Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
BUT I NEVER GOT MY CHANCE
A cup of tea in hand and my closed laptop beside me on my couch, the early morning sun breaks through my open window.
The minty aroma of the tea fills my nostrils, sparking memories of Davis.
The press of his strong shoulder against mine while we sat in the ER waiting room.
The way his entire being lit as he told me about a new app his company is developing to assist disabled folks with dating.
“Dating is difficult for anyone, but for people with disabilities, there are unique challenges,” he says, dipping a fry in our shared ketchup in the open food container balanced on my lap.
“Like dates that misconstrue aspects of someone’s neurodivergence as them being rude.” My expression is somehow both cheeky and sheepish.
“Exactly.” His smile is large. “Although that someone may have also been rude.”
Sinking into the memory, I settle against the plush couch cushions. Since last night, my thoughts haven’t drifted far from Davis. For the first time, I’m allowing myself to want this. Not just want him, but to focus on my wants and needs rather than others.
I’m not tossing my book boyfriends aside with no thought of what happens to them. I still have a responsibility to help them, but it doesn’t mean I need to tie myself to someone I don’t love out of obligation.
Step one, talk to them. Forehead scrunched, I cluck my tongue.
Lars and Owen aren’t a concern, but James…
I’m not entirely sure how he’ll react to this.
He’s insistent that he feels something, so I want to handle this with care.
Even if I don’t care for him, I don’t want to hurt him.
But not wanting to hurt someone isn’t a reason to be with them.
I just need to talk to him, but first… pastries.
It's Saturday, i.e., it’s brunch with Hope day. Though this week’s date with my bestie will look a little different.
“Morning!” I almost sing, striding into the house, Wentworth trots behind me, and I carry a tray of fresh fruit and a pastry box in my hands.
“Thank god, you brought food.” Rem exhales, closing the fridge and bending to give Wentworth ear scratches. “I thought I was going to have to cook.”
Placing the food on the kitchen island, I jest, “And your fragile male ego can’t handle your chef wife’s critique.”
“I was scared she’d try to help.” He pulls down some plates.
“I heard that!” Hope bellows from the living room.
It turns out that last night’s false alarm was a combo of thrush, the cause of the discharge that had concerned Hope, Braxton Hicks contractions, and a healthy dose of first pregnancy anxiety.
Hope’s not on bed rest, but her OB-GYN prescribed medication for the yeast infection and recommended she slow down a bit and take more breaks to combat the Braxton Hicks.
Of course, Rem wants to Bubble Wrap her.
“And will her warden let her have breakfast at the table or should I serve her couch-side,” I tease, opening the food containers.
“I’m not bedridden.” Lips pursed, Hope shuffles into the room. “This is sweet, but you didn’t need to do this. Oooh , you got breakfast bars from Meghan’s Munchies.” She inspects the contents of the pastry box.
“It’s Saturday. We always brunch on Saturdays.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you supposed to go to pickleball?”
With Hope’s false alarm, I’d almost forgotten the pickleball date I agreed to on Wednesday night with Owen and Davis.
Thanks to Davis’s, “Do you think you’ll want to learn to play or just watch?
” comment last night, I’d remembered our plans.
Only, while they play, I’ll spectate between bites of a pecan breakfast bar.
“I’m still going, but thought I’d bring sustenance for you to snack on, since I’m ditching you to go?—”
“Cheer on Davis .” She shimmies her body just a bit.
“I’ll be there to cheer on all the guys, but especially Davis,” I purr. Pickleball isn’t a panty dropper for me, but the idea of seeing Davis all sweaty in athletic competition sets a tingle pulsing low in my belly.
“Yes!” Hope whoops. “As soon as I saw you in your booty-popping yoga pants, I knew you’d finally come to your good senses.” Eyebrows waggling, Hope slaps my behind.
It’s my sexiest leisure-wear ensemble. A pair of curve-hugging black yoga pants and a teal V-neck tank top. Despite the casual vibe, I washed, dried, and straightened my hair. The outfit says, “Oh, this old thing?” while my loose strands almost purr, “Hey, big fella.”
“Not to mention, do I detect some mascara and—” she clutches her chest and mock gasps. “And lipstick?”
“Hush!” I toss a napkin at her.
“Leave her alone, Hope,” Rem chides softly.
“Thanks.” I grin.
“Though, I’m also happy she listened to me about Davis.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes.
Last night’s conversation melted away that undercurrent of tension between Rem and me.
