Page 67 of Written in the Stars
There was no word that existed in the English language that meant the opposite oflonely. Some came closer than others, but nothing did justice to the feeling of someone looking into your eyes and connecting with you on a soul-deep level.
A connection was what Elle craved. To see and be seen, then to take that one step further and for someone, for Darcy, to like what they saw enough to want to stick around and see more.
But Darcy hadn’t stayed. For whatever reason, a reason Elle would probably never know because there was only so much rejection she could handle, so much battering her heart could take before the hope of something better could no longer sustain her. She’d confronted Darcy once before, but thathad beenbefore. When there’d been significantly less at stake. Darcy hadn’t known Elle then; the rejection had barely been personal. To confront Darcy now, to demand to know why she’d left, why Elle hadn’t been worth staying for... if Elle had to ask, wasn’t it obvious?
No, she could take a hint.
Clutching the sheet to her bare chest, Elle bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Vision blurring, Elle shut her eyes and sniffed hard because she didn’t want to cry. Crying sucked.
She sniffed again. Someone in the building was cooking pancakes. At least it smelled like pancakes. Buttery, vanilla-sweet heaven. Either that, or her brain was self-soothing similar to how cats purred, manufacturing her favorite smells where there were none. Was that a sign of an impending stroke? A seizure? WebMD would tell her she had a tumor or some fatal one-in-a-million neurological condition.
Elle sniffed again. No, the smell was unmistakable, stronger each time she took a whiff.
She threw back the covers and rifled through her mountain of unfolded clothing, plucking a robe out from the bottom of the stack. Tying the sash tight, Elle stepped out into the hall to investigate further.
Margot was sitting at the breakfast bar and—
Darcy was in the kitchen, inherkitchen, wearing one of Elle’s shirts, a bright marigold tee withHufflepuff Puff Passscrawled above a blunt-smoking badger. And she was cooking. There were pans and bowls and a spatula—since when did they own a spatula—and the whole apartment smelled like pancakes because Darcy Lowell was cooking inside Elle’s apartment.
Darcy had stayed.
Because she couldn’t juststandthere, Elle cleared her throat, body flushing with warmth at the way Darcy’s smile lit up her whole face when she looked at Elle. “Morning.”
Darcy wrinkled her nose in that adorable way of hers that Elle loved, before turning and fiddling with one of the knobs on the stove. “Barely. It’s after eleven.”
They hadn’t made it back to Elle’s apartment until after one, hadn’t fallen asleep until easily after two. Not such an egregious lie-in, all facts considered.
Margot spun on her stool, eyes widening as she mouthed the wordsOh my god.
Elle tugged on the sleeve of her robe, bare toes curling into the carpet. Oh my god was right.
Margot shut her laptop and hopped down off the stool. “All right. I’m off. Don’t have too much fun.” She waggled her brows.
“Where you going? It’s Saturday.”
“Interestingly enough, I’m going rock-climbing with your”—she turned, pointing finger guns at Darcy—“brother.”
Darcy’s lips pulled to the side. “Oh?”
“Settle down. I won’t say anything incriminating.” Margot paused in the doorway. “Speed dating didn’t go the way he planned, apparently, so he’s got it in his head that maybe he needs to join a gym or something. Meet someone out in the wild. I offered to take him rock-climbing. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Margot slipped through the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Knotting her fingers in the sash of her robe, Elle stepped into the kitchen. “You’re cooking?”
That Darcy hadn’t left was a relief. Pancakes? Those were promising.
Darcy tucked her hair behind her ear. “It was either that or order in from Postmates and I don’t know what’s good in this neighborhood.”
Elle stepped into the kitchen and sidled up beside Darcy, peeking into the bowl of batter. “Um, everything? It’s Capitol Hill.” At the sight of a short stack of pancakes sitting on a plate, Elle’s mouth watered. “How are you even making pancakes? We don’t have flour. Or eggs. Or milk. Or... whatever else you need for pancakes.”
Reaching around her, Darcy grabbed a box of pancake mix. The corner was dented and there was a fifty-percent-off sticker slapped across the first half of the brand name. “I found this in the back of your pantry. The best-by date was last month, but I figured it’s probably safe.”
“I’m not concerned.” Bracing her hands on the edge of the counter, Elle heaved herself onto the tile surface, narrowly avoiding putting her butt in the batter bowl. Once settled, she hooked a foot around the back of Darcy’s knee, drawing her close. “You met Margot.”
Darcy’s fingers crept up the inside of Elle’s thigh. When she reached the hem of Elle’s robe, she walked her fingers backward, down toward Elle’s knee. Elle blew out the breath she’d been holding. Such a tease. “I met Margot.”
“And?”
Darcy tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “And what? She’s nice. A little scary.” Darcy retrieved the spatula and flipped the pancake bubbling away in the pan with an expertflick of her wrist. The underside was the perfect shade of golden brown. “She made me pinky promise not to break your heart.”
