Chapter 7 #2
The name hit like a spark on dry kindling. My gaze flicked down—zero chill—to his left hand resting against his thick thigh. No ring. But my imagination didn’t need evidence. Oh no. It could run a full-length feature film on two little syllables.
In my head, Emmy was perfect.
She wore soft cardigans and smelled like sugar cookies and emotional stability.
She probably made perfect cinnamon rolls at sunrise, fostered one-eyed llamas and orphans on weekends, and rescued misunderstood roosters just for fun.
She and Ty hosted neighborhood bonfires, slow-danced in the kitchen, and had the postcard-perfect small-town life.
Emmy laughed softly, never raised her voice, and always had a hair tie when you needed one.
And every night, she got to run her hands through his thick, dark hair and kiss that unfairly gorgeous mustached face like it deserved to be kissed.
Meanwhile, my own life resembled a burning dumpster rolling down a hill with a feral raccoon hanging on the side. If it weren’t for Diet Coke, cherry candy, and denial, my emotional infrastructure would collapse faster than a house of cards.
Of course, Ty was perfect. Of course, Emmy existed. And, of course, I felt a sharp, stupid twist of disappointment.
I didn’t deserve to feel that way. Not even a little.
Three years had gone by since that night together, where nothing had even happened between us. Just because I couldn’t move on didn’t mean he hadn’t.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, remembering why I was here.
No matter what had—or hadn’t—happened between Ty and me, Junie was what mattered.
Even from this short little introduction, it was clear Ty was a huge fixture in her life, and right now, she needed everyone to rally around her.
No matter that I wanted to run back to my little beat-up VW and speed away, I couldn’t. At least, not yet. Not until the hearing tomorrow.
Junie continued to ramble as we reached the open stretch of the yard, pointing out the mountains and the flowers and every single animal in sight.
The big farmhouse sat at the back of the property, all wraparound porch and rugged good bones.
A gleaming blue vintage truck sat out front, in much better shape than my little beater.
The barn was neat and well-kept, and the air smelled of hay, earth, and whatever dangerous pheromone Ty Hudson radiated.
I caught myself sneaking another glance at him—at the strong line of his jaw, the way his T-shirt revealed tan, corded forearms that had no business being that distracting.
But now I wasn’t just looking because he was gorgeous. I was looking for the Emmy in his world. The one who made sense next to all this steadiness. Who wouldn’t want him?
Junie spun around, walking backward now, hands flapping as she talked.
“Be careful with Cluck Norris,” she warned.
“He’s the boss of the whole flock, and he remembers faces.
If he decides he doesn’t like you, he’ll chase you forever.
He even went after the mailman once, but Rowdy tackled him before he made it to the road. ”
“He sounds nice,” I said, forcing my voice to stay light.
“She’s not wrong,” Ty added, voice low and rough. “Stay away from him if you can.”
I side-eyed him, trying to find my footing again. “Do you let all your animals rebel or just Walker, Texas Rooster?”
A quiet huff of laughter slipped out of him, low and warm, and my heart had the nerve to trip over itself.
Junie kept chattering on about each of the animals, her voice bubbly as if the world hadn’t fallen apart around her. And for a few precious minutes, I believed it. Like I wasn’t the woman who’d lost her home, her job, and her sister in a single night.
I was just Daisy—fun aunt, slightly feral city transplant, walking up a gravel drive next to a man who looked far too good in denim.
The porch steps creaked beneath our feet as we reached the top. Junie was still in full tour guide mode, bouncing from Cluck Norris to Uno to Rowdy like she owned the entire damn farm. I was about to ask her how many animals lived here when a horn honked down the gravel drive.
All three of us turned.
A sleek Range Rover rolled toward us, sunlight glinting off the windshield as it passed my sad little VW parked down by Violet’s house.
Junie’s face lit up, already bouncing on her toes. “That’s Emmy!”
Of course it was.
Of course, Emmy drove a Range Rover.
Of course, she had her life together enough to own a car that cost more than my entire net worth.
The SUV crunched up the gravel, rolling to a stop near the farmhouse steps. My chest felt like someone had turned up the pressure valve, every stupid little imagined scenario I’d spent years building ready to pop.
The driver’s door opened, but the woman who stepped out wasn’t the cardigan-clad domestic goddess I’d pictured. Her short brown hair was piled into a messy little bun, and she wore an oversized Denver Yetis hoodie, black leggings, socks, and Birkenstock slides.
No cinnamon rolls.
No apron.
But the bright, easy smile on her face as she crossed the yard toward us? And the huge diamond on her hand?
Yeah. That fit the picture perfectly.
Junie tore off the porch, fleece pajamas flapping behind her like a flag, and launched herself at the woman with all the force of a small, enthusiastic tornado, just as she’d hugged me moments ago.
Emmy grinned, then kissed the top of her head. “Hey cowgirl. How did you know I needed a hug?”
Then her gaze lifted to me, and she crossed the remaining few feet with that same open smile.
“You must be Dizzy.” Her hands opened as if the only logical next step was to hug me too. “Junie hasn’t stopped talking about you. I’m so, so glad you’re here.”
I hesitated for half a heartbeat, then stepped forward, not wanting to be rude to the people Junie loved. Her arms closed around me without a moment’s hesitation, warm and solid and real. When her hand smoothed over my back in a motherly embrace, the weight of it all hit.
Every mile I’d driven.
Every hour I’d spent convincing myself this wasn’t real.
The job I didn’t care about, the eviction I probably should’ve seen coming, the call that cracked my world in half.
All of it stacked up, heavy and undeniable.
My sister wasn’t going to be the next car to pull into the drive, the next one to hug her daughter.
Not now.
I sank into Emmy’s hug, letting myself feel it—the first embrace from anyone other than Junie since the world tilted sideways.
For a second, it was too much.
Too warm.
Too kind.
“I’m so sorry about Violet,” she said, her voice soft but sure.
“Me too,” I managed, my voice rough. I stepped back, blinking fast, trying to patch myself together into something that didn’t look like their next pitiful rescue animal unraveling on the porch.
Emmy Hudson wasn’t the image I’d built in my head. She was better. Genuinely nice and impossible to hate. And that fucking sucked.
Over her shoulder, Ty stood on the porch, hands still shoved in his pockets, watching me. His expression didn’t soften, but something flickered there when he saw my smile falter.
“C’mon,” Emmy said, brushing a hand over Junie’s head. “Did my brother make you pancakes? After that last Pilates class, I’m starving.”
Brother.
My gaze snapped back to her, then to Ty, whose jaw flexed just enough to confirm it. All that imagined perfection—the slow-dancing, llama-fostering, apron-wearing wife? It cracked down the middle, leaving me feeling off balance.
Emmy wasn’t his wife.
She was his sister.
And somehow, that might have been worse.