Emmy laughed—a real one, surprising herself. "You're going to be a good dad."
"You think?"
"Yeah." She handed his phone back. "I really do."
West pocketed the phone, then stole a piece of bread from her basket. Some things never changed.
"So how much trouble are you in?" he asked. "With the Ferrance woman?"
"I don't know yet. She said we'd 'discuss it Monday,' which could mean anything from a warning to a firing."
"She can't fire you for being bad at golf."
"She can fire me for being a viral embarrassment associated with her brand."
"That's bullshit."
"That's business." Emmy pushed a cherry tomato around her plate. "I'll figure it out. I always do."
West was quiet for a beat. "You know you can come stay with us for a bit, right? If you need to get out of the city. We've got the guest room."
Emmy looked at him—her idiot brother with his silver threads and his baby on the way and his life in Newton that didn't include her the way it used to.
"I miss you guys," she said quietly. "The city's not the same since you moved."
West's face softened. "Come to dinner this week. Brynn's been asking about you. And we could do lunch after one of my practices—there's this place near the facility that does amazing tacos."
"I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Let me just—" She gestured vaguely at her life. "Get through Monday. See if I still have a job. Then I'll text you."
"Okay." West reached for the check first. She opened her mouth to protest and he gave her a look—the one that saiddon't even try it. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it."
"Tell Brynn thank you." The words caught in her throat, came out scraped. "For sending you."
"She knows you wouldn't ask." West stood, pulling her into another too-long hug. "Love you, Em."
"Love you too."
This time, she thought she might actually mean it when she said she'd call.
Emmy walked home in the cooling evening air. The sun was setting, painting the buildings gold and pink, and she tried to focus on that instead of the conversation replaying in her head.
That would be like—that would be weird.
The complete bafflement in West's voice. The way he'd looked at her like she'd suggested something absurd. In West's mind, Grant existed in a fixed category: family, brother, permanent fixture. The idea of Grant as anything else didn't just seem unlikely to West—it seemedimpossible. Like suggesting the sun might rise in the west tomorrow.
Emmy had known that, of course. She'd grown up in the same house, watched the same friendship, understood the same unspoken rules.
So why did West's confusion make her feel so alone?
She climbed the stairs to her apartment, unlocked the door, and stood in the quiet for a moment.
On the kitchen counter, the white roses and pale green hydrangeas were starting to open wider. The card was still propped against the vase where she'd left it.
You're right. I'm sorry. — G
