“Not even remotely. I don’t decorate for the holidays,” Conn said. He looked around. It was really pretty back here, the sun glinting off the snow, the slight breeze picking up fine swirls and sending diamonds into the air. Cady and her mother were a few feet ahead, but Conn figured the snow would slow down anyone who made it this deep into the back of beyond to come after Cady.
“Why not?”
“It’s just me,” he said. “Sometimes I turn on that television fire, you know, the one the CW network broadcasts all night.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “No girlfriend?”
“Emily,” Cady said.
“Or boyfriend?”
“Emily!” Cady and Patty said in unison.
“Neither,” Conn said.
“Cady used to have the most famous boyfriend in the world.”
“I never dated George Clooney!” Cady protested.
“Which is a crying shame,” Patty said, slogging through a drift. “That man is gor-geous.”
“He’s so old,” Emily groaned. Her mother shot her a look Conn recognized, the if-you-weren’t-my-daughter-I’d-kill-you look. “Harry Linton is a hand-me-down I’d happily take,” Emily said.
“Emily.” Conn recognized the warning in her mother’s voice.
“You really don’t want him,” Cady said.
“Why not? He’s close to my age. I’ll be in New York next year, not in this hick town in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’ll be here if you keep skipping school,” her mother said.
“Mom!” Emily wailed. “Cady, how could you?”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“How about an online introduction?”
Cady jerked the scarf down from her face as she spun to face her sister. Conn caught her elbow to keep her from falling over backward on the uneven ground, then discreetly stepped back. “No. Do you want to know why? Because,” Cady said, clearly clinging to her temper with her fingernails, “I broke up with him when I caught him in bed with a singer I can’t name but who is a far, far bigger draw than I am.”
She started coughing, dry, rasping hacks that would have turned Chris white with fear.
“Oh my God,” Emily said, her voice both disapproving and gleeful as she twisted open the top of Cady’s insulated mug. “Drink this. Who was it? Have I met her?”
“Him.”
Emily stopped so suddenly Conn nearly ran her over. “What?”
Cady cleared her throat, then sipped her honey water. “Him.”
“But … Harry’s not out!”
“He’s always claimed sexuality is fluid.” Cady shrugged.
“Is the other singer out?”
“No comment.”
“That’s why you haven’t officially broken up?”
“We weren’t officially together so we can’t officially break up,” Cady muttered, huffing through the snow. Conn caught a glimpse of the split rail fence between two huge blue spruces.
“You dated for, like, eight months.”
“It was a Maud thing, not actual dating. Trust me, you don’t want this kind of dating life.”
“Red carpets and paparazzi taking pictures of your every outfit? Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Do you actually want to date Harry Linton, or do you want to use him to get exposure for your designs?” Cady asked, uncharacteristically sharp.
Emily deflated a little. “You make it sound so sordid. I thought that’s the way it worked.”
Conn looked at the horizon, the snow dusting the trees, the dark gray slivered wood of the split rail fence. Anywhere other than Cady’s face. “It is the way things work, and it is sordid,” Cady said. “What started out as liking each other and wanting to get to know each other turned into him getting me bigger gigs than I could get on my own, which means he thought I owed him”—she glanced at Conn—“things I didn’t want to owe him. Keep your professional life and your personal life as separate as you can, Em. Stay you. How’s here?”
Emily cheered up quickly, fussing over Cady’s coat, flipping the collar up, then back down. “We really should do something about your hair.”
Conn looked at it. Emily’s dark hair hung sleek and heavy in the sunshine, lifting in picture-perfect tendrils to get stuck in her lip gloss and mascara. Wispy curls escaped Cady’s loose French braid, the dry breeze lifting in one big airy mass. “You want my hat?” Conn asked.
“No,” Emily said quickly, then looked at him. “Well, maybe. I’m not wearing one, so it’s a contrast, and it’s basic black, and kind of goes with the green. Yes.”
Conn pulled it off and handed it to Cady. She tugged it down. Emily reached over, pulled Cady’s braid over her shoulder and adjusted the back a little, transforming Cady into a model from a photo shoot for Pottery Barn or J.Crew, the kind with guys in flannel and skinny jeans, and the girls with braids and ankle boots.
“That works,” Emily said. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Conn said.
“Here,” Emily said, and handed Conn her oversized phone. “Take pictures. Please.”
He watched Cady blow out her breath to rein in her temper. Patty also had her phone out. The sisters started out beside the fence, Emily’s face model-serious, lips pouty, eyes focused in the middle distance, Cady a little more amused but obviously trying to match Emily’s demeanor.