Avery Kaplan, smirking.
“The sister,” Jo said.
“The fake girlfriend,” Avery said.
Jo rolled her eyes.
Avery set her bag down, not right beside Jo, but closer than Jo would have liked. “Who do you know out there?” she asked, elbow gesturing toward the field as she set up her bleacher cushion.
“Ethan Cheung,” Jo said. “Nephew.”
“Ah, the new kid on the team,” Avery said. “You get to come to your nephew’s game but Emma’s not allowed to?”
“Emma didn’t ask.”
Jo would’ve let Emma out early if she had, since it was summer. When they were shooting, though, she’d rather Emma be at work if she wasn’t. Jo surrounded herself with people she trusted because it was the only way she wouldn’t micromanage. She could leave Chantal in charge, or leave Emma to report back on anything that Jo needed to know; that was how Jo could be away from work and not be anxious. Her production company, the Jones Dynasty—yes, she threw shade in naming it and it made her laugh every time—was her baby, had her name in big bold letters. She needed to be sure its output was up to standards. Emma helped.
“I’m Dylan,” said the man who Jo assumed was Avery’s husband, offering his hand. “We’ve got Ezra and Dani out there.”
Jo shook his hand. “Jo.”
He grinned but didn’t mention he already knew who she was. She gave him points for that.
“How’s the bakery?” Jo asked, because this was one of the rare situations where small talk might be preferable to silence. Averywould probably report this whole game back to Emma, and Jo did not want to come off looking like a bitch.
“Busy,” Avery said.
“You should hire someone,” her husband singsonged at her.
“If I could pay them a decent wage, I would,” she said, mimicking his pitch back at him. She turned to Jo. “Business is good, really. How’s the hiatus treating you?”
“Gently,” Jo said, “now that upfronts are over.”
“I heard you had to deal with an asthma attack,” Avery said.
Jo stiffened, frozen by the memory of Emma gasping.
“Thanks for keeping her breathing.”
Jo let out her own breath. She tried for a smile. “Yes, well, an employee dying on a business trip would have been terrible press.”
Jo’s stomach twisted at joking about it, but Avery chuckled and let the subject drop.
“How old is your nephew?” she said.
“Just nine,” Jo said. Her heart was still racing thinking about Emma’s asthma attack. It had shaken her, and even though she knew Emma was fine, she was terrified of the idea that it could happen at any time. “His first year past the pitching machine. What about your boys?”
“Boy and a girl, actually; Dani is Danielle,” Avery said. “They’re ten.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize—”
“Their goal for the season is to trick people,” Avery said.
“Dani’s the one girl in the league,” Dylan explained. “She got a lot of crap for it last year, so this year she cut her hair short and Ezra grew his into a ponytail.”
“Clever kids,” Jo said. “They must get that from their father.”
Jo’s brother arrived then, right as Jo was chatting with a set of parents and making them laugh. He gave her a look.