Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
G eorgette couldn’t stop thinking about Burke’s revelation. Her soft heart pictured a younger Burke, alone with the weight of his mother’s narcissism or mental illness. He must have felt so helpless. The fact that he’d managed to escape, to make something of himself and become his own man was nothing short of a miracle. And yet he was alone, like her. No wonder they worked so well in her inn of quirky outcasts, they both knew what it was to live in isolation.
After revealing so much of himself and his past, he had naturally retreated, but Georgette didn’t take it as a rejection. Growing up with a mother who allowed him no space or retreat, she knew it was important for him to have that and to test the boundaries of their friendship by occasionally backing off and hiding behind the walls he’d constructed for his safety. Perhaps more than anyone else, Georgie understood because she had the same sort of walls. Hers were sometimes perceived as flippant nonchalance, but that was only because she had taught herself to smile through the rejection, to turn her attention to other things, as if she didn’t care or need the acceptance of others. But of course she did, and Burke did, too, even if he didn’t know or admit it.
So she let him retreat and find the space he needed, but she didn’t give up on him completely. She still set out food for him and, like a feral cat, he showed up to eat. He showed up for other things, too, she noted. Even if he didn’t talk, he arrived whenever she needed something heavy carried or lifted or reached. And he continued to work steadily on the inn, chipping away little things she’d let slide, like sagging windows and the Big Bird-shaped water stain in the hallway. Slowly, bit by bit, her inn didn’t look so derelict and neglected anymore. While not fancy, it had the air of a place that was well cared for and well maintained. Georgette didn’t realize how much weight had eased off her chest since Burke’s arrival, but how could it not? He took care of everything she didn’t know how to do, silently and without complaint. If there was such a thing as a stealth handyman, everyone should have one.
“What are you doing?” he asked, startling her. She hadn’t heard him approach, of course. He gently touched her hand to alert her of his presence, but because she hadn’t expected him to appear—let alone speak—the touch acted as an electrical shock. She jumped. He raised his brows at her in question.
“You scared me,” she said, placing her hand over her heart to try and stop its erratic thump.
“What are you doing?” he repeated, ignoring the part where he’d nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Staring forlornly at my Christmas tree,” she said.
“Any particular reason.”
She sighed. “No.”
He nudged her, urging for the truth. She batted his hand away but answered. “It’s stupid.”
“Probably, but I want to hear it anyway,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose up at him. “You get more like my brother every day.”
“You love your brother,” he noted.
She faced the tree again, a confusing swirl in her chest. Did he want her to love him? In a brotherly fashion? She didn’t think of him that way. Then again, she had no idea how to think of him. He was just Burke. “I was thinking about the AnneMarie .”
“The boat that brought the pilgrims?” he asked.
He was clearly joking, because if there was one thing she’d learned about Burke, it was that he was insanely brilliant.
“The inn at the end of this street,” she said, tone bleak.
“Ah, the competition,” he said, nodding.
“They’re not my competition,” she wailed. “In order for them to be competition, I’d have to be in the same caliber. Is a mouse competition for a tiger? No. And they’re really nice about everything, whenever I see them. I keep expecting them to give me a pat on the head someday. Her little inn, it’s cute how she tries.” She motioned around the interior.
“What’s wrong with your inn?” he asked somewhat defensively.
“Nothing,” she exclaimed.
He blinked at her. “Are you having a mental breakdown? Do you need a hug?” Hugs were the only thing he felt he’d mastered, the only thing that seemed to work, no matter the problem.
Georgie nodded and eased closer. He hugged her, rubbing his hand up and down her back a couple of times until she took a deep breath and let out a bit of the tension inside her. Then he tipped her face up so she could read his lips.
“What is the problem? Explain it like I’m five. Or like I’m a guy who has no idea how your girl brain functions.”
“The AnneMarie is owned by a conglomerate of investors from…I don’t even know where they’re from. But they own a ton of inns up and down the coast and they have endless amounts of money to pump into their events and decorations.” She motioned to the tree behind her again.
Burke glanced at it, searching for clues. He found none. “Keep going, I’m still lost.”
“This tree,” she said.
