Page 96 of Hang the Moon
Annie tried in vain to fluff one of Darcy’s decorative pillows, but it still felt like lying on a shiny satin brick. “Bachelor in Paradise?”
“I guess? Wasn’t someone bi?”
“Yeah, but I mean a whole season dedicated to a queer lead. MTV did it back in 2007 withShot at Love with Tila Tequila. Over ten years later and we’re still thirsting for a full-fledged season ofThe Bachelorettewhere two dozen women in slinky ballgowns and bespoke pantsuits compete for the affection of one woman.” Annie snagged her phone off the coffee table and set it face down on her stomach. “I’m telling you,L’amour est dans le préis infinitely superior to—”
Darcy snorted.
Annie cut her eyes at her. “What?”
“The French version ofFarmer Wants a Wife?” Her brown eyes widened gleefully. “Annie, I’ve had an epiphany.”
She waited, staring at Darcy askance.
“The reason you’ve never had any success with dating apps is because you were using the wrong ones.”
Annie laughed. “Your brother already espoused the values of OTP—”
“Not OTP.” Darcy snickered. “Farmers Only.”
“Ugh.” Annie kicked Darcy’s leg. “I forgot how mean you can be. I don’t thinkL’amour est dans le préwould resonate the same over here anyway.”
She liked watchingThe Bacheloras much as the next person, but it wasn’treal.L’amour est dans le préappealed to both her romantic and pragmatic sensibilities. And they’d featured several gay farmers, somethingThe Bachelorhad yet to do. Feature gay contestants,notfarmers.
“Probably not,” Darcy agreed. “Cheese and wine and olives are sexier than soybeans.”
A stranger sentence had never been spoken, not that Annie disagreed.
“And”—Darcy scrutinized her chopsticks, studiously avoiding Annie’s eyes—“maybe if you lived closer, you wouldn’t forget integral parts of my personality.”
Another sly yet less-than-subtle hint. Darcy had been dropping them regularly and with increasing frequency over the past forty-eight hours.
“Being a bitch is an integral part of your personality?” Annie laughed. “Way to embrace your bad self.”
“If the shoe fits,” Darcy said, droll.
Annie’s stomach vibrated. She checked her phone, swiping hard and huffing when her swipes wouldn’t register. The crack had spread across her screen, rendering her device practically worthless.
ELLE (9:41 P.M.):
Annie zoomed in, laughing out loud at the box of rosé posed beside Elle’s new pink Depression glassware.
Darcy lifted her head, a curious furrow forming between her eyes. “Brendon?” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re not sendingmoreinappropriate texts while you sit on my couch, are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you often laugh when you sext?” When Darcy turned an unhealthy shade of pink, she added, “On second thought, forget I asked.”
“Forgotten,” Darcy murmured.
“Relax, I’m texting Elle.”
Darcy’s expression went melty. “Oh.”
“You know what? You’re not a bitch, you’re a marshmallow.”
Darcy balked. “I am not amarshmallow.”
“You are. You’re an ooey, gooey ball of sugary, cavity-inducing fluff. You make me sick and I love every second of it.”
“Take it back.” Darcy set her dinner aside.
