Hang the Moon, page 1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Announcement
About the Author
Praise
Also by Alexandria Bellefleur
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
What Summer Song Are You Based on Your Zodiac Sign?
Aries—“Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift
Taurus—“Summertime” by George Gershwin
Gemini—“Summer Lovin’” by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John
Cancer—“Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey
Leo—“Hot Girl Summer” by Megan Thee Stallion
Virgo—“Summer Games” by Drake
Libra—“Cool for the Summer” by Demi Lovato
Scorpio—“This Summer’s Gonna Hurt Like a Motherfucker” by Maroon 5
Sagittarius—“Summer of ’69” by Bryan Adams
Capricorn—“The Boys of Summer” by Don Henley
Aquarius—“Summer Girls” by LFO
Pisces—“Summer Love” by Justin Timberlake
Friday, May 28
Annie nearly wept tears of joy. Starbucks, the holy grail of coffee, was within spitting distance of Gate D2. Something cold, creamy, and above all, caffeinated was exactly what she craved after a day of planes, trains, and automobiles.
Dragging her carry-on with its one busted wheel behind her, she joined the line, fishing around inside the chaos of her bag for her wallet. Her fingers brushed the creased edge of her boarding pass and the plastic wrapper of the protein cookie she’d purchased before sprinting to catch her connecting flight in Atlanta. It claimed to be birthday cake flavored but instead tasted like sawdust and sadness. What a waste of five bucks.
She found her wallet just in time to step up to the counter, where a pretty barista with lilac-colored hair and an ear full of silver jewelry smiled at her, Sharpie at the ready. “Hi. Can I get an iced quad grande cinnamon dolce latte?”
The barista grinned, revealing an intriguing glimpse of silver hardware in her tongue. “Can I get a name for your order?”
“Annie.” She slid her credit card inside the reader and waited for it to chirp before tucking her card back inside her wallet.
“You in town for business or pleasure?” the barista asked, handing Annie her receipt. “Or are you from here?”
If Annie had a dollar for every time she’d been asked that question, she’d have been richer than sin. Thanks to her job at Brockman and Brady Inc., an independent human resource consulting firm that specialized in international mergers and acquisitions, she traveled thirty weeks out of the year. But that wasn’t why she was in Seattle.
“I’m visiting my best friend.”
If she didn’t visit Darcy now, who knew when she’d have a chance? In little more than a month, she’d be moving to London, permanently, having accepted a promotion as the managing director of the new Brockman and Brady London branch. She didn’t know when she’d be able to take off to visit her best friend again, with an ocean and the entire United States separating them.
“Well then, I hope you enjoy your stay.” The barista winked and handed over her receipt.
Annie’s face went pleasantly warm as she stuffed the receipt and her wallet back into the black abyss of her bag, before stepping over to the bar. She adjusted the French tuck of her button-down shirt, smoothing the wrinkles from eight hours of sitting in a crammed window seat, then snagged her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.
She hit call and cradled her phone between her shoulder and her ear, lips curving in a smile when Darcy picked up on the second ring.
“Annie?”
“Guess where I am,” Annie answered in singsong, sliding to the side to make room beside the coffee bar.
“Mmm . . . Istanbul?”
Her grip slipped and her hand lurched out to save her phone before it clattered to the tile floor. Her screen already had a decent-sized crack across it, a fine spiderwebbing that rendered the bottom left corner ineffective no matter how hard she pressed or swiped. “Why the hell would I be in Istanbul?”
Darcy huffed. “You told me to guess, I guessed.”
Annie squawked sharply, doing her best impression of a buzzer. The man beside her looked at her funny. “Wrong! Try again.”
Behind the counter, the barista with the lilac-colored lob passed Annie her latte with another wink. Annie mouthed, “Thank you,” and snagged her drink, taking a sip while Darcy deliberated. The coffee hit the back of her tongue, sweet, but not quite sweet enough to combat the extra shot of espresso. Annie wrinkled her nose and popped the plastic lid with her thumb before snagging some sugar off the bar. She dumped the entire packet into her cup and gave the drink a quick stir with her straw so the granules would dissolve.
“Northern Hemisphere?”
“No cheating.”
Darcy scoffed softly. “Come on. At least tell me if I’m on the right continent.”
“Are you asking if I’m in Asia or Europe? It could be either, you know.”
She was 99 percent certain Darcy called her a smart-ass through a poorly muffled cough. “Annie.”
“I’m not in Asia or Europe. There.”
“Are you at home?”
Home. If Darcy meant Annie’s apartment in Philadelphia, the one she was almost never at, the answer was a big fat no. Not that Philadelphia felt much like home these days.
“I’m not in Philadelphia. I’m in Starbucks.”
“Oh gee, that really helps narrow it down.”
And Darcy called her a smart-ass. Annie rolled her eyes. “I’d tell you which Starbucks, but I’m not sure that would help. I’m still in the airport.”
With perfect timing, a voice announced over the loudspeaker, “Flight two twenty-three departing from SeaTac for Portland.”
