“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…”

The elevator doors rattle open. I look up. And find myself face-to-face with my sister.

“Walsh?” I splutter in disbelief, lowering the phone.

An imaginary engine revs as the Walsh surprise bus crashes into me, running over my stunned body with a double thump.

I throw my arms out, mostly in a what-the-fuck question, but a thread of delight also snakes its way into my heart. As much as she pushes my crazy buttons, Walsh is still my sister.

And she’s here, standing not ten feet away, wearing denim cutoffs, strappy sandals, and a rose-colored top that hangs loosely off one shoulder. Her golden blond hair is shorter than it was at Christmas, skimming her shoulders in a wavy lob—must be a new cut since it hasn’t shown up on Instagram yet. And she’s added muscle to her long, lean legs. But her heart-shaped face and perfectly straight button nose, which is adorned with a delicate crystal piercing, are the same as always.

The elevator dings. Christina clears her throat. Right, the doors are closing and we’re all still inside. I shove my fist into the void, tripping the sensor to open, and step into the lobby.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, floating toward Walsh as though I’m on a conveyor belt. My heels clack against the tile floor.

My sister stuffs her phone into her back pocket and I don’t miss the flash of strain before she hitches her lips into a beaming grin. In a rush, she bounds forward and throws her arms around my neck. I hug her automatically, still too stunned to fully process.

“What, I need an excuse to visit my big sister?” she murmurs into my hair. And doesn’t let go. Her body is tense, and I catch a quiver as she inhales. What’s up with her? Leaning away, I study her face. Her expression smooths and now all I see is the same old Walsh. Her cornflower eyes flick between me and something behind me. Oh yeah.

“Introductions,” I say, stepping back. “Walsh, this is Tory and Christina. We work together. Guys, this is my sister, Walsh.”

Christina sticks out her hand, but before she can blink, Walsh wraps her in a hug. Christina is not a hugger. She stiffens, mouth twisted into a frown, and awkwardly pats Walsh on the back. I snort in amusement. I can’t help it.

“Great to meet you,” says Walsh.

“Uh-huh,” Christina mutters.

Walsh gives Tory a hug in turn, who takes it in stride. “I didn’t know Henley had a sister. Visiting from out of town?” She nods toward the row of chairs along the far wall, and for the first time, I notice the two massive purple suitcases pushed innocently against the window, a bulging shoulder bag perched on top.