“Wait. You kicked him out? Why?”
“I don’t know. I was just so …” Overwhelmed. Overheated. Conflicted. Confused. Terrified.
“Just so, what?” Kenna probes.
“I don’t know how to feel.”
I return to my original dilemma. “I’m all over the map, and it’s scary. I really think the best thing is probably just to give back this damn phone and keep it strictly business, you know?”
“Holy shit,” Kenna says. “Of all the ways that someone could describe you, I never thought ‘big fucking chicken’ would be the top choice.”
“Excuse me?” I bristle.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?” She folds her arms in front of her.
“Maybe, a little,” I admit. “But come on, there’s a lot at stake here. My business, the shelter …”
“Oh, please. That stuff is not what you’re scared of.” Kenna dismisses my fears. “You’ve got a lot of people on your side, and on the shelter’s side, Georgia. None of us are going to sit idly by and watch Celestial Pets and Kismet go down.”
“How do you know Hudson Holm isn’t just snowing me so I won’t put up too much of a fight when he leases this place to a frozen yogurt franchise?” I argue.
“I saw how he looked at you at the diner, Georgia,” Kenna says. “And at The Grumpy Stump. He’s not interested in your space. Unless you count beinginyour space.”
I shake my head again.
“How did he figure it out, by the way? The whole Cookie/Oliver connection? Did he see Cookie in the shop?” she asks.
“It was my tattoo,” I explain, pulling up the photo I’d posted.
“That one never gets old. Such a great shot.” The photo makes Kenna smile. “Do you want my opinion?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Do I?”
“I think if you were a real badass, you’d give him a chance. He doesn’t seem so bad to me, besides being so clean-cut and preppy. But whatever floats your boat.”
“He’s a Holm,” I argue.
“That’s hardly his fault.”
“He has a cat?” I offer.
“Is that really the best you can do? I hate to break it to you, Georgia, but most relationships—at least the good ones—don’t end with a fist bump. How will you ever know if you don’t at least try?”
hudson
The good newsis that she kept the phone. She’s keeping up with all the prompts for the challenge.
The bad news is that she hasn’t replied to my messages. It’s been a week, and we still haven’t talked.
Work is an effort. I’m showing up for calls and making decisions about vendors and contracts. But my mind continues to wander back to the night in the pet shop. My thoughts linger in that magical space, surrounded by the stars, taking my fill of Georgia’s lips.
I’m hungry. Starving for more. I cannot concentrate on anything. I’m starting to worry that this isn’t going to go away—not unless we do something about this animal attraction we seem to have for each other. But then what? I don’t trust myself not to make a mess of things.
My family has already done enough damage. Which brings me back to damage control. I’ve put together a proposal for Georgia that I hope she’ll consider before moving forward with a lawsuit. I’m just not sure when or how to share it with her.
Nobody’s heard from Bryce since Walker booted him off the boat. My father insists he has a plan.
Walker is flying in tomorrow—just in time for Lilly’s birthday party. He’s asked if he could crash with me.
