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Emily blinks rapidly and throws me an apologetic glance. I shrug. The kid can’t be more than eight or nine. She doesn’t know. Besides, I’ve been called worse when I showed up unexpectedly on someone’s doorstep.
“I’m sorry,” Emily whispers to me while we wait in the doorway. “I wasn’t sure what to say.”
“It’s not a big deal, Emily. She’s a little kid.”
Libby finally emerges from the hallway, wearing a green denim jacket, striped shirt, jeans, and her hair pulled into two long, fuzzy braids.
Emily rakes her curious gaze over Libby’s outfit. “Where’d you get the jacket?”
“It’s Caroline’s. She’s got mine.” Libby grins. “We swapped.”
“Oh.” Emily shrugs and mutters, “Whatever.”
Caroline jogs up behind Libby and thrusts an overstuffed backpack at her. I step forward and grab it. How the hell’s Libby supposed to lug this around with a broken arm?
“Dex.” Libby’s eyes widen with mischief, and she taps her fingers together like a mini matchmaker who’s proud of her success. “Whatever are you doing here with my sister?”
Emily rolls her eyes. “Let’s go.” She lifts her hand and waves. “Bye, Caroline. Thanks for having Libby. Let your dad know we’ll host the next sleepover at our place.”
“I’d love that!” Caroline squeals, then throws a stink-eye at her little sister. “No babies around to bother us.”
Calista sticks her tongue out, then runs down the hallway.
“I’ll see you later,” Libby says over her shoulder.
After we close the door behind us, I heft the backpack on my shoulder and follow the girls downstairs.
“What time do you need to be at school?” Emily asks her sister.
“Three.” She lets out an exasperated huff. “But forget about that, how are you, Dex?” she asks, drawing my name out with exaggerated interest.
“I’m good, Libby. How was your sleepover?”
“We had fun.” She glances back at the building. “Caroline’s sister isn’t as annoying as she says she is. She’s actually kinda funny.”
Emily grins. “That’s probably because you don’t have to live with her.”
“That’s what Caroline said.”
At the car, I open the back door and set Libby’s bag on the seat.
“Thanks, Dex.” She frowns as I close the door. “Aren’t you coming home with us?”
I point at my bike, tucked into a back corner of the parking lot. “No, I have to be somewhere.”
“Oh.” Disappointment steals the happy expression from her face.
“I hear you have to get ready for a second show, anyway.”
That brightens her up again. As she races through all the things she plans to do differently in tonight’s performance, I flick my gaze to Emily and smile.
“All right. We better go,” Emily says. “I bet you didn’t get any sleep. You should rest up before tonight.”
Libby yawns and nods. I open the door for her, and she throws herself into the car.
I walk Emily to her side. “I’ll text you later.” I lean down and kiss her forehead.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
She shakes her head and stares at the ground. “Last night. Everything.” She lifts her gaze, meeting my eyes.
Thank you for coming to your senses.
That might ruin the moment. I dip my chin, accepting her thanks.
“Dex?” She curls her fingers in my shirt and tugs.
I lift an eyebrow, surprised at her enthusiastic show of affection with her sister so close by.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you too, Emily.” I lean down and give her a more restrained kiss this time.
“Don’t be too mean to your brothers,” she teases as she gets in the car.
“I’ll do my best.” I’ve delayed as long as possible. It’s time to get on the road. “I’ll see you later.”
EMILY
I don’t want to set a bad example for Libby by watching Dex leave like a sad basset hound.
Pretending there isn’t an invisible thread tying us together, I get behind the wheel and let him shut the door for me.
“So,” Libby says with a smug grin stretched across her face. “It seems someone had a good night.”
I slide a stink-eye her way and twist the key in the ignition. To my left, Dex’s bike thunders to life and my heart jumps like it’s a dog conditioned to salivate at the rumble of a Harley.
“Boy, that thing’s loud,” Libby says, tugging at her seat belt.
I stare at her for a second. Does his bike wake her up at night when he comes over late? I’m not sure how to phrase the question without setting off an explosion of commentary and questions from her, though.
Dex rides behind us until we reach our street, then continues on, throwing a wave at us as he goes.
“Aw,” Libby sighs. “I’m so happy.”
I pull into our driveway. Now that Dex pointed out all the little cracks and crevices, I can’t unsee them.
“Why are you so happy?” I ask Libby. “Are you hoping he’ll occupy my time, so I won’t smother you?” Oops, guess I’m still smarting from her accusation last night.
“I’m truly impressed with your detective skills, sister dear,” she says in a voice tainted with teenage disgust and sarcasm.
