20. Georgia-May
20
GEORGIA-MAY
We slept in until nearly midday. While Coco continues to slumber inside her own palace of pillows, I find myself sprawled across the bed like a starfish claiming its reef, with Blake turning into part of the scenery. Poor guy! At this rate, I might need a license to be a decent bedfellow.
“Morning,” he mouths. His smile assures me he’s weathered the night well.
With my core still assaulted by pleasurable throbs, I must confess it was the best sex I’ve ever had. Throwing political correctness out the window here, but let’s be real. Size does matter. And coupled with experience? It was like slipping into the afterlife, only to be cradled by the man of your wildest fantasies. I guess it’s the magic of experience that comes with a little gray.
“That modeling scout really knew what she was looking at.” A hint of seduction in my voice as I trace my fingers across his chest. I follow the lines of his abs, still slick with the remnants of last night.
“I’m glad I turned her down,” he replies with a grin, propping himself up.
“Do we have to get up?” I stretch lazily, not ready to leave the cocoon of our sheets.
“No, today is ours. Whatever you want, we’ll do,” he assures me, sitting up and offering his lap as a new haven for me to rest.
“Well,” I hesitate, reluctant to broach the subject yet knowing it’s necessary, “maybe we can browse for Coco’s crib?”
“Sure. Let’s do that then.” His long arm reaches for his phone on the bedside table.
Together, we dive into the world of online shopping, our movements hushed to keep Coco in her peaceful slumber.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks, looking over to me for guidance.
A flutter of anticipation stirs in my stomach. I’d found the perfect crib, bigger and better padded than most, but the price was beyond my reach. Now, with his encouragement, should I mention it?
“Um, there was one designed especially for post-surgery care at home,” I tell him tentatively. “But I can’t remember the brand.”
“Clay and Isabelle swear by Calico’s. Let’s check out their website,” he suggests.
Our search quickly pays off. We find a selection of beautiful cribs, each one perfect and cheerful, without a hint of hospital austerity.
“Oh, look at this one. It even comes with a pressure-relief mattress made for little ones,” I say.
He catches my eye, urging, “Don’t even look at the price,” which is enough to raise my brows in mock alarm. But seeing his determination, I let go of my hesitation and watch him complete the purchase.
“Blake, am I turning you into my personal bank now?”
He chuckles, pulling me into a snug embrace. “Only the best for my girls,” he quips, then slides out from under me with a theatrical groan. “Excuse me, sweetheart,” he says, standing up. “Gotta let you do some more damage with that shopping.”
“I think we’ve got everything we need now,” I protest mildly, not forgetting the two suitcases already overflowing with things for Coco. More than enough, really.
“Nah, I meant shopping for what you need.” He leans down to plant a kiss on my head. “And yes, I’m your personal bank, Georgia-May, so milk it while it lasts!”
His lavish attentions make me feel a bit guilty. “Blake, you’re spoiling me.”
“That’s the best part.” He winks, satisfaction paints his gorgeous face. “Spoil away, my love!”
With a reluctant grin, I dive back into my shopping spree, clicking away as Blake heads off to the shower. I scoop up a few shirts, a pair of jeans, and some daring lingerie, then pause to look at some jewelry.
When Blake returns, his scent is as intoxicating as a high-end cologne ad. Seducing him for another round is very tempting, but I park the thought.
“That’s cute,” he comments, looking at the pendant displayed on the phone screen.
“Ah, just browsing.”
“Buy it.”
“I don’t need it. It’s just…different,” I murmur, my thoughts drifting to Dad’s gift for my seventeenth birthday, a black glass pendant shaped like an infinity symbol, shattered to pieces when I crashed my bike delivering a pizza.
He leans in to look at the pendant. “It’s different, yes, but it’s sleek, and you clearly like it.”
As my mouse hovers over the color option, I hear him hum thoughtfully.
“You don’t like the black?” I query.
“It’s not about what I like.”
“Come on, what do you think?”
“I think the navy would look great on you.”
He’s right. Navy adds a touch of class. “Done!” I exclaim, adding the pendant and a matching chain to the cart.
Then he skims over the rest of my shopping list. I don’t think he intends to, but something catches his eye. “You’re disappointing me, Georgia-May.”
I thought I was doing well with nine items. “I swear, these are all I need,” I defend.
“Think again.” His eyebrow raises in challenge.
I pause. “Well, maybe I could do with another pair of these jeans?”
“Whatever you need,” he sighs theatrically, bracing himself as if a tsunami of shopping is about to hit.
“And maybe those matching shoes. And that handbag,” I add, testing the waters.
Blake laughs, clearly enjoying the banter as much as the pampering. “What am I, your sugar daddy now?”
I guess his age comes with perks beyond experience. My finger hovers over the ‘add to cart’ button. “Are you sure?”
His tone turns earnest. “Georgia-May, you arrived with just the clothes on your back. I promised we’d take care of everything you need. So go ahead, load up that cart.”
With a resigned smile, I click away, fully embracing the indulgence as Blake’s amused expression reappears, accepting his fate as my perpetual financier.
As we finalize the transaction, I spot his middle name on his credit card. “You don’t like Cillian?” I ask.
He shoots me a side glare. “It’s better than Simon, but I still don’t want to be called that.”
