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I can’t be that author. I can’t.

It takes me typically a full twelve weeks to get to any new manuscripts that aren’t from my authors. And we’re a small house. It’s ridiculous to think it’d take her a mere twelve weeks, positively ludicrous to think it could be done in twelve hours. Between midnight and noon. The evening before conference.

Olivia checks her watch. “You know, if you decide to walk, you could not only get ahead of work but reach your daily step goal too.” Her eyes positively sparkle. “Talk about a win-win before noon, am I right?”

My own expression tightens. Leave it to her to always think I should be doing one more thing. “Gee, Olivia. What a wonderful idea.”

Olivia gives a modest shrug. “You can never be sure how the day will go, so . . .” She snaps opens the container, revealing two perfectly portioned squares of dried fruit and Greek yogurt. “Best to get those steps in early. And then, not only will you have the satisfaction of knowing you are successfully working toward a healthier body, but you’ll find it easier to retrain your mind to—

“Climb the other mountains in your life,” I finish in unison with her and take another sip of coffee.

I am the recipient of one of Olivia’s Steps-4-Life speeches once a week.

“Well?” Olivia says, scowling. “It is scientifically proven. Honestly, Savvy, if you just tried it for a solid month . . .”

But as apathetic as I act, I can’t help watching her figure as she turns toward the silverware drawer. Olivia, in her maroon running tights, calves perfectly sculpted. Her back muscles, exposed by her crisscross tank top, rippling delicately beneath flawless skin as she reaches down for a spoon. Her neck, long and lean.

She hasn’t always been this way. Back in our school days she used to be the shy one. The one with a little bit on her hips. The one with the mouth full of braces for an inordinately long period of time. Following me—with the brighter smile, better grades, smaller pant size—through school. But then I left for college, and at some point in that gap of time, things shifted. Slowly she started taking on extracurriculars. Learning to play new instruments every few months. Taking on internships. Then after-school jobs. Thinning as she took up track. Then cross country.

By the time she graduated from university, top of her class, I hardly recognized her.

While somewhere in there I settled into mediocrity, she burst forth as the next shining Cade star.

Olivia pulls a box of oatmeal squares from the overstuffed cabinet as she turns to me. “Really? Another box? Don’t you have another twelve of these shoved in the pantry?”

“It’s healthy,” I protest and then rub my nose as she makes a face. “Comparatively, anyway. And I like them.”

“We don’t have room for them,” Olivia retorts. “For goodness’ sake. Do you ever look in the pantry anymore? If you just checked the kitchen while you make your grocery list at least every once in a while—”

“It’s just a box of cereal, Olivia,” I reply, bristling. “Just a couple boxes of cereal. I think the pantry can manage.”

“Yes, well, I could line up all your ‘couple boxes of cereal’ and play dominoes across the apartment.” Olivia waves an arm at the living room.

“And what about your precious container meals?” I say, standing with my mug. “You stuff the entire fridge with them and leave me enough space to squeeze in a block of cheese—”

“It’s my fridge,” Olivia replies, her voice louder now. “I think I’ve been pretty generous with my fridge—and my whole apartment, for that matter—these past twelve months.”

My face grows hot. Is she really going to prick at my insecurity like that, here, before I’ve even finished my cup of coffee? Does she really want to try to play this game? Before second-guessing, I blast back with my own trump card—the card I never wanted, the card she, by her own actions with Ferris, handed me. “Oh yes, Olivia. I’m well aware of just how great you are at sharing everything—”

“Ladies!” a voice booms from behind us, and we simultaneously turn to see Ferris stepping into the living room from the front door, a coffee tray carrying three sage-green cups in his hand. His cheeks—ruddy from the wind outside—are nearly as red as the maroon sweater he’s wearing. He smiles broadly, as though he hasn’t heard my subtle remark aimed at him. “Who’d like some coffee?”

While Ferris hands out the usuals—a small nonfat latte with one tablespoon of honey for Olivia, a medium white-chocolate mocha for me—I notice mine is larger than usual. Ferris catches my eye and gives a lopsided smile. “I know we kept you up too late last night,” he says quietly. “Figured you’d appreciate a size up for your big day.”

As tight as my chest is from dealing with Olivia (a condition I experience at least once a week), my lips can’t help curling upward as I set down my mug and accept what he’s brought me from the Raven. Already, I feel my insides defrosting as I hold the toasty cup in my hands.

For all our patchy times, I couldn’t ever deny that Ferris, when he’s wanted to, has always been the one who could walk into a room and calm me down. Whether with a timely proffer of a caffeinated beverage or a willingness to sit down for hours and hash out a whole situation, he has always been there for me. A listening ear. An active participant. And this is exactly why I love him.

Loved him.

And now appropriately appreciate him as much as any mature woman would appreciate her ex-boyfriend-now-sister’s-fiancé.

Was it hard to lose Ferris to my sister after the long history we had together? Sure. Was I full of throw-your-computer-out-the-window blind fury at the discovery that, after he civilly broke it off with me one evening in my bedroom, he declared his undying affection for my sister twenty-four hours later in hers?

Ab-so-flippin’-lutely.

But it’s not quite that easy to block a person like Ferris out of your life, as it turns out. Not when he has been a part of the family on and off the last ten years. Not when he asks your sister to marry him three months after they get together. And not, principally, when you are a Cade.

Because we Cades live by three life words: Generosity. Persistence. Family. You live each day looking for an opportunity to serve another. You persist in achieving the best for your life come drought or high water. And you stick to family. Always and forever, you stick to family. We’re like the mafia. Only . . . nicer.