“It’s just a few days,” Leah said gently. “They’ll survive without you. This event is the biggest one in your career so far. You’re allowed to let yourself be here, Em. Not just technically. Really.”
There it was again. It was at times like these that Emma wondered how much those brown, curious eyes actually saw.
Leah seemed to live in her own dimension, always on the move, getting twice as much done as a normal person in any given hour.
And yet she had those moments of complete, unfiltered presence, when you least expected it. Moments that made Emma feel like an open book—written in a language she herself was still learning.
Then Leah pulled back her hand, spearing a piece of cantaloupe on her fork and pointing it at Emma. “That said, if you open Slack again before Sunday, I will personally throw your laptop off the balcony and claim it jumped.”
Emma laughed, her shoulders loosening a fraction. “I look forward to hearing you explain that to my boss.”
“Oh, you should. He’ll start a mental wellness fund for portable electronics before he knows what hit him. Now eat your breakfast. You need energy if you’re going to survive sitting next to Jenna’s latex corset.”
Emma obediently picked up her croissant.
And then, a small voice from behind.
“Excuse me?”
They both looked up. A girl stood hesitantly by their table, maybe sixteen, Comic-Con badge swaying over a denim jacket covered in enamel pins. She clutched a paperback copy ofThe Bonds of Light,the spine worn pale with use.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the girl said, words stumbling out. “You’re Emma Whitehart, right?”
Emma gave her a heartfelt smile. Not the strained one she’d given the man in the airport—there were no dropped tickets this time. This girl had clearly summoned every ounce of courage to approach them. “Yes, I am. Hi there.”
“I just wanted to ask if you could sign my book for me?” She held it out, fingers trembling.
“Of course I will. What’s your name?”
“Ally.”
Leah conjured a pen seemingly out of nowhere, and Emma wrote a short note, scribbling a little heart by her autograph.
“I’ve read it six times already,” Ally said. “We’re adapting it into a play at my school.”
Emma’s pen stilled midair. “You are?”
Ally nodded, long bangs dancing. “I’m playing Catlyn.”
For a moment, Emma just gaped, at a loss for words. “Wow. That...means more than I can say,” she finally managed. Then, after a beat, “Where’s your school?”
“New Jersey?” It came out like a question.
“You know,” Emma said, handing her the book back, “when you have your show dates, write me at the email on my webpage. I’m in New York a lot. I’d love to stop by and see it if I can.”
Ally’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
The girl flushed, stepping back with the book in a tight embrace. “Okay. I will.”
“See?” Leah mumbled. “That’s who you’re doing all this for.”
She was right. Annoyingly, she usually was. A tender warmth unfurled in her, easing some of the nerves.
“Oh, Miss Whitehart?”
Emma turned to find Ally paused a few steps away.