“Cillian Blake. It has a nice ring to it,” I counter.
He shakes his head, and just as I’m about to repeat the names, he playfully cups my mouth. “Please, stick with Blake.”
I give him a mischievous look. “No promises.”
“Code Queen—promise me, and I’ll do something nice for you.”
“Huh! All right,” I relent.
Blake wraps an arm around me, nervously clearing his throat despite his earlier promise to do something nice. “Hypothetically,” he begins, pulling up another website, “if I decided to grab something extra from here, would you stop me?”
I eye the display, where not a single price tag is in sight, a clear warning of “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”
“They look amazing,” I remark, gazing at the sumptuous arrays of bikinis and resort wear that scream sultry luxury.
“Leave it to me. Trust me, I have exquisite taste,” Blake says with a confident grin that’s all too familiar.
“Why do I need a?—”
Blake presses a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “Uh-uh, no more words,” he jests, “You’re just going to ruin the surprise.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is the surprise the bankruptcy filing or the fabulous beach wardrobe?”
He laughs, closing the site with dramatic flair, not giving me even a hint about what he’s going to buy me exactly.
Just as Poppy’s footsteps approach our door, Blake’s phone buzzes. “Isabelle’s outside,” he informs me.
“Oh shoot!” I glance at myself, the very picture of bedroom chic, which is just a fancy way of saying I’ve mastered the pajama look, while Blake transforms into a morning catalog model in seconds.
“I’ll get the door. You try to look less…like you just rolled out of a laundry basket.”
I glare at the man laughing in the mirror. All I have on is Blake’s T-shirt, which drapes over me like lazy work-from-home loungewear. “Blake, seriously. I look so…so…unfinished.”
Blake’s laugh subsides into chuckles as he heads to the door. “We really should’ve hit that boutique yesterday. But hey, Isabelle’s chill. She won’t mind. Just own it. This is your castle!”
As Blake opens the door, I peek out to catch a glimpse of the famed Isabelle Hartley.
She enters, telling Blake that Pedro has driven her. She’s carrying more than Coco’s medications. It looks like a mini pharmacy. “Good morning! Just making a quick delivery from the UCLA Children’s Hospital gift shop!” she jokes.
I rummage through Blake’s closet. Good grief! This man could open a department store. Shirts in every color of the rainbow, pants for every occasion. You name it, he’s got it. If only I could swipe something to make myself look halfway decent.
Slim pickings for my size, though. But where there’s a will, there’s a way. I grab one of his sweaters, which probably fits him like a glove but looks fashionably oversized on me. Then, I nab a pair of his workout leggings. On me, they’re more like stylish harem pants, with the cuffs grazing my ankles instead of his mid-calf.
A quick face wash and a valiant attempt to wrestle my hair into submission later, I’m ready. Well, as ready as one can be in an impromptu outfit concocted from their boyfriend’s wardrobe.
And here I am, greeting one of the most graceful women I’ve ever seen. A woman I’ve come to admire, even though this is our first meeting. My outfit, a haphazard mix of Blake’s clothes, stands in stark contrast to her modish yellow dress.
“Isabelle, it’s so nice to meet you,” I say, stepping forward for a hug. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Blake giving me that look. Whether he thinks I’ve managed to pull this off or if he’s just impressed by my audacity, I have no idea.
Isabelle’s warmth is instant, her smile genuine, not even a flicker of amusement at my outfit. “Georgia-May.” She returns my hug with a reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you so much for these.” I point at the medications. “And for everything you and Amber have done for us.”
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’m just happy you’re here. How’s Coco?”
“She’s been sleeping like…well, like a baby,” I reply with a grateful smile, appreciating how easy she makes everything feel.
Isabelle then eases into the couch, her expression shifting to one of focused concern. “Let’s go over Coco’s upcoming check-ups and therapies,” she says, producing what looks like a schedule. “I’ve coordinated with some of the top specialists at UCLA Children’s Hospital, and we’ve put together a plan that should be perfect for Coco’s needs.”
As a well-known pediatrician at the hospital, she’s obviously well-connected. Yet, she’s taken the time and effort to prepare all this.
“This is truly amazing,” I say, holding my breath as Blake steps up behind me, rubbing my arm.
“Thanks, Isabelle,” he adds.
“No problem at all. And this is just a preliminary plan, a starting point. We’ll need your input, too. During your first meeting with the specialists, make sure to discuss anything you need. Timing, days, Coco’s preferences.”
“I don’t think we’re tied up with anything else. The times should work just fine,” I say, skimming over the schedule.
Isabelle smiles, her confidence putting me at ease. “If you’re okay with it, we’ve arranged a series of physical therapies to start with, to build on what Coco has already begun. I’ve also spoken with a few top pediatric neurologists to cover all our bases.”
“Honestly, I can’t thank you enough,” I say, genuinely touched.
She waves off my gratitude with a graceful hand. “It’s all part of the service. Besides, having connections does help speed things up. I just want to make sure Coco gets everything she needs.”
“This means the world to us,” I reply, feeling lighter knowing Coco’s care is so well thought out.
Isabelle’s visit isn’t just a courtesy. It’s a lifeline, and her meticulous planning shows just how much heart she has. Undoubtedly a hallmark of the Hartley family.