Annie grinned at the choked-off sound Darcy made.
“You’re in Seattle?”
“Surprise!”
“I’m—I mean—you’re here and—why?”
Annie cringed. “Yeesh, Darce. Do I need a reason beyond wanting to visit my best friend? My best friend whom I haven’t seen in . . .” She quickly did the math and cringed harder. “Over a year?”
It was the longest they’d gone without seeing each other since they became best friends in fifth grade.
“No, no, of course not. I just wish you would’ve told me . . .”
Annie juggled her drink, carry-on, purse, and phone as she stepped aside, clearing room for the customers still awaiting their beverages. “That would defeat the whole point of it being a surprise.”
Darcy exhaled loudly, her breath turning to static over the line. “Right, Annie . . .”
Darcy didn’t sound nearly as excited to see her as she was to see Darcy.
She set the drink aside before adjusting her hold on her phone. “Yes?”
“I’m not in Seattle. I’m in Canada. On vacation.”
Annie palmed her face with her now free hand. “You? Take a vacation?” She huffed out a laugh. “Wonders never cease.”
Better Darcy discovered a work-life balance sooner rather than later, but did it have to happen now? Talk about terrible timing.
“Ha ha,” Darcy deadpanned before clearing her throat. “I’m in Vancouver. Elle and I are in Vancouver.”
Ah, Elle. Suddenly it made sense. Of course it would take Darcy’s new—did it still count as new if they’d been dating over six months?—girlfriend to convince her to step away from her desk and take a much-needed vacation.
Annie smiled. After talking to her via numerous texts and phone calls, she was looking forward to finally meeting the girl who had her best friend totally smitten. Or she had been looking forward to it. Annie’s smile wavered, but she mustered up some semi-genuine enthusiasm. “Sounds fun! About time you took a vacation.”
Enthusiasm Darcy promptly saw through. “I wish I would’ve known you were flying into town, Annie. I’d have—”
“What, you’d have canceled your plans?” She scoffed. “Oh, please. It’s fine.” Totally fine. She’d figure it out. Find a hotel and explore Seattle on her own until Darcy returned. By this point, she was a pro at exploring cities solo.
“We got in last night, an extended weekend because of Memorial Day.” Darcy paused. “But we can come back early if you—”
“Nope.” Annie shook her head even though Darcy couldn’t see. “Absolutely not.”
“But, Annie—”
“Hush.” She laughed. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl; I can handle a few days in a city by myself.”
“How long are you in town for?”
Annie picked at the cardboard sleeve of her cup
“Two weeks? That’s a long vacation.”
Abort, abort.
“Some of us actually use our paid time off,” she teased.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to come back early?” Darcy asked, ignoring Annie’s jibe entirely. “Because we can. Elle’s nodding. Just say the word and we’ll hit the road tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
Yes. Annie shut her eyes. “No way. I’ll be super pissed if you do that. I mean it. I’ll passive-aggressively replace your toilet paper the wrong way the entire time I’m here if you do that. And I’ll leave, like, an inch of juice in your carton and not tell you about it. I know you hate when I do that.”
“Annie.”
“Darcy,” she said, mimicking Darcy’s tone. “Go. Have fun with Elle in Vancouver. I’ll see you on . . .”
“Monday evening.”
“Monday evening,” Annie agreed. “I’ve got to go. I bet my luggage hit the carousel by now.”
“No, no, wait! Where are you staying?”
She’d been hoping to crash at Darcy’s, but that was a bust. “I’ll find somewhere. No worries.”
Darcy made a soft sound of discontent. “No. Yes, worries. That’s ridiculous. Just stay at my place. You have my address, right?”
“I do. But I don’t have a key.”
Darcy paused. “Don’t worry. Just take a cab or an Uber over and I’ll take care of the rest.”
* * *
“Knock, knock!” The door to Brendon Lowell’s office glided open silently. Katie, One True Pairing’s head of public relations and communications, poked her head inside. “Got a minute?”
Brendon scrambled to exit out of “The Ten Most Romantic Proposals of All Time” on YouTube, sniffed hard, and waved Katie inside. “For you? Always.”
“Are you all right? You’re looking kind of”—she pointed at his face—“teary?”
Outside his window, a giant alder tree was dumping a load of pollen, dusting the sidewalk yellow. “Allergies. Pollen count’s through the roof,” he fibbed.
She wrinkled her nose. “You were watching mushy videos again, weren’t you?”
For a split second he considered lying, then thought better of it. “Guilty.”
“Well. I’m glad you’re sitting down and hopefully circulating loads of happy-making dopamine.” Clutched against her chest was her trusty tablet. His pulse leaped.
Katie stared at him, unblinking, for an unsettling beat. Then her eyes rolled skyward. “I’m kidding. Relax, before you burst something.” She stepped inside his office, shutting the door behind her. “Chill out, okay? It’s just the annual independent study on intimacy and relationships. The one you asked me to show you as soon as it was published?”
