She’d needed those defense skills far more than Blythe did, even if her sisterdidn’thave Colton backing her.
The thing was that anyone looking at Darcy and Blythe could tell they were sisters. But Blythe… Blythe justlookedlike thewoman men wanted to bring home to their parents. She exuded some sort of quiet, delicate class that Darcy simply didn’t.
Darcy was the louder one. She was the brasher one. She was the one who didn’t finish school and had gotten her GED instead. She was the curvier one, the one people had labeled as sexy, compared to Blythe’s classic beauty.
Darcy had heard it many times over the course of her life, since they’d been teenagers. They were only eighteen months apart in age, so comparisons were only natural. And people viewing Blythe as classy had continued thus far into adulthood as well.
And as far as male attention went? That was absolutely fine with Darcy.
“That’s how you handleallmen at the bar,” Blythe scoffed, and – hey, there was a genuine smile on her mouth.
Darcy would count that as a win. “Yeah, well,allmen at the bar are idiots.”
She wished that was how she could handle Juliet Jacobs, too. She held that back, though, because she knew her sister didn’t want to hear it.
“Well, your dating pool has suddenly gotten a hell of a lot bigger,” Blythe commented, arching her a look. “Think of all of the men here in L.A.”
Darcy scrunched up her nose in disgust. Maybe these men would be more cleaned up, maybe they’d have more money, but she was willing to bet the Gibson Acoustic Hummingbird guitar it had taken heryearsto save up for that they were all the same as the men in Pineford. And Darcy was entirely uninterested in men, as a whole. “I’d rather not.”
Thankfully, before they had to go downthatavenue for the millionth time, the adjoined bathroom door opened, and Emerson walked out.
Her best friend could most accurately be described as a slip of a woman. She was short and petite, as well as incredibly soft-spoken.
And right now, she was looking green. Literally.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, crossing her arms over her stomach.
“You always say that,” Blythe pointed out, and her tone wasn’t as encouraging as it could be.
“And youalwaysnail it once we get out there,” Darcy jumped in, shooting her sister a look.
But she wasn’t lying.
Emerson had always been painfully shy; they’d only become friends in their teen years because of Darcy’s constant hanging around at Merriweather’s Music – her family’s music store back home. Darcy’s mom hadn’t been able to afford the music lessons Darcy had yearned for, but Darcy had been relentless in her pursuit. When she hyperfocused, shehyperfocused.She’d walked there every day after school, had begged Mrs. Merriweather to let her doanythingin exchange for lessons. Ultimately, Emerson had stepped in to agree to teach her.
A year older than Darcy was, infinitely quieter, and a lover of piano and guitar, Emerson had come around relatively quickly to Darcy.
Emerson had never grown out of her inherent shyness, but she was able to leave it behind when they were performing. When she lost herself in the thing she loved to do. When it came to interviews and being featured on TV… that was when the intense stress hit.
Emerson had been in that bathroom, likely heaving from anticipatory anxiety, for the last ten minutes.
Darcy had to hand it to the makeup team on The Stanton Show; Emerson wasn’t smudged at all.
Darcy reached out and wrapped her arm around Emerson, rubbing up and down her side. “Everything’s going to be fine. As always, if you feel like you’re tongue-tied, give me the look, and I will jump in. I promise.”
They’d worked out their signal – namely, Emerson looking like a deer in the headlights – during their first big interview. And they normally didn’t need it; once Emerson managed to get out on a stage, she was good to go. Darcy just had to get her there, first.
Emerson nodded, closing her eyes and reaching up to press her hand over her mouth.
“Please, don’t vomit in the ficus this time,” Blythe winced as she spoke, tossing the plant a sympathetic look.
Emerson hadn’t vomited inthatficus, though, in fairness.
Darcy cut her another look, as she rubbed Emerson’s back. Blythe mirrored the look right back to her, though she did come to stand at Emerson’s other side, reaching up to brush her reddish-brown hair softly back behind her ear, soothingly.
“I’m just saying, the enzymes and stomach acid are bad for plants,” Blythe muttered, shaking her head.
Blythe and Emerson required such focused management from Darcy, because they weren’t going to get it from one another. Namely, Blythe wasn’t someone that enjoyed experiencing something over and over again – while she understood that Emerson’s anxiety was out of her control, she wasn’t always the most patient person.
