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Had a meeting. You text Eve yet?
I just woke up.
Where’s Gracie?
With me. Text your sister, little star. See you later.
You took our dog to a meeting?
When are you going to be home?
Where are you now?
Also, why didn’t you tell me you had a meeting?
I send the texts in an irritated, rushed sequence.
Explain later, I can’t be on my phone. Text Evie. Love you.
You’re annoying.
You’re the worst.
I leave it like that for a moment, grabbing milk for my coffee and a plate for my toast before I decide to send one more.
Love you too.
He doesn’t respond, but I don’t expect him to. Instead, I sit at the kitchen island with my coffee and toast before texting Evie.
Why is my husband telling me to text you?
Because I’m awesome.
What’s going on?
Something is going on, and both Riggins and Evie are in on it.
I’m coming over for lunch
That doesn’t answer my question.
She doesn’t respond.
Everest.
There’s still no reply five minutes later when I finish my toast. I could text Reed or Wes or, maybe, worst case scenario, Beckett, except he hates texting, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t be of any use.
Instead, I get dressed and grab my notebook to sit on the porch swing while I wait for whatever my sister and husband have planned to fall into place.
I’ve learned to go with the flow.
I’m just getting out of the shower, my hair dripping onto the Aspen Oaks tee that goes almost to my knees when the front door opens. Gone are the days of forgetting to set my alarm or lock my door, considering Riggins outed my pen name and a literal rock star is living here, which means it’s someone who has a key.
“Oh, perfect,” my twin says when she closes and locks the door behind her. “Let’s play dress up.” She lifts what looks like a dress bag in the air.
“What?” I look at my watch. “Didn’t you say you’d be here at noon?”
“Yeah, well, I had a meeting that went too long trying to secure my next tour,” she says. Her first spread following a band on tour skyrocketed her career, and the magazine wants her to keep doing them.