He looked at the tree again. “It looks fine, like every other Christmas tree I’ve seen.”
“Yes, exactly,” she said, nodding. “It’s a perfectly fine tree, and I shouldn’t complain, I know I shouldn’t. But sometimes something evil inside of me logs on to the AnneMarie’s website and looks at their pictures. Do you know they had a professional holiday decorator do their inn?”
“That’s a thing?” he interjected.
“If you’re rich enough, everything is a thing.” She fiddled on her phone and flipped it to face him, showing him what was presumably the AnneMarie. And she was right, it looked like Christmas threw up all over their lobby, a mass of trees and garlands and lights that must have cost a small fortune and an army of people to execute. “I know it’s whiny and petty, and I swear to you most of the time I don’t care. Most years I look at their decorations, and it’s like pressing my nose against the glass, seeing things in the store window I know I’ll never have. But this year is the winter festival and people are going to go to both inns, and because I’m doing dessert, my inn is last. Which means they’re going to go there, and then they’re going to come here and…” she motioned to the tree again.
He looked at the tree, trying to see it with fresh eyes. To him it still looked fine; homespun, simple, and tasteful, much like Georgie herself. It was a touchable tree, unlike the pristine fancy ones at the other place. He didn’t know how to tell Georgie that, though. “This is a real person’s tree, the kind that would look good with popcorn and cranberry garlands. The kind little kids are allowed to touch and help decorate. Those other trees, they’re magazine trees, for looks only.”
She tipped her head, regarding the tree with the filter of his words. “I like that,” she said, but her smile looked sad. She spun in a slow circle around the inn. “It’s not that I want to be someone else, it’s that I wish I could afford to be more of who I already am. I don’t have the money or the time or the manpower to make this place look the way I want it to. And I just don’t…” she trailed off and swallowed hard, but she didn’t need to finish because he got it.
She didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of the townspeople she was so desperate to impress. She didn’t want anyone to look down on her or, worse, pity her. She wanted to dazzle them, to finally make them see her and her abilities.
“Absolutely no one can compete with your food,” he said, which he thought was a really good, encouraging thing to say, but she shook her head, looking sad again.
“The AnneMarie is bringing in a staff of chefs from Portland for their course.”
“Georgie, maybe they have more people, but they don’t have more talent or more heart.”
“I wish that counted for as much in real life as it does in the movies,” she said, swiping at the one little tear that leaked out of the corner of one eye. “Because the thing is, Burke, I’ve had talent and heart my whole life, and it hasn’t mattered at all.”
“Georgie,” he began, tone pleading.
She held up a hand to ward him away. “It’s fine, forget it. I’m done with my pity party, okay? I still have a ton of work to do, and I’ll get it done. I made the mistake of pausing my exhaustion and felt overwhelmed for a minute. It’s fine.”
Burke felt like he had another epiphany, similar to the one he’d had the first time he hugged her and it worked to make her stop crying. When she says she’s fine, she’s actually not fine. If that were true, why would she say she was fine?
“You’re squinting at me in confusion,” she noted. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” he tried, borrowing a page from her book.
She nodded, willing to accept that as an answer. Maybe “fine” didn’t mean the opposite of horrible; maybe “fine” meant “it’s too complex and I don’t feel like talking about it at the moment.”
“Why don’t you take a break and do something not work tonight? You’re going to kill yourself.”
She let out another of those heavy sighs. They’d been her constant companion since the whole winter festival nonsense began. Burke felt like Georgie was putting too much weight on the event, but the last thing she wanted was his opinion on the matter. Instead he’d been in stealth mode, trying to lighten her burden by doing all the little things that needed done, unasked.
“You’re right. Maybe we should go out,” she suggested.
He froze. “We? Out?”
“Are you going to make me go out on my own?” she countered, hands on hips.
“Going out is so normal ,” he said, with a shudder.
Maybe he was right. It was a lot to ask someone who had no experience with socialization to go out and socialize. On the other hand, how would he ever learn if he never left the inn? “We could meet Cotton and Elyse for supper. Supper is casual, because you have something to do. And you would automatically know two thirds of the other people in attendance. And you like Elyse.”
