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Desmond Thomas, the card proclaims in even black writing. There’s nothing but his name and phone number on the off-white card. He’s related to the friendly old couple that have been my landlords for three years. This isn’t a mistake. He’s not a stranger.
He’s my new landlord, and my life is about to get a whole lot harder.
11
SEBASTIAN
Georgiaand I are quiet for a long time. I know it’s on me to talk, but I don’t want to say the wrong thing—again. Now that my blood has stopped boiling, I know I acted like a possessive jerk back there. Had our roles been reversed, I probably would have reacted exactly like Desmond did.
I walk down a side street to a nearby park with Georgia by my side. A few parents watch their children on the playground beside a small, fenced off-leash area. The sound of children’s laughter rings in the air, but it feels hollow to me.
When we enter the dog park, I unclip the leash and Bella starts zooming back and forth, bounding to the fence and back, looking like the happiest little creature in the world. A knot unwinds in my chest as she scrabbles up my legs until I kneel down and give her long scratches behind her ears.
Georgia crouches beside me, extending those graceful, feminine fingers toward the dog. Bella sniffs, her warm brown ears flopping down on either side of her face. When she ducks her head under Georgia’s outstretched hand in demand of rubs, Georgia gives her the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
I want this woman like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything before. It’s a clawing sensation in my chest, like some demon is scrabbling to get out. She drives me out of my mind.
Tension buzzes between us even as we’re distracted by the puppy.
“She’s gorgeous,” Georgia says, not meeting my gaze. The dog flops onto her side and sticks her legs up, blinking big brown eyes at the woman petting her. Georgia laughs, obliging. “Where did you get her?”
“She crawled under my truck the day you came by,” I answer.
Tension steals over Georgia’s shoulders, then dissolves.
I feel like an idiot. I don’t deserve Georgia, with her money and her elegance and her class. Whenever I’m near her, I end up acting like a buffoon and either embarrassing myself or insulting her. I should go back to where I belong. I’m broke and homeless, just a wannabe artist who got too big for his britches. The feature at the Heart’s Cove Fringe Fest was stroking my already inflated ego.
No wonder I manage to offend Georgia every time we meet. How can I blame her when I act like I do? Yet she still has the grace to hear me out, to come to this park and spend a few minutes waiting for me to work up the courage to apologize.
Finally, while Bella gets up and wanders off to sniff at some bushes, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Georgia. I’ve been a bastard to you.”
She finally meets my gaze, a dark eyebrow arched. “You have,” she agrees. “But thank you. I appreciate the apology.”
I lift the brim of my hat and scratch above my ear, staring at my toes. “I shouldn’t paint you with the same brush as my ex-wife. That’s unfair. I apologize for assuming you hadn’t worked for what you have. I should have known better. You were ambitious when I met you, and we were just kids then. It figures that you’d end up successful.”
Her eyes take on a faraway look, like she’s reliving those years we had—and the years we didn’t.
Maybe our time together as clueless teens are the only years we’ll get. Maybe I had my shot, and I wasted it. Lord knows I tried to keep her by my side—I still remember the day I tried to get her to stay, when she turned her back and walked away from me for good.
An old wound splits open in my chest, and I wonder if she ever regrets leaving Clare. Leaving me.
It was the worst day of my life. Worse than the day my ex-wife told me she wanted a divorce. Worse than the panic I felt twenty-four years ago when Shelly told me she was pregnant. Watching Georgia tear my heart out and stomp on it broke something inside me that never quite healed right.
Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to her. She’s the one who made me this way.
“I just started a new project,” Georgia says in the stillness of the moment. “It’s only beginning, but it feels…” She huffs, shaking her head. “It feels good. I think when I went to see you at your workshop, I was looking for something in the wrong place.” Her eyes are the color of strong coffee, so deep it’s easy to get lost in them. “I got mad at you for something that was lacking inside myself. I guess what I’m saying is I accept your apology, and I offer you one of my own.”
A breath slips through my lips, and I jerk my head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Georgia inhales, gulping, then continues: “I feel”—she clears her throat—“attracted to you. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to act on it.”
If Georgia had stuck a dagger in my gut, it would have hurt less. With her beautiful mouth set in a thin line and the sun gilding her hair in a thousand shades of brown and blond and red, she looks untouchable, regal. Too good for the likes of me.
You’re right,I should say. The words are right there, ready to be spoken aloud. If I’m to be a better man, a more worthy man, I should say them. Because sheisright—whatever is between us is so twisted and intense that all it’ll do is burn us both up until there’s nothing left.
The puppy comes springing toward me and collapses at my feet, exhausted. I scoop her up while a boulder lodges itself in my throat. Georgia turns to face me, petting my sleepy dog’s head. Her face is sad, resigned, as she lifts her gaze to mine.
“It was good seeing you again,” she says, and then she walks away.
