously supposed to... sniff it? Sample it? And say what? God, just last week she and Margot had finished off a box of Franzia rosé. She’d guzzled the dregs from the wine bladder while Margot squeezed the bag. Elle’s tastes weren’t exactly what she’d call discerning.
She took a whiff, sipped, and hummed thoughtfully. Yuck. “Yep. That is definitely merlot. Thanks.”
The waiter’s lips twitched as he filled her glass with the rest of the wine. “I’ll be back to take your order shortly.”
Elle tucked her hair behind her ear, finger snagging on her hoop. Darcy’s blush had mostly dissipated, but she gulped her wine, eyes looking everywhere but at Elle. That was fine; Darcy wouldn’t be acting that way unless the moment had affected her, too.
“Brendon mentioned you work in... insurance? Is that right?”
