“I do.”
If Jo weren’t more than half a foot shorter than Emma, she’d tug her off the couch, lift her off her feet, and spin her around in a hug. This was the fourth iteration of the opening scene. Emma had altogether dismissed the first—and for good reason. The second hadn’t fared quite so poorly, but Emma pointed out its every weakness as well. The third revision earned a smile, at least. The fourth, apparently, was the charm.
“We’ve got to celebrate somehow,” Jo said. “Champagne in the workplace is frowned upon, right? Perhaps we should get some cake delivered.”
Emma suddenly sat up straighter, mischief behind her smile. “Or”—she dragged out the word—“we could go on a field trip?”
“A field trip?” Jo raised her eyebrows. Was this elementary school?
“To Floured Up?”
Emma’s lips turned up, her head tilted, and she employed what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. Jo knew she was being manipulated. She said yes anyway.
* * *
—
“There it is,” Emma announced, beaming as they approached the bakery.
There was a rainbow flag hanging out front of a two-story brick storefront. It fit right in in West Hollywood. Chloe dropped them at the curb, and Emma clambered out of the car. She flounced to the door and pulled it open with a flourish, a bell ringing from inside the store. Jo thanked Emma for holding the door for her.
The inside was as bright as the flag outside, yellow walls with thick lime-green chevrons, tables and chairs of all different colors. There was no one at the register. Emma marched right into the employees-only section, behind a long display case filled with pastries, loaves of bread in baskets on the wall on her other side.
“Hi, welcome to—oh, it’s you.” Avery appeared from the back. “This is the first time all day I’ve had a minute to actually get work done and not deal with customers. Why are you bugging me at work? Why aren’t you at work?” Regardless of the annoyance in her voice, she hugged Emma tight. Then she spotted Jo. “Oh. It’s both of you.”
“Hello,” Jo said.
“Avery, Jo. Jo, Avery,” Emma said. “I know you met at the wrap party, but always better to reintroduce people than not.”
Right.
That answered that question, then. Apparently Avery had never said anything to Emma about baseball. Jo shifted on her feet.
“Nice to, uh, see you again,” Avery said.
“Likewise.”
Emma slid open the back of the display case, reached in, and grabbed herself a cookie. She closed her eyes and hummed at her first bite.
“You’re the best baker in the world.”
Avery flushed at the hyperbolic comment. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m going back to the kitchen. Stop being a glutton and get your boss whatever she wants.”
She disappeared to where Jo assumed the kitchen was. When Jo looked back to Emma, her assistant grinned at her. Jo couldn’t help but smile back.
Emma held up the cookie she’d chosen. “This is the best snickerdoodle you’ll ever eat.” She gestured to the display case. “But you can see the great variety to choose from.”
There were cookies of various kinds, cupcakes, coconut macaroons, pastries—some of which Jo recognized, some she didn’t. Jo pointed to a sliced loaf of bread, a complicated, intricate swirl of something dark inside it.
“This looks good. What is it?”
“Chocolate babka!” Emma crowed. “A Floured Up specialty and an excellent choice.”
She used a sheet of wax paper to retrieve a slice for Jo and presented it to her on a bright red plate with a fork.
“C’mon,” Emma said. She leaned into the display case one more time to grab herself a second cookie, the first still half-eaten in her hand. “Let’s go bother the baker.”
Jo followed her into the back. The kitchen was smaller than Jo expected, but it was nice. Organized, clean. Avery was measuring flour on an electric scale, a commercial-sized KitchenAid mixer beating away on the counter beside her.
“What are you two even doing here?” Avery asked. “Don’t you have your own work to do?”
“That’s no way to greet guests,” Emma said. She took a bite of her cookie and talked while she chewed. “We’re here because we’re celebrating Jo getting the opening of Agent Silver figured out.”
“Oh yeah?” Avery glanced over her shoulder toward Jo. “Congrats.”
“Thank you,” Jo said.
She set her plate of babka on the stainless-steel-topped table in the middle of the kitchen. She barely suppressed a groan of pleasure at her first bite.
“This is delicious,” she said. “My compliments to the chef.”
Avery poured some of the flour into the mixer. “Thanks,” she said, grinning at Jo.
Emma hopped up to sit on the table, a few feet from Jo’s plate.
“You know,” Avery said, “for a girl who always liked to follow the rules in school, you’re sitting on my tabletop. If the health department came in here, they’d shut me down.”
“Oh, shut up, they would not.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Plus, I’d jump down. I’m very quick.”
Jo pressed her lips together to keep from chuckling.
Emma and Avery continued to banter as Avery combined ingredients. Jo almost joined their conversation to ask after the twins, before worrying that that was too friendly. The sisters were a study in contrasts: Avery short, soft, and focused, where Emma was all long legs and ease. Emma’s hair cascaded everywhere, while Avery’s bob was hidden beneath a bandana. Emma seemed loose, her smile effortless. It was nice, as long as Jo didn’t think about how she and Avery were lying to Emma. By omission, at least.