He could see the pleading in her eyes and it gutted him. “Okay,” he agreed and was rewarded with another hug. Was this one for him or her? Maybe both, he thought as he returned it.
T here was really only one place to go in town, if you wanted a halfway decent meal. And while technically also a bar, things didn’t begin to heat up until most families went to bed. Until then it functioned as a greasy spoon restaurant, rundown and with a bit too much honky-tonk over the speakers. Georgie didn’t go often, both because she never had any reason to go and because the loud, dim interior made it hard to read lips. But Burke was also pushing his boundaries tonight, and she could, too. And, really, she was looking forward to a night out with her friends. She had never seen either of them as happy as they were when they were with each other, and their happiness was contagious. At least it felt that way to her. Neither Burke nor Brody seemed overly affected by it. Georgie hadn’t been friends with Elyse as long as she had known Cotton, but seeing him so warm, soft, and in love made something glow inside her. A reflection of his happiness or a hope for her own? She couldn’t say. All she knew was that it made her feel good to be near them. Usually.
Tonight was different somehow, and she couldn’t put her hand on what the difference might be. It couldn’t be them. They were the same as always, attentive and caring toward each other, without being icky. It wasn’t the sort of new love that oozed onto everything around it, rather it was the hard earned love story of two people who had been put through the wringer of life and come out on the other side. They valued their relationship because they remembered what life was like without it. It was a mature romance, vastly different from Cotton’s previous love-em-and-leave-em lifestyle. The loving glances and touches he tossed toward Elyse were seamless, as if he didn’t realize his body and eyes gravitated toward her. She was his center, and he couldn’t not align with her. And maybe that was the problem tonight, because it highlighted the fact that Gerogie didn’t have a center and therefore had nowhere to gravitate.
Her eyes rested on Burke, assessing. He was quiet, but not necessarily unfriendly, more wary and taking it all in. But unlike the two people across from them, his hand didn’t rest on Georgie’s leg. His eyes didn’t make contact with hers, his lips didn’t whisper secrets or brush her ear when he helped her with her coat.
“What?” he demanded. “Something on my nose?” He began to furiously swipe at it.
“No,” she said, facing forward and trying not to sound as dejected as she felt. Why did she feel dejected? It wasn’t as if she and Burke were a couple; they were friends, and only that in the most roundabout way, by necessity. Outside of near-daily hugs, he hadn’t attempted to touch her and had certainly never tried to kiss her. And she was fine with that, absolutely fine, because she had her online “boyfriend.” She shouldn’t feel disappointed right now and couldn’t quite figure out why she did, unless it was because she had convinced herself that there was something between her and Burke, a special sort of intimacy that existed only for them. And now that she saw that same sort of intimacy in action between Cotton and Elyse, she knew for certain she didn’t belong. But did she want that sort of intimacy with Burke specifically or with anyone? Had loneliness made her desperate?
That was a dark, unhappy thought.
“Elyse, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” Burke asked. Noting Georgie’s surprised reaction, he added, “Work stuff. Classified.”
Georgie moved aside so he could exit and watched while Elyse put her coat on and followed him out of the building. When she turned back around, Cotton was watching her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and then reached for a peanut from the communal bowl on the table and cracked it open, tossing it in his mouth like she’d seen him do countless times. Georgette had never been able to read books where the girl fell for her brother’s best friend. The thought was too gross and she couldn’t understand it. Not that Cotton was repulsive, far from it. He was objectively attractive. But he was just Cotton. They had an amicable relationship, one where they teased each other gently. But she had never, not for one iota of a second, harbored even an inkling of attraction to him. He was too closely allied with her brother in her mind for the thought to be anything less than repugnant. But they did have a long history and a lot of years between them, and that had given him a higher level of comfort and rapport than she felt for most people. He wasn’t like her big brother, but he was big brother adjacent. There was no name for what she felt for him, but it was comfortable and safe, more so since he’d started dating her good friend.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I’m losing my mind.” She stared down at the peanut bowl. The fact that she contemplated eating one was proof positive of her pending insanity. She hated peanuts in the shell, more so if they were shared by the public.
