It was after noon, and she hadn’t heard a peep from the bartender. Sloane had snagged Emma’s phone while she was checking out at the counter of the craft store with an obscene amount of glitter, papier-mâché, and googly eyes and had searched her social media accounts for any hint that Brady had called off their fake relationship online.

He hadn’t.

So Sloane hadn’t, either.

Now she was in Limbo between denial and complete avoidance. She hadn’t even told Emma yet. Her bestie had already given her a not-so-brief, slightly scolding I can’t believe you’re with Brady and never told me you even knew him conversation on the drive up. After that, an already gun-shy Sloane decided she’d keep the lie, the arrangement, and the breakup to herself. It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what Sloane kept mentally repeating when that guilt came back.

“You alive in there?” Emma’s voice made her start.

Sloane had a bad habit of babbling in real life and in her head.

“Yeah, I’m just wondering about moving to Antarctica again. Honestly, I think I could do it.”

“Move away? You once called me in a panic because your gas light came on while you were driving on the interstate,” Emma deadpanned. “You were crying.”

Sloane felt heat run up her neck. She went to the door and opened it a crack. Emma had already changed back into her shirt and jeans.

“I was nineteen and in foreign territory,” she defended, lowering her voice. While there hadn’t been anyone else in the dressing rooms when they’d first come in, it didn’t mean someone hadn’t snuck in and was listening now. Being in the city didn’t mean squat when it came to Carol Robertson. Her ability to ruin things was starting to become unparalleled.

And Sloane would be damned if she let Carol collect any more embarrassing stories about her. The ones she’d let loose on the internet were already too many.

“We’re still alone,” Emma said, picking up on her thoughts like the sister from another mister she was. “But, and I mean this in the nicest way, I wouldn’t mind being around a bunch of people who weren’t just bundles of stress. Honestly, you’re putting off a very anxious vibe, and it’s making me uncomfortable. Why don’t we go have a movie montage of us trying on cute and ridiculous outfits for the kickoff party at Cassidy’s and then grab a late lunch to help unwind a little? My treat, my little ball of tension.”

Sloane narrowed her eyes. “If you weren’t paying, I’d be offended.”

“Why do you think I offered?”