Chapter 27
Georgia
Key West. We’re going to Key West now. I grip my coffee mug, staring out across the waters at the sun rising. We were supposed to port in St. Augustine and head back home from there, but after everything…
We just needed a little more time. And I’m thankful for that.
“Look who’s already up,” a voice comes from behind me. I turn to see Brody emerging, a soft smile on his face.
He’s wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else, making my thighs clench. He pauses when he meets my eyes and then settles his gaze over my T-shirt and shorts.
I let out a sigh, and he takes the mug from my hands and takes a sip. His free hand lingers on my lower back, and I lean into his arm.
“You can have that,” I say, peering up at him. “I’m not feeling the hot coffee.”
Brody chuckles. “I could see that. It doesn’t bother me.” He tips it back and downs the rest of it, while I crinkle my nose. I let out a giggle as he finishes it and then hands me the empty mug. “Problem solved.”
“Perfect,” I nudge him. As I do, Emmett stumbles up to the railing beside us. I glance over to the aviators perched on his nose and the banana in his hand.
He waves the peel at us. “I never want to get off this boat and if you make me, I’m suing.”
“Who would you even sue?” I retort, and he looks at Brody, then at me, then at the sky.
“Whoever has the deepest pockets,” he grins, teeth bright against his tanned skin. “Isn’t that right, counselor?”
Miles appears from behind me, book in one hand, coffee in the other, glasses sliding down his nose. “Please don’t start some kind of civil suit,” he says sarcastically, “I already have a backlog of lawsuits. The last thing I want to do is deal with your dramatic ass.”
There was a time when this would have scared the shit out of me. When I would have obsessed over who I was supposed to stand next to, who was allowed to touch my waist, whose jokes I should laugh at. But now, it’s just comforting.
Brody’s thumb traces lazy circles on my back, almost absentmindedly, while Emmett leans against the rail on the other side of Miles, shoulder to shoulder.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I say, glancing around at the guys.
“Doing what?” Miles asks.
“This,” I gesture at us.
Brody’s hand tightens on my back, Emmett grins, and Miles’s eyes soften behind his glasses.
“I knew we could,” Emmett shrugs. “I just didn’t know how good it would feel.”
Brody nods and catches my eye. “And I think we should ride the high and talk about what happens when we get back to real life—actual planning. Maybe about a café?”
My heart jumps in my chest. I haven’t thought about it lately with all the stupid drama we’ve endured. “I like that idea.”
“Over breakfast,” Emmett adds, wiggling his brows at me. “I’ll even cook.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You are going to cook?”
“Yep,” Emmett straightens his shoulders. “You’ll be amazed. I swear it.”
I lift the empty mug. “Challenge accepted.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re all seated at the table in the main lounge area, Emmett’s plate of eggs and biscuits in front of us.
Brody slides his tablet down the table toward me but waits until I actually pick it up before speaking. “So, here’s the building again.” He glances at the others. “What do you want to do with it, Georgie?”
I grab a biscuit and take a bite, knowing good and well it came from a can. Still, I turn to Emmett. “They’re good.”
He grins. “Thanks.”
I nod and then go back to the tablet, scrolling through the pictures of the building—my potential cafe. I stare at the tablet for a long moment, flipping through the photos. Bare brick, cracked tile, dusty windows with the skyline of downtown barely visible through years of grime.
It’s ugly.
It’s fucking perfect.
I can’t help it—I start picturing my own tables, mismatched chairs, the menu chalkboard with my handwriting at the top. The smell of sourdough and cinnamon and coffee at six in the morning.
“What do you think of it?” I hear the worry in Brody’s voice.
I look up and smile. “I want it to be a place where people feel safe. Not fancy or intimidating, but not so basic it’s just another hole in the wall.
I want to walk in and know exactly what time of year it is from the way it smells.
I want families to come in after soccer games and writers to stay too long and couples to fight quietly over the last scone. I want it to be like that.”
Emmett raises his hand. “Will there be free WiFi, or do we make them talk to each other like animals?”
“Free WiFi,” I shoot back, “but only if they order a second drink.”
He grins. “Cruel and unusual, but okay.”
I keep going, because now I can’t stop. “I want gray-blue walls. Rope light fixtures. Big windows—round, like portholes—and if I can find a salvage shop that’ll sell me one of those ship wheels, I want that bolted to the host stand.
I want it to be like they’re setting out to sea.
” A reflection of us. But I keep that part to myself.
Brody nods. “What about the kitchen?”
“I want it open,” I say, without hesitation.
“I want everyone to see what’s happening.
I want them to smell the salmon before it even hits their plate and that we’re not hiding anything.
” I tap the tablet, flipping through the property photos until I find one of the old, battered brick walls.
“I want to leave some of it unfinished, like this. Let people know it’s still New York under the paint. ”
Miles clears his throat, swallowing his eggs. “Menu?”
I shoot a look at Emmett, who’s already halfway out of his seat.
“We need to keep it tight,” I say, “but not boring. We’ll have a few breakfast favorites—cinnamon rolls, obviously, and a Benedict with homemade hollandaise.
Lunch is soups and sandwiches, but with one curveball every day, something weird and seasonal.
Dinner… I want Mediterranean, but not the cliché stuff.
Think saffron, think harissa, think roasted whole fish!
” My voice starts picking up with excitement.
“For special occasions, we could offer private events for family dinners and businesses.”
Emmett is already sketching something on a napkin. “Can I be the wine director?”
“Only if you don’t drink the profits,” Miles mutters.
Brody leans back, arms crossed, a rare full smile blooming. “It’s a solid vision,” he says, “and it’s yours. I can get the permits started when we get back, and we’ll have a contractor on site in a week. We can be open by late fall if we push—if that’s what you want, obviously.”