“Way to give me a heart attack.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I should have you written up for insubordination.”
She cocked her head. “Insubordination? I don’t think that’s in the employee rulebook. I remember You shall not yuck anyone’s yum and slander ships you do not personally sail, but insubordination? I think not.”
Corporate culture at OTP was less corporate and more an amalgamation of all the truisms Brendon subscribed to—don’t be a douche, listen to the dungeon master, and the only way to fail was to not try.
He eyed the tablet in Katie’s hands, her bright orange nails clicking against the black protective sleeve. “Did you look at it already?”
Once a year, the Dew Research Center reported their findings regarding the public’s perception of intimacy and dating in the digital age. No apps were named, but the trends were enlightening and helped OTP to better understand their target demographic, along with the overall pain and pressure points felt with online dating.
Katie passed him the tablet. “I did. Most of it’s what we expected from the previous two years. The whole market is seeing a slowdown in growth of new users, not only us.”
He cradled the tablet in his hands. “Overall outlook?”
She reached for the smiley-face stress ball on his desk, giving it a good squeeze. She made a serious of hmms and mehs, sounding like an out-of-tune piano, and shrugged.
That didn’t sound promising.
He skimmed the intro section on methodology and polling practices, scrolling with his index finger until he reached the section labeled “Outlooks and Experiences.”
Roughly half of users who had used one or more dating apps reported their experience left them feeling more frustrated, rather than hopeful. Forty percent of users reported their experience left them feeling more pessimistic than optimistic, while nearly 40 percent reported feeling neither.
A whopping 30 percent of users expressed that dating apps made courtships impersonal and devoid of romance.
Devoid of romance?
Meh was right.
Katie sighed and set his stress ball aside. “I know. Some of this is . . . less than ideal, but remember, none of this is app specific. According to our last in-house survey, over half of our users report high levels of satisfaction, and that was even before the updates we made last quarter. We own the market with Gen Z and younger millennial users, and users of other apps who switch are most likely to download OTP. Focus on those figures and be happy. This survey? Hardly relevant. Pretend it doesn’t exist. You saw nothing.”
Easier said than done when almost a third of people polled believed dating apps had killed romance when OTP was trying to revive it. Not that he’d believed it was dead to begin with.
The poll wasn’t personal, it wasn’t a jab at him or his company, but it was the principle of the matter. OTP’s entire raison d’être, the canon he clung to without fail, was that everyone had a perfect person. Not a person who was perfect, but a person perfect for them. Puzzle pieces slotting together just so. OTP promised to help users find that person.
It was disheartening to see that so many people were jaded.
He smiled wanly, having gone from buoyant to bummed in under five minutes. “Mind emailing me this?”
“As if it’s not already sitting in your inbox.” Katie rolled her eyes and snagged her tablet, powering the screen down into sleep mode. “I figured you’d want to study the data.”
Agonize over it, more like.
“You know me so well,” he joked.
“It’s almost like I’ve worked with you for the past five years,” she teased, standing and adjusting the tuck of her Captain Marvel T-shirt into the band of her pencil skirt. “You’re coming out with us tonight, right? Six-dollar rum slushies?”
He shook his head. “Can’t. Rain check?”
Katie pouted. “I see how it is. Boss is too cool to hang out with the plebes.”
“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes. “You just want me to pay for the first round.”
Her smile went sly as she inched toward the door. “Guilty as charged. See you on Monday?”
“Tuesday. Holiday, remember? Don’t you and Jian have big plans?” Next week, Katie and Jian, OTP’s senior VP of analytics, were getting married after two years of dating. The whole office was invited and it had been all everyone could talk about for weeks. Weddings and happy endings were a big deal at OTP. “Bachelor and bachelorette parties? Couple’s shower?”
Katie scoffed. “If you mean will I be sleeping as much as humanly possible before my family comes into town and I forget the meaning of the word rest? Then, yeah. Big plans.”
She smiled and stepped out of his office, shutting the door behind her.
Five minutes later, Margot, his friend and sort of business partner, texted him.
MARGOT (4:35 P.M.): Katie said you’re bailing?! What the fuck?
MARGOT (4:36 P.M.): Did she mention $6 happy hour rum slushies?
Margot and his sister’s girlfriend, Elle, were the voices behind Oh My Stars, a social media astrology account turned viral sensation. He’d brought them on to consult with OTP and incorporate astrological compatibility into the app’s matching algorithm back in December. He’d also fixed Elle up with his sister, Darcy, and he and Margot had become good friends as a result.
BRENDON (4:37 P.M.): I’ve got a date tonight.
MARGOT (4:39 P.M.): Ofc you do. Remind me, what’s this one’s name? Tiffany? Diana? Susan? They’re all starting to blur together.
Yeesh.
There was nothing wrong with any of the girls Margot had mentioned, but by the third date, he hadn’t been able to picture his future with them. There was a . . . disconnect, something missing that was mission critical, no fault of theirs and hopefully not of his, either.
