Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
M aine winters were notoriously long, and Georgie usually felt bereft with only her erstwhile brother for a companion. Generally his company was bestowed only on Sunday brunch, like a visit from a circuit preacher, leaving her with a lot of isolated free time to fill. Between those visits, Georgie had filled her time with testing recipes. Not only was it her favorite hobby, but it became practical when she opened the inn. That first winter, she spent a solid month developing the very best hot chocolate on planet earth, or so she believed. And everyone who tasted it agreed, even Brody, who pretended to be above such things.
She had spent days balancing the chocolate ratio, (sixty percent bitter, forty percent milk), combining different milks (whole, half and half, and heavy cream), along with other various additions, finally settling on a touch of honey and a generous pinch of salt as her secret additions. It was perfectly thick and rich, the right amount of sweet, and oh, so cozy. That was why it pleased her to see the staid and steady Burke wrap his hands around his mug, as if he were suddenly transformed into a Hallmark heroine.
“What?” he asked, noting her amused smile as she watched him.
“Nothing,” she said, knowing he would not share the joke, even if she let him in on it.
They sipped and munched cookies in companionable silence, until his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, frowned at the message, and shoved it away without answering.
“Your girlfriend?” Georgie probed, not certain she wanted the answer. Was Burke dating someone? She didn’t like the thought of that, and she didn’t know why, except that she felt oddly possessive about him. He was her hobo, no one else’s.
His brows rose. “You think I have a girlfriend?”
Her brows rose. “Do you?”
He shook his head. “It was my mom.” He took another sip of cocoa.
Her brows rose higher. “You have a mom?”
“Did I give you the impression I was hatched or cloned?” he asked, but he seemed almost cheered by the prospect.
“No, I guess I never gave you a backstory. You’re The Burke, and you live in my attic, the end.”
“That’s about the gist of it. But I do, in fact, have a mother.”
“Are you close?”
He let out a little breath and set aside his—empty—cocoa mug. “It’s complicated.”
“With your mom?” she asked.
“Isn’t family always complicated?” he returned.
“Are you close to your dad?”
He shook his head. “My dad took off when I was five.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He gave a helpless shrug. “He was a longshoreman. It was probably never a safe bet, and he had already been gone for long stretches before that. My memories of him are more of a vague impression.”
She didn’t respond, in case he wanted to say more. To her surprise, he did.
“My mom kind of fell apart after that, became really anxious and fearful of everything. She thought it would be better to homeschool me, to keep me away from danger.”
“That must have been lonely,” she said gently, sensing what he left unsaid. It sounded as if his mother had put him in a bubble and isolated him from the real world.
Burke tipped his head. “I wouldn’t say it was lonely. I think I was probably always the type to live in my head and prefer my own company. But it was…stilting. I didn’t develop the kind of skills other people do, relational, etcetera.” He motioned vaguely toward her, as if she had the market on relationships.
She pointed to her ears. “Spent my life in isolation. You’re barking up the wrong tree, if you think I have good people skills.”
He tipped his head as if to say, Touché.
Georgie stood and refilled his mug with the remainder of the cocoa. “I wanted to be with people, to have relationships, though. Did you?”
He waited to answer until she sat down, so she could see his lips. “I don’t know how to answer that. Can you want what you’ve never had? But as I got older, my mother’s love began to feel stifling. What I wanted, more than anything, was to be my own man. I think in her mind I would stay with her forever.”
“That’s very Norman Bates,” Georgie interjected.
“It started to feel like that a little. The isolation formed me into this person.” He waved a hand in front of his own face now. “But it did worse things to my mom, made her shift from anxious to paranoid. By the time I was in high school, she was really unhealthy. I recognized the need to get away, for my own mental health and safety.”
“Even with that recognition, I bet it wasn’t easy,” she said gently.
He stared at his mug and gave his head a little shake. “It wasn’t. There were a few rough years there. But now my mom lives in an assisted living village where she has taken some strides toward friendship again. She does a few activities a week and she walks around the neighborhood with a friend. I can’t say she’s a hundred percent, because she’s still really anxious. But having more social contact stops her from veering into actual insanity.”
“How is your relationship with her now?” Georgie asked.
“A little more typical, I think. She wants me to come to see her, bugs me to get married and provide grandchildren, things like that.” He rolled his eyes.
She smiled, but it was also tinged with sadness. She would give almost anything to have her mother there to bug her about those things. But, as she learned long ago, her sadness didn’t preclude anyone else’s happiness. She pushed away her grief, choosing not to deal with it or dwell, at the present moment.
“Are you close to giving her those things?” she asked.
“I’m as close to giving her a grandchild as she is to giving me a sibling,” he said, and it was unfortunate timing, as Georgette had just taken a sip of her cocoa and had to press her hand to her mouth to avoid spewing.
“That’s quite the visual,” she eventually choked. “Hey, before I forget to tell you, I have a full house this weekend. A bachelorette getaway.”
“I know,” Burke said.
She tipped her head. “How do you know?”
“I peeped your records and sent them to my phone, so I’d always have a heads up.”
