“I’ve got them,” she said, her heart picking up speed as his big, warm hands wrapped around hers. “I said body guarding and driving, and I meant it.”
“Then consider this something a man does for a woman,” he said.
He was close enough for her to feel heat radiating from his bared throat to her cheek. She wondered what the rest of his body felt like, if his skin was hot to the touch everywhere, if it was as soft as the spot where his stubble ended.
“They’re heavy,” she warned.
He didn’t even pop a muscle as the weight shifted from her arms to his, just turned sideways to get the big bags through the bedroom door and walked down the hall. “Anything else?”
“Mom and Emily moved my boxes over after I closed on the house,” she said. “That should be it.”
The front door handle started to turn. Conn dropped the suitcases with a thud, his right hand moving automatically to his hip to close on air. He muttered a curse under his breath.
“It’s just Emily,” she said, pointing at the blonde head visible in the half-circle window at the top of the wooden door. “See?”
Emily was through the door by the time this exchange ended. Her eyes widened as she looked first at Cady, then at Conn, then back at Cady. “What’s he doing—?”
“Emily, this is Officer Connor McCormick from the Lancaster PD. He’s going to be my bodyguard while I’m home. My sister, Emily Ward.”
Emily held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Officer McCormick.”
“Just Conn.” He gave her hand a brisk shake, then dropped it to fold his arms across his chest.
“We’re moving my stuff out to the house,” Cady said.
“Did you remember your steamer?”
“No,” Cady said. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ll help you,” Emily sidled between Conn and Cady’s red hard-sided suitcase. “Mom’s moved things around in the kitchen. Why do you have a cop with you?” she whispered as soon as they were in the kitchen.
Cady unplugged the steamer. “Chris insisted on a bodyguard. We’d fired Evan, so I needed someone new, and local.”
“I thought you didn’t need a bodyguard when you were home.”
“I thought I didn’t, either. After the drunk guy go so close at the concert, Chris thought differently. It was easier to give in than fight him on this. I need all of my ammo for convincing the label not to drop the new album.”
Emily’s shoulders dropped. “I thought … you were going to help me work on my designs while you worked on some songs.”
Cady wrapped her arm around Emily. “I’ll still do that. It’s no different than Evan,” she started.
“He’ll be around,” she said, jerking her thumb in Conn’s direction. “Also, are you blind? He’s way different than Evan! He’s, like, mountainous, for starters.”
“Shh!” Cady threw a fast glance at the entrance to the front room. “I promise we’ll spend time together every day. This doesn’t change anything. You’ll still come over for the weekend, I’ll still come here to work on designs with you. Okay?”
“It’s not going to be the same.” Her face brightened. “I’ll come over now and show you where things are.”
Cady looked at the clock on the microwave and tried to remember the high school’s schedule. “Aren’t you due back for fifth period in twenty minutes?”
“I can cut class.”
“No way. Finals are in less than three weeks. You need to stay on top of your grades.”
“Why?” Emily said mutinously.
“College, that’s why. You’re applying to Parsons. That’s the plan, right?”
“It’s a stupid plan.”
Cady set the steamer back on the counter, and tried to ignore the headache building in her temples. “Why is it a stupid plan?”
“It just is.”
“Honey. Why?”
“I’m a failure. None of the regional fashion shows picked up my designs, and my social media channels are going nowhere. There’s no point.”
“Emily. Sweetie,” Cady said. She pulled her younger, taller sister into a hug. “Becoming an internet sensation isn’t the only way to make it these days.”
“Ella Bergstrom got a write-up in the paper and an invite to the show in Philadelphia,” Emily said. “I’m your sister and I’ve only got a couple thousand followers on Instagram. She’s nobody and she’s got fifteen thousand!”
“Good for Ella,” Cady said. She leaned back and looked into Emily’s mutinous face. “Right? Good for Ella. You can be happy for someone else’s success and still work your butt off for your own. Lots and lots of people make it in fashion the old-fashioned way, by going to college, learning their stuff, interning at small houses, and getting jobs at bigger houses. And you’re going to one of the best.”