Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
“ T his was a terrible mistake,” Georgie declared. She and Burke sat at the kitchen table, she staring at her notebook, he cracking and eating nuts she kept out for guests.
“Yes,” he agreed.
She tossed him an annoyed look. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”
“I thought that was what you wanted,” he returned.
“It is,” she said.
He tossed a spent walnut shell at her head.
“Stop it,” she said, batting it away.
“Then stop being a girl and tell me what I’m supposed to say in this situation, because agreeing with you wasn’t it, but something tells me not agreeing with you won’t work, either.”
“You’re supposed to talk me down from the ledge and reassure me that while, yes, it was insane to agree to host part of this festival, I can definitely do it.”
“But what if you can’t?” he said, and now it was her turn to pelt him with a nut. Worse, he didn’t even have to put up his hands to bat it away, because she was that far off target. It sailed harmlessly to the side and toward the carpet. “Why did you volunteer to do it, if it makes you this crazy?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said.
“Says who?” he asked.
“Everybody,” she exclaimed. “You’re supposed to be involved in your community.”
“Your community is mean and treats you like trash, like a perpetual outsider,” he reminded her.
“I know,” she said, “but this is supposed to fix it. If they understand what I have going on here, how hard I’ve worked, how helpful I can be…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly pathetic.
“Then maybe they’ll finally accept you?” he guessed.
She nodded, giving a watery sniff. She wasn’t crying, but it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge.
His look turned a little soft. She prepped herself for his gentle comfort, but that was a dire tactical error. “That’s so stupid,” he declared.
Georgie stood and would have stormed away, but Burke caught her arm and held her back, easing in front of her so she could read his lips. “Georgie, you already know who you are. The people who matter already know who you are. Who cares what a bunch of mean town people think? And why would you want to? Their opinion doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because…” Her glance slid to the window, toward outside and town. “After our parents died, all we had was this town. They took us in and cared for us. I saw that, and I appreciated it. It made me feel not so alone, but it took me a while to realize that care and concern was always directed toward Brody, never me. I got all the pity, there was always plenty of that. But nobody ever took the time to get to know me as a person. I was always the deaf girl, the orphan, Brody’s needy little sister. I want,” she paused and took a steadying breath, “I want them to see me for me, to know that I have value, that I contribute something here, all on my own.”
She bit her lip, still staring toward the town. Burke used his finger to tip her face toward his, so she could read his lips.
“The problem with that is that whatever is gained can be lost. You can make them love you, but that love can be lost. You can end up in an endless cycle of chasing approval and love. You know exactly who and what you are. That has to be enough. Anything else is hot fudge on the sundae.”
She wound her fist in his cozy shirt—where did he find such comfy cotton—and gave it a tug. “I love hot fudge.”
His smile turned a little soft again. She braced herself, because soft smile didn’t always equal soft words with him, but this time it did. “I know you do. Come to the attic with me. I need your opinion on stuff.”
She trotted dutifully behind, not knowing what to anticipate. In the last few weeks, she and Burke had settled into an odd sort of roommate relationship. He didn’t pay her rent, but she’d noticed several small repairs he’d made around the place. He ate her food, which probably put the balance of the arrangement in her corner, but in truth she always made too much. Having him nearby to hoover up the leftovers had saved her from foisting things on Brody or stuffing her freezer. And, dare she admit, it was nice having someone around. Georgette hadn’t realized she was lonely, or if she had, she hadn’t realized the extent of her loneliness. Having always been a loner, she thought she was comfortable with only herself as a companion. But having Burke in her orbit had been unexpectedly fortifying. If she realized something was broken in the inn, she told Burke. Not only did it take a little stress off her shoulders to be able to share that burden, but she had confidence he would add it to the list of repairs he kept.
If she were being honest, she also enjoyed the altruistic aspect of their arrangement. Whatever his issue, Burke seemed to be going through something at the moment. Though he hadn’t said as much, Georgie got the sense he was both homeless and jobless, mostly because he’d arrived with a couple of duffle bags and hadn’t gone to work since he showed up. It was nice to help someone down on his luck, even if she never got anything in return. The fact that he'd been taking care of little repairs was, well, hot fudge, in her mind. It had been so helpful and comforting to have him there that she didn’t really care if he never followed through and touched the attic, which made it even more shocking when she stepped into the attic and saw the space completely transformed.