The bell above the door rang from the other room. Emma leapt off the table.
“See? If it’s the health department, you’re fine.”
Avery swatted her with the kitchen towel she had over her shoulder. “Please do not mention the health department where customers can hear.”
“No promises.”
Avery’s laughter carried as she left the kitchen. Jo and Emma stayed put. Jo finished her babka. Emma climbed right back up onto the table and ate her second cookie. She swung her feet back and forth beneath her.
When Avery returned, Emma kicked out at her. Avery avoided it and gave her sister a fake glare.
“Why are you here, again?” she said.
“Field trip!” Emma grinned. “We should take them more often. I get to eat cookies and hang out with two of my favorite people.”
Jo caught Avery’s raised eyebrows, and Emma’s eyes cut from Avery to her.
“I mean, whatever,” Emma said. “It’s not weird. You know I love working for you.”
Jo didn’t admit it, but she was hanging out with two of her favorite people, too.
* * *
—
One afternoon the next week, Emma was working in Jo’s office when it was time for Jo to leave for Ethan’s game. Jo was fully packed up before Emma realized she’d stopped working.
“Oh,” Emma said. “I can—”
“Lock up when you’re done,” Jo said. She considered it. “You’re welcome to leave early if you’d like.”
Emma smiled gently. “Thanks, boss. Have a good night.”
“You too, Emma.”
Maybe this would be the day Emma came to a game.
Jo had been sitting next to Avery throughout the season. Avery told Jo stories about obnoxious customers at the bakery, and Jo told Avery stories about obnoxious suits at the network, and neither of them mentioned Emma again, after that first game.
Today, Dylan arrived without Avery. He gave Jo a half roll of his eyes and said, “Bakery crisis.”
Avery showed up in the third inning, flour smeared in her hair. She and Dylan spent much of the game bicker
ing. Jo tried not to eavesdrop, but they were too close not to overhear Dylan insisting she hire more help and Avery claiming she didn’t have the money to pay them enough yet.
An idea formed in Jo’s mind.
Emma didn’t show up, and Jo was glad. There was enough tension between Avery and Dylan; she didn’t need to add to it with whatever would happen if Emma arrived. After the game, Jo caught Avery while Dylan was distracted with the kids.
“If I swing by the bakery in the morning, will you have time for a conversation?”
Avery looked skeptical. “Why?”
“I think I may have a proposition for you,” Jo said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning if you have time for me.”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “But you might have to tell me while I make babka.”
* * *
—
Jo was ridiculously wealthy. She was absurdly rich. There was no polite way to put it. Her first paycheck, when she was thirteen, had gone in part to an accountant. Her parents wanted to teach her to be responsible, not wasteful. Jo’s money made money for itself. She had more than she could ever use.
So she gave it away.
Of course she bought things for herself. She probably owned too much property and definitely owned too many shoes. But the majority of her money went elsewhere, always to causes she cared about. She didn’t like to be ostentatious about it, didn’t do it on a grand scale. Or, well, not grand to her. She liked to spread it out. Instead of millions of dollars to get a hospital wing named after her, she paid off student loans or bought medical debt and immediately forgave it. She found fund-raisers looking to make ten thousand dollars and gave them twenty-five thousand instead. She bought out every Girl Scout she saw come cookie-sale time. The crew loved her most then, she was pretty sure, with cookies on every flat surface at the studio.
Restaurants weren’t new to her. She’d sent kids to culinary school and bought a food truck for a guy who to this day was willing to bring it anywhere she’d like and serve people for free. Floured Up seemed like a perfect investment.
Jo scrolled through her contacts that evening, sure to select Emma, not Evelyn.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She didn’t have to tell Emma why she’d be late tomorrow. She did plenty of things, business and otherwise, Emma didn’t know about. Just because this involved her sister didn’t mean it was any different. Avery hadn’t even told her.
Jo was aware that that reasoning was flimsy, but it was all she had.
Will be late in the morning, take your time getting in
Emma replied almost immediately, as she usually did.
Sounds good, boss
She included a smiling emoji, because Emma always had a smile for Jo, even when Jo was lying to her.
Jo wondered if Emma realized she only called her boss when no one else was around to notice.
* * *
—
The bell above the door rang as Jo entered Floured Up. Unlike the last visit, the bakery was filled with people, the tables all taken and a line of four at the counter. Jo sipped on the coffee in her travel mug and wondered if it would be rude to cut to the front. There were two workers waiting on customers, and neither of them Avery. Jo decided to wait.
“Good morning, what can I get for you?” The young man behind the counter was altogether too cheery given it was before eight a.m. His eyes went wide when he fully looked at her, and she offered him a still-not-caffeinated-enough smile.
“I believe your boss is expecting me,” she said. “Could you check in with her?”
“Yes, of course, right away.”
He disappeared into the back, and Jo stepped out of line to let the next person go. When the worker returned, he waved her to the back as well, smiling too wide. Jo was glad he wasn’t asking for an autograph.
