“We’re not living together. He’s just staying there because of the break-in,” Emery stammered.
“But you are dating and sharing a bed.” Brea winked.
Emery opened her mouth, but absolutely nothing came out. She closed it then tried again. “Are you always this blunt?”
“It’s my superpower,” Brea said. “Biggest thing I’ve learned about being like that is blunt gets blunt back, and I value that. Sure, I’ve got some opinionated children because of it. But look at the kinds of partners they choose.”
“Um, Bryson married Monica and Devon dated Callie,” Ashley said. “Until recently, they’ve both had shit taste in women.”
“We all make mistakes.” Brea waved her hand like she shoved a bee out of the way. “A lot is going on right now, and some of it sucks. But you and Devon are good. It’s new and exciting. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"That sounds ominous," Emery said.
"Not ominous. Realistic." Brea's smile was gentle. "The beginning of a relationship is intoxicating. Everything's heightened—the attraction, the connection, the feeling that you've found something special. Savor that. Because eventually it settles into something deeper but less dramatic. Still wonderful, just different. I don’t want all this outside drama to take that away from you.”
"Mom's being philosophical because she and Dad just celebrated their anniversary," Hasley explained. "She gets nostalgic."
"I'm not nostalgic, I'm practical." Brea sipped her coffee. "I'm saying that right now, Emery and Devon are in the honeymoon phase. Everything feels urgent and intense. That's normal. But it doesn't mean it's not real."
"How do you know the difference?" Emery asked before she could stop herself.
"Between infatuation and love?" Brea considered the question. "Time, mostly. Infatuation burns hot and fast. Love builds slowly and lasts. But here's the thing—every lasting lovestarts with infatuation. You can't skip that part. You just have to be willing to see what's underneath once the intensity fades."
"That's actually kind of beautiful, Mom," Ashley said.
"I have my moments." Brea looked at Emery. "My son cares about you. I can see it in how he looks at you, how he talks about you when you're not around. Whether that becomes something lasting—that's for you two to figure out. But don't let fear or doubt or other people's opinions rob you of that exploration."
“Easier said than done.” Emery smiled, even if her insides were rolling around like they were tossed out on the ocean in a dinghy during a Category 5 hurricane.
Brea set down her coffee mug. "Now, let's talk about something important. Have you thought about what you're wearing for this interview? Because I have a closet full of clothes for special occasions. You know, like when you want to destroy someone.”
“You should’ve seen the dress Mom lent to Riley for the garden party.” Hasley twisted her hair. “Monica’s jaw was on the floor.”
Emery glanced down at her outfit. A modest top. Cream, not white. It didn’t cover her neck, but it wasn’t revealing. And a pair of slacks. Very professional. "I was just going to wear this?"
"Absolutely not." Hasley stood from the window seat. "You're wearing black pants and a cream sweater. You look like you're going to a funeral."
"What's wrong with cream?"
"It washes you out," Ashley said. "You need color. Richness. Something that says, 'I'm confident and professional' without looking like a corporate clone."
"I have a burgundy blouse in the guesthouse?—"
"Burgundy says wine industry without being too on the nose. And it'll look great on camera, but I think that cabernet coloredblouse I just bought last week and my dark skirt with the slit would look stunning.”
“Oh, I totally agree. And the lighting in here would catch the colors perfectly,” Riley said.
“I’ll go snag them and bring them to the bathroom down here.” Hasley jumped to her feet and raced off.
Emery could hear male voices from the den down the hall—Devon, Bryson, Walter, probably Gabe. They were being kept separate intentionally, Riley had explained, so that the women could prepare Emery without male opinions cluttering the strategy.
"You're going to do great," Riley said, reaching over to squeeze Emery's hand. "I know this feels overwhelming, but you're stronger than you think."
"I hope you're right."
The doorbell chimed, echoing through the house.
"That'll be Sarah," Riley said, checking her watch. "Right on time."
