Chapter 15 #2
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. This isn’t you. You were with Will for five years.
When he broke up with you, you were devastated.
You didn’t get out of bed for a week, then Lena…
” His mouth pulls down. “For two years, the only people you socialized with was us, outside of a few happy hours with your colleagues. You didn’t start dating until the last three years, and every single date was a one-time-only event.
Now, you’re with three men in a ten-hour period. ”
“First, way to slut shame, Mr. Future Girl Dad.”
He flinches.
“Second, I wasn’t with three men. One is a friend. One is…well Jim … And Davis may have been something, but not anymore.” My voice quakes.
“May have been?”
I massage between my eyes, a dull ache forming there. “Don’t worry, I’ve lived up to your expectations and screwed that up.”
“Georgia—”
I hold my palm up. “No. I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to hear all the ways that I disappoint you. For Hope’s sake, who’s expecting me for breakfast, let’s just agree that I am a fuck up, and go about our day.”
“Georgia,” he says, his features pinched.
“Please.” The twinge in my throat causes my voice to come out as a croak.
Mouth tight, he nods. “Fine. Tell Hope, I headed to the office.”
He turns and starts down the path toward the gate, my attention follows each slow step. Hand on the knob, his shoulders slump, and he spins.
“I don’t think you’re a screwup. It kills me that you believe that’s my opinion of you.”
“Then why do you act like it?” I ask, my mouth dry. But I forge on, “Like every decision I make is the wrong one.”
“I’m the eldest. It’s in our DNA.”
“You don’t worry about Jackson the way you worry about me,” I scoff, making air quotes.
He opens and then closes his mouth.
“Even when I do what you want, it’s still not the right thing. ‘Don’t study English. Get a real degree, Georgia’ ,” I mock his deep baritone. “So, I did. I got my bachelor’s and master’s in social work to make you happy.”
“You love what you do.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t my first choice.
You make underhanded comments about how much I make.
You refuse to see that, despite your concerns about writing being a dead-end, I’m making it work.
Yes, I don’t make a lot from it, but I make enough to pay for it.
Jackson spends just as much on his recreational activities, but that isn’t an issue.
At least I make money from something you call my hobby.
” I toss up my hands. “It’s just some sexist bullshit and you know it. ”
“It has nothing to do with you being a girl.”
“Then why?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Because Jackson wasn’t the sick one. The one I stayed up at night worrying about. The person I was terrified I was going to lose.”
My ire deflates just a bit, but not completely.
Seven years older, Rem has always taken on a lot.
He’s our family’s protector. It had to be so scary for him.
The turmoil of our parents’ relationship was exacerbated by a sick sister.
Each time a reaction landed in the ER or kept me home from school, he’d held my hand.
It took a string of doctor visits to arrive at my diagnosis. Once we knew what was happening, it became easier to prevent the flare-ups. Everyone was careful once we knew, especially Rem.
“I’m not that sick kid anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.” I meet his gaze. “I just hope one day you can see that.” Turning, I walk away.
The showdown with my brother frazzles my nerves, but I suck in a deep breath.
The cool morning air fills my lungs and quells the anxiety that prickles under the surface of my skin.
Leaving the argument outside, I open the patio door and step into the kitchen.
Hope sits at the Queen Anne-style table, a mini breakfast smorgasbord of pastries, fruit, eggs, potatoes, and meats covers its surface.
Plopping onto a chair, I release a long breath. “I like Davis.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Elbows on the table’s edge, she leans forward, her chin resting on her hands, and playfulness dancing in her brown eyes.
“I may have figured out a way to get my book boyfriends back to their stories.”
“You have?” Owen exclaims, causing me to spin in my chair. He stands, head twisted our way and teakettle mid-pour, at the stovetop.
I point. “What are you doing here… Jackson has one job, and he can’t even do that… And Rem thinks he’s the responsible one.” I shake my head.
“Jackson dropped me off before he and Lars went for a morning run,” he says, pouring hot water into the hummingbird-themed teapot.
“Advantage of an empty townhouse,” I mutter James’s words to myself. “Why are you here?”
Hope rubs her belly. “With this little biscuit coming in six weeks, my doctor wants me to slow down a bit, so Owen’s going to help me out.”
“As long as you need me,” he says, placing the ceramic pot in the center of the table. He takes the seat beside her.