“Thanks, Scott,” Avery said.
True to her word from last night, she was busy rolling out dough. She didn’t pause when she greeted Jo.
“So what’s your proposition for me?” Avery said.
She reached for a bowl of a chocolate mixture and started spreading it on the rolled-out dough in front of her. Jo knew exactly how delicious the bread would end up being.
“You need to hire another worker,” she said, “but you can’t afford to pay them what you’d like.”
“I’m aware of my business situation, Jo,” Avery said.
“If I were to cover their salary, you wouldn’t have a situation,” Jo said.
Avery stopped what she was doing. “What?”
“I could pay the salary for another worker, or a couple workers even.”
Avery stared blankly at her.
“It’s simple,” Jo said. “I pay a salary or two—what? Fifty thousand each?—until you get to the point where you can cover them.”
Avery sputtered. “Fifty thousand? You’re just offering me a hundred thousand dollars a year? In exchange for what?”
“For you hiring two more workers so you’re less stressed.”
“In exchange for what for you?”
Jo shrugged. This wasn’t how she expected the conversation to go. People tended to be disbelieving but rather excited to get money, not hostile.
“I’m not interested in charity,” Avery said.
Jo rolled her eyes. “It’s investment, not charity.”
“Investment generally means you get something in return.”
“I do,” Jo said. “It’s easier for me to hire you to cater, which means my cast and crew love me more.”
Avery leveled her with a look. “God, you really have no idea how money works, do you?”
Jo rolled her eyes again. “I have a lot of it—”
“Which is why you don’t—”
Jo held up a hand and Avery stopped talking. “I have a lot of it, more than I need. And I know I can use it to make my friend’s life better. So I’m fairly certain I know exactly how money works.”
Avery’s eyebrows went up. Perhaps Jo shouldn’t have admitted to thinking of her as a friend.
Avery went back to her work. She finished with the spread and started rolling up the dough in front of her. “One worker,” she said. “And you don’t have to cover their whole salary, just the difference between what I can pay them and I’d like to pay them.”
“You can work out the specifics with my accountant,” Jo said.
“I was right at that first game,” Avery said. “You’re totally a softie.”
Jo let out a chuckle. “Look, I don’t like that many people, but your family seems to be the exception. So shut up and take my money.”
Avery smirked at her. “You basically offered me a hundred thousand dollars a year, just because you’re nice.”
“I’m no such thing and I won’t stand for this slander.”
Avery laughed outright, and Jo grinned. She didn’t think about how it helped, the ice queen persona. That people tried to hurt you less if they didn’t think you had feelings. That the only way to get anything done as a woman in Hollywood was to have everyone assume you took no shit. And even with that reputation, people still thought she was too soft to write Agent Silver.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” Jo said. “My accountant will call later to set up a time you can sit down and figure things out while you’re not simultaneously making food.”
8
EMMA
Emma loved it when Avery invited herself over for dinner, because Avery inviting herself over for dinner meant Avery making or buying dinner, and cleaning up, too. She did it when she needed a break from her family or she had to girl-talk something out or she just hadn’t seen her sister recently. Whatever the reason, Emma was always happy to oblige.
When Avery said she was coming over with
homemade lasagna to throw in the oven, Emma didn’t think anything of it. It was a little unusual for Avery to come over on a Friday night, but nothing seemed suspicious. Emma spun on one of her kitchen stools and told her sister about her day.
“Jo says I should consider being a script doctor,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “But I don’t even actually do any of the writing, I’m just good at helping her figure out what she needs to do.”
“Cool,” Avery said. Her voice was flat.
Emma stopped spinning on her stool. “What?”
“Nothing,” Avery said. “What?”
“Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird!” Avery sounded way too panicked for someone who supposedly wasn’t being weird.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”
Avery sighed heavily. She leaned on her elbows on the kitchen island across from Emma’s stool.
“I don’t know how to explain this to you,” she said.
“Okay, you know you’re going to have to explain it immediately now because otherwise I’m going to freak out about all the bad things it could be,” Emma said. “Do you have cancer? Did Dani and Ezra read Harry Potter and decide Hufflepuff was a bad house? Are the dogs okay?”
“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended that you made me having cancer sound like the least bad of those situations,” Avery said. “But no. None of that. It’s . . . what it is, is . . .”
Emma’s chest tightened with worry. “Ave.”
“Jo’s nephew is on Ezra and Dani’s baseball team.”
Emma blinked. That didn’t seem that bad. “Okay?”
Avery flailed her hands a little like Emma wasn’t understanding. Emma flailed back at her.
“Jo’s nephew is on Ezra and Dani’s baseball team and I’ve been sitting next to her at every game.”
“Wait, what?”
Avery moved from leaning on her elbows to a more upright position, leaning on her hands instead.
“I haven’t told you because I was trying to get you to come to a game,” she said. “I thought it’d be funny to see your face when you saw Jo. I know I let it go on for too long.”
Something to Talk About Page 11