60. George
George
Buddy waved me over as soon as I stepped into the club. “Hey, Georgie. Thought you melted away in all the heat.”
I loosened my collar and dropped onto the leather club chair beside him. “Came close a few times in this inferno.” I raised a finger to the bartender, who nodded and brought me my usual tumbler of scotch. “Been busy at the paper.”
No need to mention I’d skipped the club yesterday because of blazing Jane Austen.
I wouldn’t admit I hurried straight home after work so I could finish reading Emma.
I’d never hear the end of it. Knightley wouldn’t be embarrassed by his reading material—of course he deserved the girl in the end.
What kind of ending do I deserve… best not to think on that.
I reached over to clink glasses with Buddy. “To happy endings, my friend.”
Buddy nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“How have you fared without me?”
He wiggled his brows. “Got Macy pining for me.”
I sipped my scotch and slouched low in the chair. “Don’t remember anything about pining.”
“Didn’t I tell you the three phases?” Buddy held up one finger. “First, you make her heart boom, and her lashes flutter.” His lips twisted. “We could anoint you king of wowing.”
But the title felt as wrong as calling Sarah an ice queen. She wasn’t wowed by me. She was… something else entirely. Sarah never fluttered. At best, I could make her smile… Maybe smiles trump flutters.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees.
Buddy raised a second finger. “But then comes phase two, when you leave them wanting more, give ’em some time and space to pine for you.”
I laughed into my glass. “Don’t sell me short. I’m aces at backing away, too.”
“True. There’s a whole gang of weepy women who can attest to that.” He shook his head. “But you can’t have two crowns, Georgie.”
“Will try to stick to phase one.” I clinked the ice cubes in my glass. The cut crystal sparkled around the amber liquid. Sarah’s eyes had the same amber swirling through their green. I was weary of wowing. Hadn’t wowed anyone enough to break a heart in ages. Top of page one: The King is Dead.
He raised his third finger. “Phase three is where there’s hope for the rest of us… that’s when you seal the deal. Swoop back in with more wowing and get the yes.”
“So swooping and wowing? That’s the secret? Swowing?”
Buddy slapped a hand on his armrest. “Swowing—exactly.” One corner of his mouth twitched up in a silly smile.
A long swig burned a slow path down my throat. I sifted the pennies in my hand. When had I pulled those out? Lucky seven.
When Buddy spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “I think it’s working… think she’s keen on me…”
At least one happy ending on the horizon.
Good for him. In the stifling heat, a lone bead of condensation formed and slid down my glass.
I licked it off my fingertip. Tasted like…
ink and emptiness. I’d always trusted my gut, my famous luck.
But it felt unsteady. I ignored the unwelcome twinge nagging at me, prompting me to fill the silence. “Swowing. Sounds like a dance step.”
His gaze focused back on me, but the soft look on his face hinted that Macy remained foremost in his mind. “Better lace up your dancing shoes, Georgie. You’re not a lost cause. Not by a long shot.”
“I’ll be the first to admit, old friend, I know nothing of phase three.”
He laughed. “You are wise like Socrates. At least you know you know nothing.”
I held up my nearly empty glass. “To Socrates, swowing, and lost causes.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
I threw back the last of my scotch. Sarah was right. The real world was nothing like Austen and I was nothing like Knightley.
Some men were built for happy endings. Some were always a rough draft—no matter how many notes filled the margins.
I raised a finger to the bartender. If nothing else, at least the heat might finally let up. There was rain on the horizon and it felt like a storm.
Ireturned home earlier than usual from the club, racing the heavy clouds that hung in the sky to the west. Oppressive humidity stuck my shirt to my back and drained my energy. Did I imagine the blonde hair on the other side of the park or the sudden lightness in my chest when I glimpsed her?
I should check on her. Make sure that sadness wasn’t back in her eyes. I hoped I knew how to help. At least I could try. Knightley would try.
After a quick change of clothes, I dashed across the street and struck out toward Sarah, who walked along the bluff above the lake, oblivious to my approach.
She disappeared down the winding path to the rocky shore, and I followed, but still, she didn’t notice me. She perched on a large flat rock facing the water on the otherwise deserted beach.
I stopped behind her rock. She must’ve heard my footsteps on the gravel path. Must sense me. Right here. So close. If she was ignoring me… well.
As I’d done a hundred times when we were kids, I leaned forward and brushed my fingertips along the soft skin at the back of her neck.