“So, so incredibly inappropriate, creepy, and invasive,” Georgie said, shaking her head.
“It’s an attic hobo’s prerogative to always be current on events,” Burke said, untroubled. “In any case, it doesn’t matter because I won’t be here.”
“Because people will be here? You’re really going to go away?”
“As opposed to, what, haunting my attic space? Should I stay and drag some heavy chains around?”
“Wouldn’t matter to me, I can’t hear it anyway,” she said.
He chuckled. “Tempting as that sounds, I have a work thing.”
“I thought you didn’t have a job,” she accused.
“I’m a consultant. I work when I want,” he said.
She bit her lip, certain he was only taking a job because he needed money, and also certain that he needed money because he was funding her attic renovation. He tapped the table between them, snagging her attention.
“Why the pouty lip?” he demanded.
“I feel bad.”
“To chase me out of my attic hideout with strangers? You should.”
“No, that level of social aversion is on you. I feel bad that you have to work because all your money is going to my decrepit inn.” She bit her lip again.
Burke gave her a wry smile. “Georgette, don’t worry about it. I told you I have savings. I work when I want and only take the jobs I want. Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”
“No, I will not tell you my secret cocoa recipe,” she deadpanned and it coaxed an actual laugh out of him.
“You’re assuming I don’t already have it. Remember I snooped.”
“It’s not written down,” she said, tapping her temple.
“What makes you believe I haven’t snooped your thoughts?” he asked, and she was suddenly reminded that he was part of the spy network, at least peripherally. That begged another question: exactly what had his job been? How did he know Elyse? Had he been a spy? Was he still?
“What’s your question?” she asked, more serious than she first intended.
“Do you really like having so many strangers in your space all the time?”
Her frown lines grew deeper. “Sometimes.”
“And other times?” he pressed.
“It’s a lot, trying to do it all myself. I think I’d enjoy it more if I had some help or a buffer. When I have people in my actual home, sharing my spaces with them, while acting as hostess, housekeeper, and cook? Yeah, it’s a lot.” She paused, debating if she wanted to say more, and then went for it. “I wanted to open a café.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“People, but in a different way. I was…afraid.”
“Of what?” he asked, eyes narrowing in that way they did whenever she mentioned something people did that hurt her feelings. Was Burke actually protective of her? Signs pointed to yes, though she couldn’t fathom why. Maybe common decency, an inability to stomach seeing the little guy get bullied.
“Of not being able to handle so many interactions. Sometimes it’s hard to follow along, during rapid fire conversations. Or when things get tense, busy, or heated. I sort of have to ease out of the conversation and observe for a while, to get my bearings. But you can’t do that when you’re a business owner or employer, and especially not in the middle of rush hour on a busy morning. Plus there’s all the background noise: conversations, the griddle, timers, music, the register. It seems too overwhelming.” She sat back, looking young and vulnerable in a way that neither of them liked. Georgie was soft and cute, but she was also a spitfire, and Burke liked her that way. He couldn’t stand to think of her as wounded or afraid, not when she’d worked so hard and come so far.
“It’s not too late. You could do both,” Burke suggested.
She shook her head vaguely. “It’s fine. I am happy here. I love my inn, and I wouldn’t want to leave it. There’s so much history. Some of these pieces are original to the house.”
“You lost me. I literally couldn’t care less about antiques,” he said. “Or stuff in general, really. I’m fine with everything I own fitting in a tote bag.”
“I can’t say I’m a collector, but I do think it’s kind of cool to be surrounded by history. Plus it’s aesthetically pleasing. Elyse says the videos she posts where I do tours of the inn are some of my most watched clips.”
She couldn’t fail to notice his grimace. “What?” she pressed.
“You have no idea who could be watching those videos, gathering intel on you,” he warned.
Georgie couldn’t stop herself from snorting. “Intel on me? Here’s my intel: I’m a hearing impaired orphaned pastry chef who owns an inn. That’s it, that’s the extent. If they want any of that, they’re welcome to it.”
Burke didn’t reply, but he couldn’t seem to tamp down the ball of discomfort in his gut. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Georgie was vulnerable. There were men who preyed on women like her, women who had possessions, were unattached, and had some sort of disability that put them at a disadvantage. “Just be careful,” he groused, suddenly uncomfortable with leaving her alone while he was on his work assignment.
If his thoughts weren’t troubled, he might have noticed Georgie’s conspicuous silence. She had been careful not to give too much information to her internet boyfriend; she wasn’t a moron. But the more time went on and she got to know Burke, she felt bad about not confessing her online relationship. Along with Brody and Elyse, he was now on the list of people she felt were owed an explanation.
On the other hand, it was only some online back and forth, not like they’d ever met in real life, or even had plans to. Was there any purpose in telling anyone, if nothing was actually going on?
While Georgie reviewed her situation, Burke’s mind turned to work. There were things he needed to tell Georgette, for her safety, if nothing else. But he didn’t want to, and the longer time went on, the harder confession became.
Soon, they both thought, each regarding the other. I’ll talk about it soon.