Chapter Twenty-Seven No One Compares
“ I think I’d forgotten what it was like to be happy. To do nothing and like it.” I stroke Georgia’s hair as she leans against my chest. The sun is high over the valley. We’re up in the little stone tower that marks French Azilum, the land that was supposed to give Marie Antoinette and any fleeing French nobles a safe haven in Pennsylvania. The story is tragic. The view is magnificent.
A few motorists pull over to take pictures, but no one bothers us in the tower where we eat our sandwiches, squeezed into the window of the half-story turret. It’s not much of a tower, I suppose. More like a lookout post.
Georgia snuggles into me and finishes the last bite of her sandwich. “We’re eating lunch. That’s something.”
“Smarty pants.”
“With the right person, you can do nothing and it’s the best thing ever.”
I kiss her forehead. “You’re right.” It’s obvious to me that I’ve got the better end of the bargain. How could anyone be gloomy for long around Georgia? But I’m still dubious that it’s equal. “You feel like that around me?” I ask.
“Duh. It’s like... It’s like I suddenly own all the good feelings I wasn’t even sure existed.” She looks up at me, blue eyes twinkling.
I make someone happy. Can I keep it up? What would make her happy next week, next month, next year?
So far it seems that I’m enough. Everything she dreams of—a family, a life with a solid partner, a business that thrives—I dream of those things, too.
“How far is the hotel from here?” she asks.
We’re both dreaming about that , too...
“Not far at all. We have time to go for a walk.” Is it wrong of me to want to rush to the hotel just to claim her? Would it be better for us to couple for the first time at night, well fed and able to rest after?
“Okay!” Georgia bounces up and I spring with her, lightness in my heart matching our steps.
Inside, I’m still fretting just a wee bit. I never worried this much on my wedding night with Nicola, and now I’m wondering if that was foolishness on my part. If I had worried more from the start, would I have been the husband she needed?
“Whatcha thinking about?” Georgia takes me along the trail that perches atop the valley. The path is barely wide enough for two, and I don’t like her walking on it. What if she falls? I can’t lose her.
“I’m thinking about you.” That much is true without sounding melancholy.
“I’m thinking about you, too.” Georgia turns and kisses me. “We could walk around the town instead? I know there’s this little ice cream shop not too far from the college.”
My head bobs eagerly, glad to get off this trail—and glad to get closer to the hotel room.
What if it’s not romantic enough? I have candles. Should I have packed champagne? I worry about impaired senses and judgment. I can buy champagne in the town, probably.
“Douglas. You’re grinding your teeth,” Georgia whispers as we climb back in the car. “I thought you were all happy and content. Now, you’re on your way to a busted molar and a night guard.”
“I dinnae bring champagne or flowers,” I confess in a tight hiss, jaws locked.
“Oh. We don’t need that! We just need to be together.” Georgia holds my hand. “Honey, we have each other! Like... I want it to be special, but it’s special because I’m with you, not because you buy flowers. I’ve never heard any woman, ever, say that the bouquet of flowers her boyfriend gave her caused an orgasm.”
I snort with laughter, but a frown settles on my face. Boyfriend is a nice enough word, but I suddenly dislike it. Mate. Husband. Permanent bonds, those are how I want my love for Georgia to be described. That’s how I want our relationship recognized.
“What would you say if all I had to wear tonight was an old sports bra and a pair of sweatpants? Or nothing at all?” Georgia challenges.
“For one, you’d look adorable and fetching in the first option and better than any lingerie in the second,” I growl softly as I put the car in drive, lust fueling my imagination. I can picture Georgia trotting down the stairs, puttering about in my kitchen with her bare middle showing, wearing baggy sweatpants that begged me to slide my hand in and get a good feel of her sweet peach. And in nothing?
“Lingerie makes it fun to unwrap,” Georgia says with the easy confidence that I love so much. “But you don’t stop wanting me or loving me without it. Do you?”
There’s a little tremor of anxiousness in her voice, and I soothe her like she soothes me. “None can compare to you, my love. For me, there is no finer sight.”
Georgia stares at me, lips parted and eyes shining. “Robert Burns? Browning? Ultarn the Prolific?”
“No, love. Douglas Wickstaff, to his mate on the night of their first bedding,” I murmur, kissing her hand.
Georgia scoots over as far as the car will allow, clinging to my arm. “I never thought you’d get here,” she finally whispers, voice thick. “No wonder I love you so hard, so fast.” She wipes her eyes on my shoulder. “I’ve been saving all this love for you.”
I wind my arm around her back and drive slowly down the backroads into Antonia, leaving the big motorways behind. “I’m here now, pet. I’m not going to waste a second.”
We’ll go to the hotel now. We can order in a pizza and split a Coke for all I care. Georgia’s right. With the right one, the trimmings are only that, trimmings. She’s my feast, and I can’t wait to devour her properly.