Chapter 7 #2
“After we appeared”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“I decided to do some stress-relieving baking as we put things together. You only had gluten free ingredients in your cabinets, which I used for the muffins. But thank you for letting me know it’s a dietary restriction versus a preference.
” He juts his chin toward Jackson. “Now, there’s a lot to process, so let’s get to it. ”
And that’s what we do. I sit, my fingers curled tight around my Book Men v.
Real Men mug—the irony not lost on me—and peer between each man that claims a different part of the apartment.
Owen sits beside me, his expression warm, offering periodic reassuring pats on my thigh.
Lars leans against the windowsill, his arms crossed and his gaze moving between Jackson and me.
Jackson almost mirrors Lars’s position but leans against the kitchen island facing into the living room.
Lord James sits, posture upright and rigid, expression flat, at my small dining room table.
“You tossed a penny into a fountain, and this happened?” Jackson scrubs his palms down his face.
“It appears so,” I say with a slight tremor in my voice.
After laying it all out for my brother and my trio of suitors, it makes even less sense.
There’s no logical explanation for any of this.
I didn’t wish for this. All I want is to know what my happy ending is and how to get it.
I lean my head against the sofa cushions. “What have I done?”
“How do we fix this?” Jackson waves his hand in front of him.
Lord James’s right eyebrow ticks up. “Fix what?”
“You all. Getting you back to your books.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” Lars says dismissively. “We’re here for a purpose?—”
“But you’re not real.”
“Was I not real when I knocked you on your ass.”
“Rematch?” Jackson’s mouth quirks.
Lars mirrors Jackson’s smirk. “Anytime.”
“Enough with the dick swinging.” I place my mug on the coffee table and stand up. “I don’t know what is happening, but they are here for a reason.”
As farcical as this is, there’s a reason for this. I want to know what my happy ending is and how to get it. Whether fate, my happy ending-riddled brain, or the lucky penny Doc gave me that conjured these men, there’s a reason they are here.
“Fine.” Jackson straightens. “If you’re going to do this, we might as well do it properly.”
“What does that mean?” I face him.
“Let’s figure out which one of these bachelors is the future Mr. Georgia Lane.”
“Wait? You believe that one of them is meant to be with me?” I shoot him a disbelieving look.
Jackson may be my fun brother, but he’s still the logical one. He’s Mr. Finance with his quarterly projections and love of spreadsheets.
“It’s about as far-fetched as the idea of three fictional men coming to life. No offense, guys.” He flashes an apologetic smirk. “Somehow they’re here and they believe their purpose is to date you.”
“It’s ridiculous.” I toss my hands.
“Now who’s rude?” Lars snarks.
“Sorry.” I frown. “It’s just… This is a lot to process. And how are you so accepting of this?” I ask Jackson.
“Because in business, you sometimes have to trust your gut, and mine says this is real. They appeared after you made a wish for your happy ending. If they’re real, then so is their purpose.”
I shake my head. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“So are we,” Lars adds.
“You just believe that one of you may be meant for me?” I gesture to them.
It’s too much to process that they believe they’re here to date me. Maybe it’s the residue of the last five years, but the idea that one of these men would actually want me is more far-fetched than their origins.
“It is not belief, it is certainty,” Lord James says, his gaze locked on me. “Just as I know the sun will rise, I know that I am here because of you.”
“For you.” Lars clears his throat. “ We are here for you.”
“It doesn’t make sense to us either, Georgia, but we know it. It’s like how I just know how much salt to sprinkle in without measuring,” Owen says.
I take in their words. This whole situation is like something out of a silly rom-com, but it’s happening. It’s my reality.
Jackson crosses over and places his hands on my shoulders. “Like you said, they’re here for a reason. They’re here for you. Give it a chance.” He grins. “At least, for the next eight days.”
“Why the next eight days?”
“That way, you can make a choice before the wedding.” A wry smile bursts across his face like a sunbeam. “Although, if you took all three that would be the best fuck you to Will and Lena.”
“Who are Will and Lena?” Owen asks.
“And why do we want to give them a fuck you?” Lord James’s head tilts.
“Do I have to end someone?” Lars growls.
“Will is Georgia’s asshole ex, who’d strung her along for five years, asked her to move in, and days before she did, broke up with her via text message.
Fuckhat. Turns out he’d been pining for our cousin Lena, who’d broken up with her boyfriend, so he dropped Georgia to seize his chance with her.
They’re getting married in a week,” Jackson lays out the whole sordid story, minus some of the more heartbreaking bits and pieces.
Like the fact that, despite the story they spun that it didn’t start until after we broke up, they’d had several “moments” during the tenure of our relationship.
Lena, who’d at least had the kindness—if you can call it that—told me in person.
A month after the breakup, she sat on my sofa, tears in her eyes, and admitted everything.
Their mutual attraction. How they fought it.
Their loss of that fight several times in the final three years of Will and my relationship.
“So, I do have to end someone.” Lars’s features grow menacing.
“Jackson!” I narrow my eyes at my brother.
“If you’re going to date them, you’ll need to share these things with them. Relationships are about honest communication. I believe someone uses them as story arcs in her smutty books.” Jackson wags a finger.
“Our stories aren’t that…” Owen closes his mouth, no doubt thinking about the icing scene that occurred well before my wish snatched him from his story to mine.
For teleporting to the real world and learning that the woman in their vision is the author of their stories, all three appear to be handling this situation well.
Though I’m known for writing steady male main characters.
Lars’s quick temper aside, all three of my fictional suitors are steadfast captains amid choppy waters.
They meet every gust of wind and slap of a wave, no matter how it batters their boat around.
Thank god, I don’t write explosive, morally gray mafia dons or knife-wielding stalkers.
“Gentlemen, you’re coming with me.” Jackson pushes away from the counter.
“What?” I blink.
“I’m not leaving these three men alone with you. First, your place is too small to accommodate all of you. Two, I’m sure you wouldn’t like to explain them to our older brother.”
Rem. He wouldn’t be as cool about this as Jackson. It may just fuel his desire for me to move out. Not to mention how this may stress Hope.
“Three, pretty sure Lord Tight Trousers over there plans to practice the art of not-so-subtle seduction and find his way into your bed in the middle of the night.” Jackson glares at Lord James.
“Excuse me? My trousers are the appropriate fit.” Lord James says, aghast.
“And you’re not in the right mind to deal with second-rate Mr. Darcy,” he goes on.
“You don’t see us as a threat?” Smirking, Lars points to himself and then to Owen.
“That’s right, True Blood , I’m not worried about you and small-town British Bake Off over there.
You’re not all insta-lovey like that one.
” He tips his head toward a scowling Lord James.
“Four, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right to figure out which of these three is your perfect fit. ”
Am I really agreeing to a literary version of The Bachelorette ?
Despite the anxiety that buzzes just below my skin’s surface, something pulls me on.
All I keep thinking is about Doc saying that we first need a little luck in order to make something of it.
Maybe these three men are that luck, and I just need to make something of it.
Do what my brothers have been pushing me to do since Will: Give someone a chance.
“Alright,” I breathe.