Side-by-side, in their matching lavender Good Girl’s Grub T-shirts, it hits me how much my bestie and the cinnamon roll baker are alike. Both helpers. Both patient but willing to push when needed.
“You’ll be a dynamic duo in the kitchen together.” I accept the cup of tea Owen poured for me.
“That we will. I’m happy to have Owen as part of the Good Girl’s Grub team for as long as he’s here.” Affection shines in her features. “But you said you have an idea? What is it? How can we help?”
“I do…” I tap my fingers against the side of the porcelain cup. The action soothes the jitteriness inside me. “I have a plan, but I’d like to keep it between us because I don’t want to give Lars and James false hope. Sorry to ask you to keep this secret, Owen, but…”
He makes a locking-the-door and tossing-away-the-key motion against his mouth. It’s a little silly, but the sweetness draws a thankful smile to my mouth.
“A lot of the research I’ve found online is about wishing wells and not fountains made out of wishing stones. But there seems to be a theory that if you shout the wish into the well and then open your mouth to swallow the echo, that will take it back…”
“So, you’re going to shout your wish into the SPN fountain and swallow it?” The skepticism is evident in Hope’s tone, despite her pasted on sure this could totally work smile.
“No—” I wave my hand at the ridiculousness of her suggestion.
“But my theory is if I can get back the not-so-lucky penny I used to make the wish, then maybe I can somehow reverse engineer this and get Owen and the rest of the guys back. You know, if I take back my payment for the wish, then the fountain will take back my wish.”
“How are you going to know it’s your penny?”
“The date,” I say smugly, sipping my tea.
Before I tossed that penny in, I’d sat on the fountain’s edge studying it. It was just your average penny. No distinguishable traits outside of its date. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can picture my thumb swiping along those tiny numbers.
“It had the same date as the year my first book was published. All I need to do is find the penny with that date, and I’ll know it’s my wish.
Then I can unwish, and poof, everything is fixed.
My book boyfriends are back to their stories.
” Bouncing in my seat, I toss my hands in the air like a magician.
“Didn’t you say the fountain was empty when you checked it out on Monday? How are you supposed to find that penny?”
“What if there are multiple pennies with that date?” Owen adds, his face wrinkled. “You wouldn’t want to accidentally undo someone else’s wish.”
“We’re not saying this is a bad idea,” Hope says, her tone sugary sweet. “We’re just asking questions. We’re just…”
“Wondering if you have a Plan B?” Owen’s indulgent grin mirrors one you’d give a child.
“Ugh!” Whining, I rest my head on the table. While far-fetched in my brain, now spoken aloud, I deflate with the knowledge that this plan is terrible. I can’t just return a wish, like an ill-fitting sweater.
Hope pats the top of my head. “There, there. It will be okay.”
“Says you. I may have to marry a roguish duke or a snarky werewolf.”
“Outside of the occasional shedding, Lars isn’t that bad… And Lord James…he grows on you,” Owen says, the word “grows” coming out more question than fact.
“Why do you think you have to marry one of them? I thought you said you just needed to pick one of them to send the others back,” Hope muses.
Head raised, I meet her questioning gaze.
“I wished for my happy ending. In my books, all my happy endings come with marriage, or at least a proposal. It stands to reason that if my happy ending is one of these three men, then it needs to be a complete one. Like in my books. It’s all connected to my stupid heteronormative books.
The penny. Them”—I point at Owen, who frowns.
“If we can’t resolve this, it may be the only way to get any of them back. ”
“You can’t marry someone you don’t love,” Owen protests.
“It may be the only way to get you back to Selena. For you to have a chance to rewrite your own happy ending.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be okay.” I sit up, smoothing my hands against my thighs, and meeting his worry-filled stare.
“You can’t sacrifice your happiness for others,” he murmurs.
“It’s not a sacrifice when I’m responsible,” I say, my throat working. “My happiness can’t come at your expense.”
“Georgia…” He sighs. “It doesn’t need to be like this.”
“Agreed.” Hope squeezes his forearm. “Why don’t we make marriage plan C. Let’s not completely scratch the coin theory, but let’s identify another solution for plan B. We can work both angles together. Georgia, did your research say anything else?”
Raking my teeth against my lower lip, I nod. “Do you know any witches?”