She lurched forward with a shriek, swatting her hands at her neck.
Just like when she was eight—but it felt different now. Strangely scandalous. Maybe I shouldn’t have…
“Sorry.” I pulled my face into an exaggerated grimace. “I thought you were pretending not to see me.”
“Ugh. I’d threaten you with slugs, but they’ve probably all melted in this heat.”
We sat side by side on the cool rock in the bluff’s shadow. A slight breeze from the lake made it almost comfortable.
“Sorry I startled you.”
“Sorry I don’t have any slugs.”
A companionable silence stretched unbroken for long minutes.
I’d forgotten to check her eyes for any hint of sadness—the whole reason I’d come. Now she stared out at the lake.
“I’ve been thinking of your list.” The list of reasons she thought she was unlovable.
“Why?”
“Reporter in me. Don’t like to leave a story half-told. I feel compelled to gather the facts and present the evidence.”
She scoffed. “Planning to catalog my deficiencies in the paper? A big exposé?”
“Nah, Goldie, just satisfying my curiosity. But I admit, I’m coming up empty. That’s why I came out here to interview the source.”
Her jaw tightened.
I nudged her with my elbow.
“You can’t expect me to tell you.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head.
“You think you’ll convince me?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Look around, George.”
“It’s just us.”
“That’s right. There’s no one else. I don’t have friends.”
The humid air pressed around me.
“That’s not?—”
Her voice rose. “Viola is moving to another state. Mrs. Newman is my friend, and I love her dearly, but she is more of a grandmother to me.”
Wild hazel eyes met mine. “And then there is you.”
I couldn’t breathe. Hadn’t meant to hit this nerve. What could I do?
“That’s it.” She glared at me. “All my friends in the world. If you haven’t already figured out my many shortcomings, there’s no way I’m going to spell them out for you.”
“Nothing you say could change my friendship. Or… or how I feel about you.”
“I’ve watched you, George.”
“I’m your friend.”
She sighed, shaking her head.
“What?”
“How you treat people.”
A little voice warned me to stop—that I wouldn’t like her answer. “What do you mean?”
“You let people, especially women, think they are close to you, think they mean something to you, and then you push them away? Cut them?—”
“That’s different. They weren’t my friends.”
“For years, I’ve watched you break hearts right and left without missing a beat.”
“Fine, I deserve that. But…” But what? I had no defense. Blazing Knightley would know what to say.
“Just the facts, George.”
“But I told you. Those women weren’t my friends.”
“Did they know that?”
The air thickened with the approaching storm, smothering me, muting everything but my self-reproach. I fought down the growl of frustration threatening to break free.
“Seems you’ve got no trouble listing my deficiencies.” I hated how easily she saw through me.
“George…”
I couldn’t name the emotion she aimed at me. But I worried it was disappointment. Or reproach. Or disgust. All were well earned.
“Hey, I don’t want to fight with you. I came out here because… because I wanted to see you. Wanted to see my friend.” I couldn’t sit still. I pushed myself up to standing.
She raised her brows, face drawn.
I shifted from foot to foot. “You want the facts?”
“Just facts, George,” she whispered.
“I’ve treated women poorly. I know I’m an ass. I’ve earned every word you said.”
“I didn’t?—”
“But newsflash—I asked about your list because I don’t think there is one. I think you’re making up excuses to be alone. You’d rather read a book than make a new friend.”
My words stilled us both. Smoothed the surface of Lake Michigan behind me. Even the breeze held its breath.
Sarah wet her lips. “I don’t need you to fix me.”
“I’m not.”
She jumped up to face me, eyes flashing.
For half a second, I imagined pulling her into a kiss—God help me—I was an ass. What’s wrong with me? She probably hated me after what I just said.
She huffed out a breath. “What do you want me to say?” She raised her arms and let them fall. “You want my list? Here it is… I’m conceited and selfish and lazy.”
“No, I?—”
“I can’t stand the idea of spending my life with someone less intelligent or less capable than I am. I don’t?—”
“Sarah—”
She took a step away and then turned back, hands fisted at her sides. “I don’t want to waste my life propping up some dud.” She spun to face the lake instead of me. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. “And yes… I do like my books better than most people.”
Damnation.
She paced to the water’s edge and crossed her arms.
Great.