“Don’t promise her that,” Miles says, and for a second, I think he’s going to rain on my parade, but he’s just methodically checking things off.
“We need a food handler’s cert, a liquor license, ADA compliance, and probably three times the staff you think you need.
But I can run point on the legal on all that. If that’s what you want.” He eyes me.
Emmett joins in. “If you need a marketing push, I can run all the socials.”
I can’t suppress a grin. “Okay, okay.” I take a deep breath. “You’re all in?”
Brody looks at me, his mouth set in a firm line. “Whatever you want. We all want to back you, but we don’t want to control you. You’re going to be the one in the driver’s seat. Not us.”
I set the tablet down and exhale. “I want this, and honestly…” My voice trails off. “I want it with you. All of you.”
“Then it’s settled,” Miles says, setting his fork down. “We’re going to be your entourage.”
“That sounds hot.” Emmett smirks, winking at me. “I’d love to spend the rest of my life being Georgia Blake’s entourage.”
“I have to agree with that,” Brody adds.
I roll my eyes at them but allow myself to be excited. It’s the least I can do, given the fact that we’ve somehow survived my father, Catherine, and the dynamics of this whole thing.
We spend the next hour sketching ideas, discussing colors, googling marketing examples, and ranking espresso machines. Brody is the finance guy, Emmett the hype machine, Miles the fixer, and me?
I’m just the chef in charge, but for the first time ever, that feels like the most important job in the world. They make me feel that way.
Later, when the planning gives way to laziness, I stretch out on the sofa and let Emmett read me Yelp reviews of local cafes, each one more ridiculous than the last. Brody disappears for a call but comes back grinning, as if he’s already solved all the problems in the world.
Miles stays at the table, tapping away on his computer, but every once in a while, he glances over, and there’s this look on his face that makes my heart skip a beat.
I close my eyes for a minute, listening to the faint hum of the engines and the clicking of Miles’s keyboard.
If this is what happiness feels like, then I’ve never actually ever been happy.
“Hey, Georgia,” Brody interrupts my moment of silence. “Can we talk for a minute?”
I sit up and nod. Part of me wants to ask him if there’s something wrong, but the other part of me swallows the feeling of anxiety and stands to my feet.
He pours two glasses of red wine and then leads me out to the stern, shutting the door behind us. He stares at the horizon for a moment, then turns, his blue eyes searching mine. “I just want to make sure you’re really good with this. Before…”
“I am good with it,” I stop him, shaking my head as I take the glass of wine from him. “I know I didn’t take it well before, but things are different between us now.”
“I just don’t want you to feel trapped, Georgie. I don’t want you to ever feel like we’re controlling you—or that you’re not getting the chance to work hard for it.”
I nod, running my finger around the rim of the glass. “Honestly, I’d just like to use the money that you’re paying me and stick to that as the renovations budget.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” He gives me a soft smile, taking a sip of his drink. “We’ll start it as soon as we’re back in New York.”
“Okay,” I smile at him, my gaze lingering on his expression. I study his features for a few moments longer and then pause, detecting some nervousness. “There’s something else you want to talk to me about, isn’t there?”
Brody takes a long sip of wine before answering. “Yeah, there is.”
I raise an eyebrow. “About my father?”
“No,” he laughs dryly. “Definitely not.”
“Okay…” I hesitate, rocking away from him. “Then what is it?”
He looks me dead in the eye. “I want you to move in with me.”
The words floor me.
I set my glass down, buying myself a couple of seconds to think. “That’s… fast,” I say, heart thumping in my throat. “I know we talked about it… But…”
He shrugs, letting out a sharp breath. “You don’t have to decide now.
I just want you there. I want to wake up with you every day.
I know we talked about apartments with the guys—and that’s fine—but I don’t want to wait on arrangements.
I want you in my penthouse, and then the guys can decide what works best for them. ”
It’s so simple, so Brody. He’s not proposing. He’s not making a grand gesture. He just wants me, and that alone is enough to flatten me.
I take a breath, and the old Georgia pipes up in my brain, whispering all the reasons it can’t work. Catherine’s warning. My father’s disgust. The million little ways I’m supposed to fuck this up.
But then I look at him, and see not the gorgeous silver fox, not the billionaire, not my father’s best friend. I see the man who allowed me to be who I really am, who let me yell and rage and be small and scared, and never once tried to fix me. He just… loves me.
It still doesn’t stop the doubts, though.
“Aren’t you worried?” I ask as he sets down his glass of wine on the table. “About the guys feeling left out? About my dad? About Catherine?”
His mouth twitches, and then he smiles. “No. Not anymore. I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks. I’ve already discussed it with the guys, and they were in full support. I have the best setup as far as size.” He reaches for my hands, “You’re the one I want, Georgie. That’s all I need.”
And just like that, every piece clicks into place. The fear drains out of me, and the rest of my emotions flood in.
I throw my arms around his neck, catching him off-guard, and laugh into his hair. “Okay,” I say, giddy. “I’ll move in.”
He hugs me so tight I can’t breathe for a second, then lifts me up and spins me in a slow circle while he kisses me.
When he sets me down, I see Emmett and Miles standing a few feet away, grinning like a couple of idiots.
“Yes!” Emmett shouts, pumping his fist. “Should I bring up the champagne now, or are we saving that for later in the bedroom?”
Miles just smiles, but it’s the kind that could light up the blackest night. “We’ll make dinner to celebrate,” he says. “You’re both expected to attend.”
Brody laces his fingers through mine. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I smile. “Me either.”