One conversation doesn’t fix things, but it’s a start.
Our newfound lightness relaxes us to just be with each other.
Him not telling me what to do, me not being tied up in knots about making him happy, because no matter what I know he loves me.
“Baby, the doctor said to be mindful of your sugar intake,” Rem cautions as Hope plucks up a pecan bar from the pastry box.
“Don’t worry, warden. I grabbed keto bars, so she can have it with some berries to ensure no negative impact to her glucose levels.” I bump his hip with mine. A big smile belts across his face.
“You’re teaming up on me.” Pouting, she tips her head down to her belly. “Little Georgia, you best be on your mama’s side when you get here.”
The surge of emotion in my chest causes my mouth to lift in the biggest smile. Every single inch of my being radiates the happiness that overflows inside me.
Last night, emerging from the ER, the moment Hope saw me, she squealed, “We’re naming her Georgia!” Even though I knew it was going to happen, tear-filled laughter fell out of me, causing Davis to loop his arm around me.
“I still can’t believe you’re naming her after me.” I wipe at my eyes.
“Not if you make me cry in my own kitchen.” She sniffles.
“Do not make my wife cry.” Rem comes up behind Hope and wraps his arms around her, nuzzling her neck.
“My wife.” Head tipped back, her sigh his contented. “Will I ever get tired of hearing you call me that?”
He places his palm on her round belly. “I hope never, because I plan on calling you it for a very long time.”
“Get a room!”
“Don’t be hateful.” Hope wiggles her finger playfully.
“Yeah, or I’ll have to grill your new guy,” he teases.
“You’re going to do that anyway.” I bat at the air.
“True.”
“I need details, woman. When’s this happening or did it happen last night?” Hope tilts her head.
“Today, I hope… I just need to talk to my book boyfriends first, and then I’ll talk to Davis. Hopefully, he still wants me.”
Even if last night offers the certainty that Davis still likes me, despite my less-than-stellar behavior, there’s no guarantee that he’ll want to start something.
My life is still messy. We both have our own past hurts that may impact things.
There are a number of things that could lead him to say no.
All that matters is that I’m letting myself say yes, and if I get my heart broken, I know I can come back from it.
I’ve done it before, but I hope I don’t have to again.
“Not want you?” Hope scoffs. “Oh, that man will be on his knees by the end of the night, especially with you in those yoga pants.”
“I’d prefer not to have that mental image—” Rem crinkles his nose. “Also, book boyfriends ?”
“I’m going to let you handle that one, Hope,” I tease, pulling my buzzing phone from my bag. “Jackson is out front, so I’m off to pickleball. Should I drop Wentworth off at my place?”
“Nah.” Hope bends and pats his head. “He’s going to be my snuggle buddy while I watch food porn on TV and then my excuse to get rid of your brother after he hovers too much and I make him take Wentworth to the park.”
“Again, book boyfriends?” Rem wildly waves his hands.
Hope pats his cheek. “Wait until I tell you about the witchcraft consultant.”
With a quick hug to a smugly pleased Hope and a confused Rem, I pet Wentworth, grab a pastry, and head out. Opening the back gate, I smack into a hard body, strong hands coming up and gripping my arms to steady me.
“James…” I almost gasp, my breath whooshing out of me from the impact.
“Georgia,” he drawls.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.” I step out of his hold, my gaze dragging down his lean physique clad in a muscle-hugging T-shirt and shorts. “Are you coming with us? I thought it was just going to be Owen and Lars playing with Jackson and Davis.”
“Owen sends his apologies. He was called away to work.”
Shoot, I forgot. Good Girl’s Grub is catering a local fundraising event this afternoon. With Hope slowing down, Owen must be covering for her today.
“I shall take his place in today’s tourney.” James places his hand on his chest and offers a quick bow. “I am here to collect you. Lars and Jackson are in the carriage…uh…vehicle.”
We just stand there and stare at each other. The charge that used to electrify the air between us is missing. Whether that’s due to his pushiness, snide comment about me not knowing that this isn’t a game, or my feelings for Davis, that hum in my bloodstream from our first meeting is quiet.
Certainty courses through me, straightening my spine. I am not this duke’s darling, and he is definitely not mine.
“Are you displeased to see me?” His mouth drags down. “Of course, you are. Perhaps , I acted the callous brute the last time we met.”
“You insinuated that I think this is all a game.” My gaze narrows, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“Apologies… It may not be your intention, but there is a bit of a game in this with each of us vying for your heart.”