Page 40 of Broken Pact

My sister and I don’t have the kind of relationship Eve and I do. She wouldn’t roll out a snack and margarita train and let me talk myself into circles for hours.

But she loves me, and I trust her.

“Yeah, uh, I was hoping to catch up. I haven’t seen you in forever. And I guess I miss my little sister.”

“Oh, yeah, I have a couple minutes before I have to get back. We have an event in a couple weeks, so we're fine-tuning everything,” she says. “And I miss you too, Cora. I’ll be home after this though. At least for a month.”

I lean forward onto my elbows, bringing my face a little closer to the phone to hear her over the background noise. Guilt gnaws at my insides, and I worry my bottom lip a little. Maybe I shouldn’t bring her into this. She’s across the country, and it sounds like she has enough on her plate. The last thing she needs is me dumping my fake boyfriend and shitty new landlord problems on her.

I’ll just have to figure it out by myself.

I clear my throat. “Mom said you got a promotion or something?”

“Yeah,” she says.

Her tone sounds off though, almost like she’s disappointed. But that doesn’t make sense. Party planning huge events is her dream job. My sister senses start to tingle, and I’m on alert.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p. “Just busy here, you know? Hey, how’s Sugarplum? Have you made anything fun recently? I’ve been following your socials, and I’m so disappointed I missed those ice cream sandwiches.”

I grin, rocking forward onto my toes. “I’ll make them for you when you’re home. Fair warning though: the pistachio one was the best dairy-free ice cream I’ve ever had.”

“Well as a dairy-free girlie, I look forward to trying it. My gut and I thank you,” she says with a small chuckle.

“You ever going to tell me what Nana Jo left you in her will?” Nana Jo had a reading of her will exactly one year after she passed away. She left something for her grandkids—with stipulations, but everyone had private meetings to go over the will. I still don’t really understand why she set it up that way, but Nana Jo usually had a reason for everything she did. Even if it was unconventional. She left Evangeline her house, Magnolia Lane. But for some reason, my siblings haven’t shared what they inherited yet.

She hesitates, her humor fading. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious. You guys are all so secretive about it, but I told you right when I left the lawyer's office that day.”

“Ms. Carter, you’re needed in ballroom C,” a male voice calls from somewhere nearby her.

I hear some shuffling and her muted voice saying, “Thank you, Carl. I’ll be right there.”

There’s more muffled movement, and then her voice is clear again. “I’m sorry, Cora. I have to go.”

My gut tightens at the exhaustion in her voice. “No problem, sis. I know you’re busy.”

“Hey, wait, was there something else you wanted to ask me?”

Those older sister instincts kick into high gear, and I swallow down any words that might want to tumble out. She solves enough problems all day at her job, she doesn’t need to add mine to her pile.

“Nah, just wanted to check in on my favorite sister.” My lips curve upward slightly, a glimmer of a smile.

“I’m your only sister,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice, and I’d be willing to bet she’s rolling her eyes too. It’s her go-to response every time I tell her she’s my favorite.

“Love you,” she says quickly before the call ends.

“Love you,” I mumble to an empty kitchen.

I lean back, staring at the blank screen with a frown creasing my forehead. Something was definitely off about that conversation. My sister sounded distant, not just physically, but emotionally too. I can’t shake the feeling that something is going on with her.

I tuck that problem away for later. Today, I have a much more pressing issue at hand.

Like should I fake date Jagger?

The warm scents of cardamom and vanilla envelop me as I stand in the center of the bakery’s kitchen, lost in thought. My hands move on autopilot, reaching for ingredients and measuring them out with practiced precision. The comforting rhythm of cracking eggs, mixing batter, and kneading dough soothes my racing mind.

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