“Almost ready!” Em called.
Conn straightened, muttered a curse, and flipped the four pancakes. Cady snatched up the towel, and had her face in the steam before Emily opened the door. She was no actress, but at least the heat would explain the flush on her face. “Wow,” she said.
“Really?” Em spun in a circle, then strutted toward the island in a convincing runway walk before she snagged a heel, stumbled, and collapsed against the island in a fit of giggles.
“Yes, really.” Cady draped the towel around her neck, boxer style. “Turn again.”
The ensemble was a brown suede short skirt laced together along one hip, paired with a moto jacket in the same fabric.
“Nice choice with the suede. It’s timeless but really on trend,” Cady said. She rubbed the suede between her thumb and forefinger. Emily had taken her time with the stitching; the fit and finish was impeccable. “I love it. What else have you got?”
They ate while Emily modeled. It didn’t escape her notice that under the attention her sister finished off six of the pancakes, snagging bites between striking poses.
“Do you need me for anything?” Conn asked. The conversation had turned to red-carpet wear. He was edging away from the kitchen, step-by-step, something she’d noticed only when the distance had accumulated.
“No,” Cady said.
“I’m going to work out.”
Emily had twenty pieces in progress and dozens of sketches: dresses, skirts, gowns, blouses, and tops. The conversation ranged over everything from the latest gala looks to social media, and included a lunch of sandwiches and fruit Cady made while Emily modeled. Cady did her best to stay engaged, but Emily could read her moods.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, tossing her sketchbook on the coffee table.
“I’m just thinking.”
“You want me to make you some Cady juice?”
“Actually, sweetie, this was really inspiring. I wouldn’t mind doing some work of my own.”
“Oh.” Emily closed her sketchbook. “Okay. I’ll head home and work on the things we’ve talked about.”
“Or take a break. Hang out with your friends and don’t think about fashion for a while.”
“I could do that. Olivia and Grace were getting a group together to go to the movies tonight. I might go with them.”
“That sounds like a great plan,” Cady said. Emily seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. Cady struggled to come up with something. “When do you want to start decorating for Christmas?”
Emily shrugged. “I don’t know. Will he be around?”
That was a very good question. Chris insisted on twenty-four-hour protection, but surely Conn had family to see, and things of his own to do. “He’ll have the day off, of course.”
“Okay. Good. I want it to be just the three of us, like old times. We need to pick out a tree, too.”
“Over the weekend. Gotta stick to Mom’s schedule,” Cady said.
She waited while Emily packed up her overnight bag and her suitcase of designs, and waved from the garage as she backed the little sedan down the driveway. Then she closed the door and made her way to the exercise room.
To her surprise, Conn had his sneaker-clad feet tucked into the loops of the suspension straps. His weight was balanced on his left palm, his body rotated perpendicular to the floor with his right arm extended to the ceiling. Every muscle from his throat to his hipbones stood out as he held himself there to some mental count. “What’s up?”
As she watched, a bead of sweat trickled along the first ridge of his abdominal muscles, then dripped to the floor underneath him. “I’m going into my studio,” Cady said. “There’s food in the fridge, sandwich fixings, eggs, some leftover Fat Shack.”
“Thanks.” He looked up at her, his blue-gray eyes translucent and unreadable in the winter sunlight streaming through the south-facing windows.
She watched for a moment longer as he transitioned to pushup position. Despite the potential for shifting off-balance and the tenuous resistance of the handgrips, not the floor, the suspension straps didn’t move as he counted off pushups. She’d tried that, and knew exactly how much core strength and balance was necessary to make it look that easy.