Cotton tapped the table in front of her to get her attention. He’d had so many years of communicating with her that he was a seasoned pro at accommodating her hearing loss. She glanced up into his eyes and saw concern that made a warm little glow inside her, and she smiled. “I’m glad you’re happy,” she said sincerely.
He smiled. “Me, too. Worried about you, though. What’s up, Georgie?” He cracked and tossed another peanut.
“I don’t know, Cotton. Existential dread, maybe. Or tired. It’s been a lot, prepping for the winter festival.” She rested her chin in her hand, the weight of exhaustion threatening to drag her under. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she felt totally unprepared for the festival, and she knew everyone would judge her and her inn for what it lacked, especially in comparison to the AnneMarie. She didn’t want to be the type of person who compared and came up lacking, but here she was.
“What’s going on with your whack job tenant?” He wagged his brows.
“He’s not a whack job,” she snapped. Even though she knew he was teasing her, she couldn’t seem to resist taking the bait. “Elyse likes him,” she pointed out.
“It’s not like her judgement is all that trustworthy,” he said, pointing to himself as an example.
“Touché,” she agreed. “To answer your question, nothing is going on. We’re friends, I guess, or something like it. He helps me out around the inn a lot. He’s freakishly handy.” She stared down at the shells again, thinking of everything she still needed to do for the festival. Maybe coming out tonight was a mistake. Maybe she should have stayed home and tried to rework her decorations.
“He can’t keep his eyes off you,” Cotton said, and Georgie’s eyes bugged.
“What?” she gasped. That couldn’t be true, could it? She wasn’t dense; she would know if Burke stared at her. Wouldn’t she?
“He’s sneaky about it, does it without getting caught. I mean, Georgie, he is a spy.”
He had a point there, and she knew Burke was good at sneaking. “He doesn’t give me any usable signals,” Georgie lamented.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how,” Cotton said. “Not everyone is born suave.” He kissed his bicep. She feigned a gag.
“I see we’ve reached the portion of the evening where Cotton kisses his biceps,” Elyse said. She checked her watch. “Hmm, ten minutes ahead of schedule.”
“Without you here, I needed something else to kiss,” he said, standing to let her in the booth.
She groaned, but leaned down to kiss him, and it was adorable. Georgie glanced at Burke with an expression of, Can you believe these two, but he was watching Cotton and Elyse with an expression of someone who had no idea what was going on. Georgie thought of what Cotton had suggested. Maybe he doesn’t know how. Why had that never occurred to her before? Why had she taken his inexperience as a sign of his disinterest? Furthermore, did she want his interest?
“So, Burke, Brody said you came to him with some interesting questions the other day,” Cotton said. He was a good foil for Brody because where Brody was cautious and careful, Cotton went in with a full head of steam and blurted the first thing on his mind. In his younger days, he’d been a hothead. Now he was merely forthright, and Georgie liked that about him. The beauty of being surrounded by people you’d known your whole life was that you got to see the person they turned into, once all their rough edges and immature indiscretions fell away.
Burke nodded once in agreement. For him that was the equivalent of an entire paragraph.
“I can give you my thoughts, but they all come from gut feelings, something Brody would never volunteer. I heard you visited the Pelletier’s maple farm. Let me tell you my two cents: Jenna Archer’s father would have sold his daughter’s kidney, if he thought he could make a profit and get away with it. The old man never met a nickel he didn’t admire. And from everything I know about Jenna, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“You think she’s into something illegal?” Georgie asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Cotton said. “I haven’t heard so much as a whisper about anything illegal going on out there. But would it shock me, if she was?” He shook his head.
“What about the husband?” Burke asked.
“Dumb as dirt, but a nice guy,” Cotton said.
“You’d have to be pretty dumb to hitch your wagon to Jenna,” Elyse muttered, staring disconsolately into her cup. She’d been a favorite target of Jenna’s in high school.
“Does high school ever end?” Georgie mused. She felt like she still carried the scars from those years, still dealt with the ostracism.
“It does if you never went in the first place,” Burke noted. For some reason that made everyone at the table laugh, and the heavy moment was forgotten.