Page 6 of Hang the Moon
“Drop them off with whom?” Darcy was with Elle and the only other person he could imagine needing to get inside her apartment on such short notice was him.
“Annie.”
His arm slipped off the edge of the desk, elbow rolling over his ulnar nerve. A flash of pain rocketed up his arm as his chair slid backward on its wheels, knocking him into the wall behind his desk. There was nothing funny about the “funny bone.”
“Annie? Annie Kyriakos is in town?” A vision of smooth, golden skin and eyes the color of the Aegean Sea flashed through his mind, the phantom scent of watermelon candy and sunscreen filling his nose. He hadn’t seen Annie in... hell, eight years. Not since the summer after his freshman year of college. “I didn’t know she was visiting.”
“Neither did I,” she said, sounding wry. “She decided to surprise me. Hence my asking you to bring her my key. She’s downtown waiting. I gave her the code to my building, but she can’t get inside my apartment.”
He reached inside the front zippered pocket of his laptop bag and grabbed his keys, double-checking that Darcy’s spare was still on the carabiner. He tossed the keys back inside, zipped the pocket, and stood, hauling the strap of the bag onto his shoulder. “On it. I’ll be there ASAP.”
Chapter Two
Eight. Six. Seven. Two. Six. One. Four.
The keypad to Darcy’s apartment building flashed green and Annie made a break for it, grabbing the heavy brass handle and wrenching the door open. She waved at her Uber driver over her shoulder as she ducked for cover from the out-of-the-blue rain shower. The wobbly back wheel of her suitcase snagged on the threshold, causing her to stumble backward when she tugged harder, her black strappy kitten heels slipping on the slick marble floor.
Slightly out of breath, she dragged her suitcase out of the immediate path and posted up against the expansive wall of windows. Outside, the rain picked up, a gust of wind splattering the panes with droplets. Luckily she’d made it inside when she had, a little damp, but not soaked to the bone like she would’ve been had she still been on the street. She gathered her damp hair off the nape of her neck and twisted it into a messy bun, securing it with the band around her wrist, before getting her bearings.
Darcy’s building was impressive, all black marble shotthrough with gold veins, and immaculate—if impractical—white leather couches facing one another on either side of the lobby. Directly across from the door she’d stepped through was a gleaming silver elevator. She double-checked the text Darcy had sent her as soon as they’d gotten off the phone.
DARCY (4:44 P.M.):The code is 8672614.
DARCY (4:52 P.M.):Brendon’s on his way with the key. He should be there in 20 minutes.
Brendon Lowell.Last time she’d seen him in person had been eight years ago, back when he was a gangly college freshman with an adorable penchant for talking with his hands when he got fired up about something. For a guy who’d created one of the most popular apps on the market, he was shockingly bad at keeping his personal social media up to date. It would be interesting to see how he’d changed. If he’d changed.
Ten minutes later, the rain had passed, the cloud cover overhead breaking. The sun hovered at the horizon, painting the sky fiery orange, fingers of pink and yellow bleeding up into the beginnings of purple evening. Twilight approached, daylight burning away. Golden hour, her favorite time of day, when the shadows weren’t so dark and everything was bathed in shades of amber warmth. Leaving her suitcase inside, she stepped back out onto the sidewalk, breathing deep, inhaling the smell of rain-soaked pavement. The temperature was dropping and she crossed her arms against the breeze.
Darcy’s apartment was located on a steep hill several blocks northwest of the internationally famous Pike Place Market, inwhat appeared to be a quiet, older neighborhood. Traffic was lighter than it had been in the thick of downtown, and Annie’s vantage point afforded her an unencumbered view of the street. A silver Smart car shot down the hill like a bullet, cruising to a stop beside the curb.
It even had a giant windup key affixed to the trunk that was too cute not to document. She dug her phone out of her back pocket and snapped several pictures before flipping over to video and recording a brief clip of the key as it rotated.
The engine shut off and the driver’s-side door opened and—Annie blinked twice.Hello.Her lips parted, her jaw falling open a smidge, just enough to let out a choked gasp of appreciation as the driver unfolded himself from the car, all six feet,severalinches of him.
It was a clown-car situation—how the driver had managed to pack all of that inside such a small space eluded her, but she wasn’t going to complain. No sir. She was going to thank the universe wholeheartedly for bringing her to this place, at this time, so she could appreciate the sight of this gorgeous guy shutting the door to his tiny car and lifting an arm—holy biceps, Batman—to... wave?
Heat crept up her neck, spreading like wildfire over her jaw. Oh God, he was looking right at her while she recorded him in all his long-legged, broad-shouldered, “helloforearms” glory. She fumbled her phone, tapping the button to stop recording, but her stupid cracked screen was having none of it. To save face, she pivoted hard to the right, pretending to record the sunset instead.
From the corner of her eye, she watched as the driver of theSmart car hopped the curb and—Jesus, he and his snug shirt were coming her way.
“Annie Kyriakos.”
That was her name. Smart car guy knew her name. He was standing a foot from her, smiling so broadly that the corners of his brown eyes crinkled and his dimples deepened and—
Holy shit.
Smart car guy was Brendon Lowell, Darcy’s not-so-baby brother, and he and his biceps and dimples and bronze-haired beauty had rendered her mute. Mute and frozen, like someone had pressed the pause button on her body, her system coming back online only when he reached out, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her in for a hug that eked a squeak from her lips. “Brendon?”
Her face pressed against the solid muscle of his chest, her nose buried in the soft, warm cotton of his shirt, which smelled like laundry detergent and rain. After a moment, she stepped back, her knees missing the memo and nearly giving out beneath her. She scrambled for stability, hands wrapping around—forearms. Brendon’s forearms.
Tearing her gaze from where her bright blue nails were biting into the pale, freckled skin of his forearms, leaving little crescent moons behind, her eyes made a slow, meandering path up his body.
By the time she’d made it back to his face, his grin had gone crooked. “It’s been a while.”
Understatement of the century. It had been long enough that he had gone fromcute—all auburn hair and freckles, tall and lithe, his limbs a touch too long and his light brown eyes wide,doe-like—tothis. She swallowed hard. Brendon had grown upexceptionallywell. “Only eight years.”
He laughed, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside his chest. “Only.” Eyes still crinkled with laughter, he studied her. “You haven’t been waiting out here this entire time, have you?”
