Page 98 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
“How’d you sleep?” she asks, voice low for the closed door at the end of the hall.
“Like I was waiting for something good,” I say. It isn’t a line. “You?”
“Enough. She was up once, but back to bed.”
I hand her tea. She takes it like it’s more than a drink.
Another small sound from the hallway, then she’s there, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, hair in yesterday’s braid. She pauses in the doorway, measuring the room.
“Morning,” I say. “We’ve got orange juice, apple juice, or hot chocolate. And… other things.” I gesture toward the counter, toast, cereal, strawberries.
“Hot chocolate’s fine,” she says.
“Marshmallows?” Ivy asks.
“Sure,” Emma replies.
I watch Ivy make it exactly the way she asked. Emma takes the mug and leans on the island. The sticker on her bag, DELETE MY BROWSER HISTORY, still makes me want to laugh, but I let it sit.
“We thought we’d keep today light,” I tell her. “You set the pace. There’s a bookstore nearby.”
She nods. “Bookstore is fine.”
“Good. Jacket, it’s cooler than it looks.”
When she heads back to her room, I exhale into my hands.
“You’re perfect,” Ivy murmurs.
“I’m not. But I’m here.”
“That’s the point.”
She touches my jaw. “I’ll tag along for the bookstore mission. You two take the lead.”
***
We walk. The air’s got that early edge that makes your lungs believe the day will cooperate. Emma scans the storefronts like she’s memorizing the neighborhood.
The bookstore smells like paper and binding glue, the kind of peace you don’t have to name. Emma drifts to the used paperbacks with creased spines. She chooses a novel and a collection of graphic essays, then detours to a sticker rack. Without fuss, she picks one and hands it to Ivy:Trust People Who Bring Snacks.
“Strong policy,” Ivy says, smiling.
Next door, the art store is quick, mechanical pencils, a brush pen, a tin of leads. On the walk back, Ivy tells a story about a watercolor disaster. Emma’s mouth tilts, small, but it’s there.
***
At home, lunch is eggs and toast. Emma eats without prompting. When she’s done, she disappears to her room.
“You don’t have to fill silence,” Ivy tells me.
“I know. Doing it’s the trick,” I reply.
“They’re engaged,” Emma says, and I almost smile.
Emma reappears later with running gear. “Is there… a place I could run?”
“There’s a path along the river,” I tell her. “I’ll go with you. Or Santiago. Or no one. Your call.”