“You cleaned it,” she blurted. The lack of dirt, dust, and mouse detritus was her first clue that something was different. The next was the lumber framing everywhere.
“It was either clean it or get the plague, and I swore to myself I’d never succumb again, after last time,” he said. He picked up a rag and absently wiped his hands, as if still trying to rid himself of the space’s former grit.
“How did you do this?” How had he not only cleaned out the space but brought in all the lumber and assembled it, without her notice.
“You get really in the zone, when you’re busy,” he said.
That was true, plus it wasn’t as if she would have heard him moving around, sawing, or hammering things. But still. Did it bother her that he had done something so monumental, without her awareness? On some level, but more than that, she was impressed. He was more than a handyman; he was a full-on contractor.
“I thought you’d want to have input, before it’s too late,” Burke said.
“Everything is already framed,” she noted.
“It can be un-framed. That’s easy to move. Drywall would be harder, plus plumbing. I haven’t started on that yet, so speak now or forever hold it, no pun intended.” He walked forward a few steps. “This is where I think the bathroom should go, with a shower, tub, and double sinks.”
“All this?” she said, spinning slowly in the framed space. “It’s so big.”
“It won’t look that big, with all the stuff in here.”
Georgie swallowed hard.
“What? You don’t like it?”
Of course Burke would go from oblivious to observant and chatty, when she wanted to remain silent. “Of course I like it, it’s amazing. Or it will be, when it’s finished. But, Burke, I can’t afford any of this.” She motioned around. The lumber alone must have cost a small fortune, to say nothing of the coming plumbing, electrical, and drywall costs.
“I told you to let me worry about that,” he said. “I’m not paying rent, remember.”
“I’m not completely ignorant of construction costs. This has to be way more than rent.”
He sighed. “Georgie, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You have to make an itemized list of your expenditures and let me make up the difference, after whatever you’d be paying in rent,” she said.
He looked at her with something she couldn’t interpret. It was intense and almost…pleading? “I have some money,” he began slowly.
“You shouldn’t have to use your money on my inn. I’m not rich, but I’m not completely destitute. You have to let me help you.”
He put out a hand, resting it on her forearm to halt her. “You didn’t let me finish. I have some money, but what I don’t have is a home, a place to go. Being with you here…” he trailed off, eyes darting away. “It sucks less than other places.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling hot and cold and squeamish, all at once. How could she say no to that? She, who had also searched for a place to belong, could never deny a fellow outcast. “Okay. I like this bathroom arrangement, but it needs a linen closet.”
“How about here, behind the door,” he suggested.
“I like that,” she agreed, nodding. Her gaze fell on the blow up mattress he’d been using, the only furniture in the room. She twisted her fingers together, feeling guilty. “You know, Burke, you’re welcome to move downstairs, to a real bed. The inn is almost never full.”
“I like my space, and I like it up here.”
“We should at least move a real bed up here.” She’d have to buy a new bed, but it was the least she could do for him.
“Georgie.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fuss over me, I’m fine. I like things spartan. Eventually there will be a bed and other furniture up here. For now it’s less stuff to have to maneuver around, when I’m working.”
His hand on her shoulder felt heavy, but also warm and comforting. Georgie had to make herself not lean into it. Apparently she was hungrier for physical affection than she realized. How odd that it was now coming from Burke, of all people.
“Do you want me to make you some cocoa?” she offered, peering almost shyly up at him, as he loomed over her.
“You don’t have to fuss over me,” he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.
“I like to fuss,” she confessed, as if it were a big secret.
He studied her a few beats and gave a little nod. “Okay, cocoa it is. But only if you defrost some of those sugar cookies you keep in the freezer.”
“Would I serve my hobo cocoa without cookies?” she said.
“Only if the cocoa were laced with poison,” he said.
“If it is, I promise you’ll never know,” she said and led the way down to the kitchen.