“Whatever.” But her twin was smiling. “Clem is way cuter.”
Emmy laughed, returning the powder puff to the counter.
Watson trotted across the counter, spied Clementine on the ground, and swatted the powder puff back onto the ground. Clementine barked, grabbed the powder puff, and ran from the bathroom. Watson was a flash of black fur, chasing after Clementine.
“Run, Clementine.” Krystal laughed. “Hopefully they’ll stay out of Momma’s way.”
Emmy peered around the door. “Travis, can you—”
“Door’s shut,” Travis interrupted.
“Thank you.” She smiled. Since Watson had arrived, Emmy Lou had spent more than her fair share keeping Momma and her beloved kitten apart. Momma wasn’t an animal lover. Watson had done his best to win her over—following Momma around, purring, meowing, and being adorable. But then he’d stolen one of Momma’s silk Hermes scarves and found another way to get attention. Momma had run after her scarf, but after three unsuccessful attempts to get the scarf away from Watson, she’d shrieked until Daddy had managed to step in.
Daddy had returned the scarf to Momma, saying to Emmy, “Best keep this little guy out of her way.”
Emmy Lou had only brought Watson with them to New York because Momma had said she wasn’t coming. But Watson’s rescue video and the will-they-or-won’t-they Emmy and Brock memes were still a hot topic. When they knew hashtag #Bremmy started trending, Momma announced she would be going to New York for the AFL Charity Ball.
“I thought that dress was nixed?” Krystal pointed at the Grecian-style seafoam-green dress Emmy was wearing.
“Momma wasn’t coming.” Emmy turned sideways. Momma favored dressing them in formfitting outfits. Not only did it strike a confident chord, it also made sure she and Krystal kept in shape. But this dress… She felt pretty. And even though there was no guarantee Brock would be there tonight, she wanted to feel pretty. “I like it. I don’t think I look pregnant.” Momma insisted empire waistlines were a surefire way to get pregnancy gossip started.
“You don’t. You look beautiful.” Krystal peeked around the door, then whispered, “Have you talked to Brock?”
“Not since we visited Aunt Mo.” When he’d stared at her without hostility…like he liked what he saw. “Why are we whispering?”
“Travis.” Krystal pointed. “Unless you’re enjoying the teasing?”
“No. Nope.” Emmy stood, lowering her voice. “I’m sort of hoping Brock won’t be here. Momma’s worked up over the Bremmy thing—even though there is nothing going on.”
“No? Maybe. Not yet. Momma’s freaking out because there’s not much she can do about it.” Krystal laughed. “Bremmy. What would that make Jace and me? Jystal? Yuck. Or Kace? Nope. Never mind.”
“I’m serious. After all he’s been through. And his dad now? Nothing is going to happen.” No matter how much she wished otherwise. “I won’t put a target on his back for Momma.”
“Oh, Em, you’re too good, you know that?” Krystal hugged her. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
They’d rented out the entire penthouse, and where had Travis and Jace picked to set up? Her bedroom. The two of them were poring over a song, pages of sheet music spread out all over the table and floor in front of them. Sawyer stood behind the couch, stoic as ever but reading over the music. It was a familiar sight—a comforting one. Soon enough, this would be the norm. Tour bus living, live shows, hotel rooms, and mobs of devoted, screaming fans. And no Brock.
Travis looked at them and nodded. “Gotta say, Em, you look good. Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.” He plucked out notes on his banjo.
“Hey, Travis, here’s an idea. Let’s not start this tonight.” Emmy Lou scooped up Watson before he could launch himself at her layers of gauzy skirts. “Or ever? I like that idea.”
“I can’t help but worry.” He shrugged. “It’s been decades since you dated.”
“Yeah, I had so many dates when I was seven years old.” Emmy rolled her eyes at her brother. “Six years. Six. That’s all.”
“No dates. No kisses. No touching.” Travis shrugged. “You’re twenty-seven years old, Em. Six years is a long time. The whole nun thing isn’t all that farfetched. Am I right, Jace?”
Jace stopped scribbling. “I’m staying out of this.” He kept his eyes on the sheet music.
If Travis only knew. She’d had been kissing and touching and hugging—and grabbing and thrusting… She wanted more. Soon. The familiar ache twisted in the pit of her stomach and made her cheeks hot. She buried her face against Watson, a feline shield.
“Are you blushing?” Travis set his banjo down. “This is getting good. Come on, Sawyer, spill the beans. She says it’s not Brock. Who’s the special someone who’s making my little sister’s cheeks go red?”
Sawyer’s blue-green eyes met hers, his face as unreadable as ever. “No one.” He stretched his neck, glanced at his watch, and left the room. “I’ll call for the car.”
“Seriously? Maybe she’s blushing because you keep embarrassing the shit out of her?” Krystal threw a pillow at Travis. “You are such a dick. Apologize now. To both of them.”
“It’s fine.” Emmy was in shock. Sawyer hadn’t ratted her out. “I’m going to get some water. Krystal?” After her sister nodded, Emmy Lou slipped from her room and took a deep breath. She hadn’t asked Sawyer to cover for her, but he’d done it anyway. And she felt guilty. “I’m sorry about that.”