I grit my teeth like I’m girding for battle. “Good question.”
“Or him?” Emerson adds.
“Equally good question.” I draw a deep, fueling breath—resetting, letting the memory of those two go. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.” I wave toward the purple box, licking my lips at the sight of the cinnamon rolls. “Like, Emerson’s booty.”
“It is a nice one,” Nolan says drily, giving Emerson’s backside a lascivious look.
I thump him on the shoulder. “Booty as in plunder. Food plunder. Baked goods.”
“Prizes, riches, loot,” TJ puts in, then adds, “At least, that’s how I sometimes use the word.”
“Word snobs,” Nolan accuses. “I know how to use the dictionary too.”
“But do you ever?” Easton counters, deadpan.
I laugh, loving these guys and their zings.
Taking a sip of the good brew my cousin brought, I peer inside the box, shoving aside all this talk of Poppy and him. The sight of pipsqueak-sized baked goods enchants me. “Are those the world’s tiniest and tastiest cinnamon rolls?”
Easton shoots Emerson a glare. “You need a microscope for these. Your texts promised cinnamon rolls, not a science experiment.”
TJ clears his throat. “Sometimes size does matter, Em.”
Nolan chuckles but glances away like he’s trying to hide something.
I arch a brow, meeting Emerson’s gaze, trying to read the meaning behind Nolan’s private laugh, his booty comment.
But her green eyes give nothing away. “They’re delicious. Don’t be size-ist, TJ. Plus, they’re fuel. We’re going to help JoJo pack and prep this place to sublease.”
TJ reaches into the box, grabs a roll. “Good point. All packing must be preceded by a moment of sweet supplication when the host presents her friends with treats in a blatant attempt at packing bribery.”
I laugh, even as my heart squeezes. “See? I’ll miss that too.”
Easton scoffs drily, pointing a thumb at TJ. “This guy?”
“I’m highly missable,” TJ counters, then pops the cinnamon roll into his mouth.
“You all are,” I say, with a helpless shrug. I grab a roll to sop up the river of emotions rising in me.
Easton clears his throat. “Listen, you’re only moving, JoJo. You’re only going to be a seven-hour flight away.” To the outsider, I probably sound like a privileged bitch complaining about moving to one of the most famous cities on Earth, a place that tons of people would beg, borrow, or steal to visit just once.
But for me, London is lies and secrets.
New York is truth and honesty.
And home.
“It’s not the distance,” I add. “It’s just that, well, I’m going to miss you all so much.”
Emerson frowns with sympathy as she wraps an arm around me. “I’m going to miss you too. Like, so much I have to pretend that you’re not going to get through the days.”
My heart glows a little from all the mutual missing and love. “Exactly. Who will see Wicked with me for the ninth time?”
“I’ll go to London for Wicked,” Emerson offers.
“I will not,” TJ declares. “Just putting that out there. Not a musical fan. At all. But I’d definitely go to London for other reasons.” He wiggles a brow, a salacious glint in his brown eyes.
“Yes, yes, King TJ, I know you love British accents,” I say.
My romance writer friend nudges me with his elbow. “Bet you’ll love the accents too. Pretty hard to resist.”
He’s not wrong. Even if the city holds unpleasant memories, I do like a British accent. Always have, ever since I was a young girl. “I mean, Mister Darcy and Robin Hood. Hard to go wrong,” I add, owning it. “But will we still talk?”
Emerson lifts a cinnamon roll in solidarity. “Yes. We absolutely will.”
Nolan thrusts an arm skyward, classic superhero style. “From New York to London in a single FaceTime connection.”
“People say that. But do they do that?”
TJ waves an arm. “Hello? I can write. It’s literally what I do.”
I shoot him a dubious look. “I’m sure after penning hot, racy scenes all day you want to write Hey, how are you emails at night.”
“The scenes aren’t all hot and racy,” he points out. “Some are romantic and heartfelt. Many are banter-driven. Some are really fucking funny.”
I pat TJ’s shoulder. “I read your books. Don’t forget, I’m your biggest fan.”
Easton clears his throat. “I read Come Again. Clearly, I inspired TJ. I felt like it was written about me.”
TJ rolls his big brown eyes. “And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.”
Nolan jumps in. “Does the bridge come with fries?”
“Nolan, don’t you know? Nearly everything good does,” Emerson says to her co-host, a little flirt in her tone. I file that sound away so I can ask her more about it privately.
“Words to live by,” Nolan says. He turns to me and counts his fingers as he rattles off, “FaceTime, Google Duo, Skype. It’s going to be easy.”
“Don’t forget Zoom. We can even do a Zoom watch party to finish the final episodes of That’s What She Said,” Emerson points out.