Chapter 6
six
Cash
Driving. Maybe that’ll be my new Saturday morning tradition.
The new-car scent that greets me as I slide into the driver’s seat doesn’t hold a candle to that of turf or Shafer Field, but I can’t complain.
After three and a half years of sharing our dad’s old sedan with Maisy, I finally got my own wheels.
And even if the car’s nine years old and smells like some artificial spray the dealer spritzed all over the interior, it gets me fired up.
Or is that because I’m heading over to Maisy’s and I might see Georgia face-to-face for the first time since Thursday at the Phantom?
Muscle memory almost has me heading south—the direction of Shafer Field—before I catch myself.
I’ve made that drive hundreds of times, and it was always the best on Saturdays: getting pumped for a home game, riding the high of the excitement and nerves and anticipation all morning, listening to my pregame music mix on the short drive to the stadium.
I resist the urge to pull up the old playlist now.
Nostalgia’s a bitch.
Maisy’s car isn’t in the driveway of the sage-green bungalow she rents, but someone else’s is.
A little black Toyota coupe that looks freshly washed and waxed.
Georgia’s, maybe. But most girls I know don’t keep their cars sparkling clean like that in the winter, when snow and slush and road salt are a fact of life. Seems like more of a guy thing.
I swallow back the hot acid burn of jealousy searing my throat. Okay, so worst-case scenario, she has a dude over. Bet she doesn’t look at him like she looked at me.
I take the paint-peeled front steps in one stride and grab the knob but think better of trying the door without knocking now that my sister doesn’t live alone.
Instead, I rap on the frosted-glass panel and wait.
It’s only a minute before a blurred figure appears behind the glass.
Apparently my heart knows before my brain does that it’s Georgia because it kicks into gear, beating a little too hard.
The door opens, and I’m grinning before I have time to wonder if I look like a damn fool. Georgia stands there in pink leggings and a white hoodie, her mane of dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and her wary expression fades into a soft smile.
“Morning, Georgia.”
Her eyes turn shy, dropping to the ground before meeting mine again, like I’ve paid her a compliment. Fuck, when did shyness become such a turn-on?
“Cash.”
“You look beautiful today.”
“Oh god.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair.
Goddamn, how can she be bare-faced and still look as incredible as she did at the bar?
Maybe even more so because, without the makeup, I can appreciate the pale blue of her eyes and the faint freckles smudged across her pert nose.
“I’m kind of a mess right now. I’ve been sorting boxes and bins and containers and… anyway, you want to come in?”
“Sure.” I step inside, and she closes the door behind me. “Is Maisy here? We’re supposed to get food.”
“Actually, I’ve been expecting her for the last hour. She was up early to do some errands and said she’d be back to give me a ride, but I haven’t heard from her.”
A little warning light goes off in my head, an old habit. “She was supposed to be back an hour ago?” I pull out my phone and frown at the empty notification center, then look up at Georgia. “Have you heard from her?”
“No,” she says warily. “She’s not answering.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to look worried. Trying not to be worried.
Still, her brows knit together. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I blurt. “Maisy being Maisy, but you know what, why don’t I call her? She shouldn’t leave you hanging.” I’m pulling up my sister’s name on my phone before Georgia can answer.
Three long rings echo in my ear before relief hits me at the sound of Maisy’s annoyed voice. “Hi. What is it?”
“Where are you? We’re supposed to be having breakfast.”
She groans. “I know, I needed something from Special Collections at the library, and there was some mix-up with my appointment time, so I had to wait for the librarian. It was a whole thing.”
“Well, Georgia’s been waiting an hour for you. Why didn’t you answer her?”
“I didn’t realize I’d left my phone in my car. I literally just looked at it when you called. Wait, you’re at my house?”
“Obviously.”
“Can we do breakfast tomorrow? I want to grab something quick over here and finish what I need to do. And tell Georgia I’m so sorry. I’ll give her a ride as soon as I get home. Is she pissed?”
I glance at Georgia, who’s looking perfectly calm as she stacks large plastic bins in the kitchen. I can’t picture her ever being pissed.
“Yeah, super pissed. So pissed she’s smashing plates in the kitchen right now. You hear that shattering sound?”
Georgia catches my eye, and her jaw drops. “Cash!”
“Oh shit, she’s going for the wineglasses, Maisy. Fuck, I only hope she doesn’t take that knife in her hand to all your pillows next.”
I don’t hear my sister’s response because Georgia’s beautiful laugh is all I have time for.