Both hands fisted in my hair. I started out trying to compliment her, and yet here we were… King of wowing, indeed. I picked my way across the rocky ground to stand beside her, crossed my arms, mirrored her stance, and pressed my shoulder against hers.
She didn’t move away.
Ring-shaped ripples appeared on the water, and cold raindrops smacked my neck.
We spun to face the bluff and the curtain of rain about to drench us. My hand found hers as we dashed to the path. By the time we crossed the street, we were both soaked to the skin. I slowed my pace and tucked her hand around my arm.
We ambled up her walk at a leisurely pace. It wasn’t like we could get any wetter.
She blinked away raindrops from her lashes, but her lips curved in a slight smile.
When we reached her steps, I bowed low and kissed the back of her hand. Hid my face and whispered, “Truth is… I’ve never had a woman for a friend. Never had a friend like you.”
I peeked up at her, through the rain.
She stared back at me. There was no sadness in her eyes. What I found there was something entirely new. Something I felt all the way to my toes.
Then she slipped inside.
And I stood in the rain.
If I was the only friend she had left—I needed to do better.
It rained nonstop all week. No chance encounters with Sarah.
Restless, I presented myself next door. Sarah glanced up from her book.
At least she didn’t look angry. I offered her my most charming smile.
“Thought I should come over to apologize… for the rain.” She closed her book over her thumb and arched a brow.
Her father looked up from his book. “It can hardly be your fault, George.”
“Normally, I would agree with you.” I clasped my hands behind my back. Even Mrs. Everson was quiet, waiting to hear what I would say. “But I saw a shooting star. Wished for the heat wave to end.”
Sarah smiled, a small curve of her lips that gave away the deeper grin she tried to hide.
I gave a dramatic shrug. “I guess I should have been more specific.”
Mrs. Everson tittered and immediately fell to discussing shooting stars with Mipsy.
“Well, in that case, you have my thanks,” Mr. Everson said with an uncharacteristic smirk. “Anything is better than that heat.”
Sarah nodded toward the chair beside hers, inviting me to sit.
As I passed her, I murmured, “Made some other wishes, too.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Keep you posted.”
She gave an amused huff.
My chest was too full, or my shirt was too tight. I sat and panted little shallow breaths. If I covered myself with white fluff, everyone would think I was Mipsy. Knightley probably never acts like a dog…
Sarah set her book aside.
“I have other news,” I said. “We can do the tasting next Monday at the Palmer House, late afternoon.” I swallowed. “If you’re still willing to help me?”
“Sure, George.”
“Perfect.” I tried a dazzling smile. Still no fluttery lashes.
She asked, “Have you heard anything? Are they still returning tomorrow?”
“No news. But I doubt anything happened to change Viola’s mind.” I slumped in my chair. “Not sure I like her being so far away.”
“Me either. But I won’t stop her. It’s what she wants.” Her lips pressed together.
Sarah met my eyes. A mosaic… gold speckled over olive, rimmed in gray. “Why are you gawking at me?”
I clasped my hands together to keep from fidgeting. “Hoping you like me better than your book.”
“For now. You’re still gawking.”
“Wondering if I can convince you to spend more time on my side of the ballroom once…”
She sighed. “Once Viola’s gone.”
Right. Safer topic. I searched the room for inspiration and noticed the chess set under the window. “Do you play?”
“You think you can beat me?”
“Honestly, I have my doubts. But there’s only one way to find out.” I waved my hand toward the small table, and we moved across the room.
She beat me. I didn’t stand a chance.
“I let you win,” I said.
“You did not.” She grinned.
“Chivalry and all that.”
“You didn’t even notice when I made the move that led to your downfall.” She tapped a long finger to the top of her bishop.
“Yes, I did.”
“I was watching.”
“I have an excellent face for bluffing.”
“That is such a lie.”
Mr. Everson said, “She’s been beating me since she was twelve. It does sting one’s pride.”
“It’s all right, Father. George’s pride is not so easily stung.”
“I demand a rematch.” Sarah raised her brows. “But not today. I need to practice.”
Mrs. Everson’s voice carried to us. “Pawns and queens and mates, Mipsy. Spins the head. But one should never be more clever than the men.”
Sarah rolled her eyes.
“Thank you for the game,” I said. “I’m glad you didn’t let me win.” I stood to take my leave. “I will know exactly what to do the next time I grow too big for my britches and need to be knocked down a few rungs.”