“Okay, gotta go,” I say into the phone. “Pray for me, sister. Your new roommate’s got a mean look in her baby blues.”
When I hang up, Georgia’s covering her grin with one manicured hand. “You’re trouble.”
“Don’t cover that smile, girl. That’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.” Giving her a second to get over the embarrassment that’s plain on her cheeks, I busy myself with tucking my phone into my pocket. “Maisy apologizes and swears to make it up to you. Where was she about to give you a ride to?”
“This house over on King Street.”
I swallow and play it cool. “Whose house would that be? Found yourself a boyfriend already?”
“Long story, and I don’t know how much Maisy’s told you, but I inherited my great-aunt’s house after she died, and now I have to clean it out and get it ready for sale.”
Relief washes over me. “Yeah, okay, Maisy mentioned something about that.”
“And I have my own car, but it’s too small for all the giant boxes and bins I need to haul over there.”
So that shiny car in the driveway doesn’t belong to a dude. “Those?” Triumphant, I glance into the kitchen where she’s stacked her bins and boxes. “I got you. They’ll fit in my ride no problem.”
Lucky for me, Georgia’s a girl who doesn’t take much convincing, because fifteen minutes later, she’s in my passenger seat, her sunny, citrus scent driving me mad.
“This is it, the one on the corner,” she says, pointing to a gorgeous old Queen Anne Victorian house that I’ve probably passed hundreds of times.
“This one?” I pull into the driveway. “Shit. Talk about an inheritance.”
“Think so? It looks like it’s about to crumble to the ground.”
We get out of the car, and I gaze up at the house.
What an absolute gem, with detail and craftsmanship covering every inch.
It’s a three-story with a wraparound porch, domed turret, and fish scale shingles in shades of teal and aqua.
The paint is peeling everywhere, and the gingerbread trim running the roofline of the porch needed intervention a decade ago, but the bones are incredible.
“Nah, all it needs is fresh paint and some of the wood trim replaced. Come on, I’ll get these boxes inside for you. ”
Georgia only asked me to drop her off, but as soon as she opens the front door to let me in, I know I’m not leaving anytime soon.
“Damn,” I say as I move from a small penny-tiled vestibule and take in the grand foyer.
From the floor to the ceiling, the woodwork is unreal.
Herringbone parquet floors sit at the base of a carved oak staircase, stained-glass windows frame the marble fireplace, and the most gorgeous stick-and-ball fretwork I’ve ever seen decorates the wide doorway between the vestibule and the foyer.
I glance up, my attention hooking on the work of art above my head.
“Whoa, this chandelier?” It’s an empire-style masterpiece of crystal beading and bronze and is probably worth thousands.
“You like it? I was thinking of replacing it.”
I groan and slap a hand over my chest. “You’re breaking my heart. Why would you do that?”
“Look. It’s all tarnished and discolored, the beading’s loose, and it’s missing some crystals.”
“I’ll give her a makeover, don’t you worry.” Curiosity gets the better of me, and I crane my neck to peek down the hallway. “What are you doing living in Maisy’s cramped little spare bedroom when you own this place? Can I take a look around?”
Georgia’s eyebrows jump before she schools her expression and nods. “Be my guest.”
Strolling from room to room on the first floor, I geek out about the architecture while Georgia follows, clearly amused. The place is furnished, though everything is old, battered, dusty, or some combination thereof, but every room is a discovery in craftsmanship.
“Look at that crown molding,” I marvel as we stand in the dining room. “And those pocket doors? I’m telling you, Georgia, they don’t make houses like this anymore.”
“I guess I see what you mean.” She reaches out to touch the brass handle on one of the doors. “It is beautiful. It’s just so old and probably needs more repairs than I’m even aware of. Not exactly move-in ready.”
“For people who love old homes and all their charm? This place is a gem. You sure you want to sell it?”
“Oh, for sure. I’m only here in Shafer until graduation, so I have no use for it.”
“Where are you going after that?”
She shrugs. “Back home to New Jersey to find a job and get back to my old life.”
“You still have family there?”
“No. My grandmother passed away a few years ago.”
I give her time to say more, then add, “Friends?”
Her eyes linger on mine for a second before she directs them to the doorway. Another shrug. “Do you want to go upstairs?”
Of course she didn’t mean it the way I wish she did, yet my brain takes a quick turn toward dirty anyway. I clear my throat and try to seem like a gentleman. “Yep.”