Lizzie
Chapter Nineteen
“Ican’t believe he prefers looking at creepy bugs to kicking around a soccer ball with me,” Georgie says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. I’m loads of fun.”
Georgie plops down next to me on one of the many benches in the fabulous, sycamore tree-lined town square. This space has quickly become one of my favorite spots, and I consider us fortunate that it’s right across the street from our new home.
“He got that insect-inspecting kit for Christmas. It comes with a magnifying glass and a little notebook.”
“Maybe he’ll throw a frisbee with me.” She picks up the frisbee we brought from the ground next to her. “Hey, Simon, would you rather throw a frisbee?”
Simon glances over but stays crouched. He hesitates before speaking.
“Is it okay if I don’t do that yet? Maybe later? Or maybe Mom can play with you.”
My curly-haired boy is so thoughtful; always aware of how things might make other people feel. I’m kind of proud of that because I’m not sure most kids his age are.
“Sure, buddy. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need someone to play with.”
“Thanks, Georgie. Right now, I’ve got this cool bug over here, but maybe in a little while, okay?” His face lights up. “Or you can help with the bug!”
I laugh softly at the serious, almost parental tone he takes with her, and Georgie grins.
“Uh, that would be a yes to frisbee or soccer if you want to play later, but a hard no on the bugs. I’m scared of bugs.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” He smiles, and it’s one of those smiles just like his father used to have. I’m happy it passed on to Simon.
He turns back to his fun.
A few more minutes pass, and we talk about the progress at the bakery; the wallpaper came down, most of the cleaning got done, and I reluctantly agree to let Georgie help me tomorrow.
I’ll paint, and she’ll put up wallpaper on one focus wall.
It’s definitely a softer, more understated wallpaper than what Ella had.
I want people to come to my bakery and feel cozy and safe, not overwhelmed by wild décor like what was originally there.
I feel bad that Georgie is doing so much to help me.
“Georgie, you don’t have to help me tomorrow if you don’t want to. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have a very flexible schedule, and I’m actually ahead on my current book. Plus, you’re one of my best friends. Best friends help each other.”
I look over at her, searching for even a hint that she’s joking, but there’s nothing. My chest tightens, and my nose burns.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I nod quickly and take a few seconds before I speak, because if I open my mouth immediately, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold it together.
“I’m fine. I just... you’re kind of my only friend, really, and when you said best friend...
” My voice catches. “It made me think of Sylvia. It’s been almost five years, and when I get these bursts of grief, they hurt just as much as they did the day she died.
Fortunately, they occur less often now than back then. ”
“I'm sorry,” she says gently. “I can’t imagine what that would feel like.”
“Yeah. When we met at college orientation, it was like we instantly clicked. For her, that wasn’t a big deal, since she made friends easily, but for me...” I shake my head. “I didn’t have many. A few casual ones, maybe. But Sylvia was different. She was like a sister to me.”
“But you have Lyndsay, right?”
I roll my eyes.
“You’ve heard the Lyndsay stories. She’s a wanderer. She comes home when things get bad with Mom, but otherwise she’s off somewhere in the world.”
“Well,” Georgie says, nudging my shoulder, “your friend count is about to skyrocket. You don’t join this group without getting all of us. We’re a package deal.”
I smile, but my mind drifts—uninvited—to Holden. I’m not sure that’s something that we can fix. Of course, I remember how he made me feel in college for that short time—seen, beautiful, as if I mattered.
The problem is, I also remember how my stomach twisted, my chest ached, and my heart broke when I saw him take another girl upstairs to his room at a frat party.
I know I was the one who called things off—I had to, in order to protect him—but it was still immensely painful to realize he was just like any other guy in the frat house when it came to women.
Maybe I imagined the boy from the library all along. Either that, or I saw what I wanted to see and not who he really was.
“Hey there.”
We both look up.
Harrison stands in front of us, Layla’s hand tucked into his.
“Hey, Harrison. Hi, Ladybug,” Georgie says, opening her arms.
Layla runs right into them, and Georgie hugs her tight, making her giggle.
“Hi,” I say a little awkwardly.
Layla studies me for half a second. Then comes in hot for a hug. She stuns me, but I hug her back. When she pulls away, her eyes dart between Harrison and me.
“Oh! Lizzie, you didn’t get to meet Uncle Harry because Uncle Holden was acting crazy that day.”
“Harrison,” he cuts in with a smile. “Please call me Harrison. Only Ladybug gets to call me Harry.” He winks at Layla, and the adoration with which she looks at him is darling.
“That’s because he’s my favorite uncle,” Layla says proudly. “And he loves me the most.”
Harrison chuckles. “Remember, we talked about that? You can have favorites, but aunts and uncles, moms and dads can’t.”
“I said what I said,” she answers with a grin.
He shakes his head playfully.
“Is Delaney at work today?” I ask.
“Yeah. Layla and I were just heading over to get ice cream.”
Without encouragement from any of us, Layla lets go of his hand and heads straight for Simon.
She squats next to him, and he looks up—surprised at first, then his cheeks immediately turn pink.
“Hi. I’m Layla.”
She holds out her hand. He stares at it.
“You’re supposed to shake it,” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s what grown-ups do. Here.”
She grabs his hand and demonstrates.
“I’ve seen that before,” he says. “I’m Simon.”
Layla repositions herself so she’s cross-legged.
“What is that?”
“It’s a bug, but I don’t know the name yet. I’m gonna take a picture so I can look it up later.”
I blink. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk this much to someone new. And certainly not since we moved here.
“Cool! Can I help?” Layla asks.
Simon hesitates. “But you’re a girl.”
Layla crosses her arms, and I can tell by her face that she’s irked by the statement.
“Yes. I am. And girls can like bugs.”
Simon frowns. “The girls at my old school didn’t. They stepped on ants on the playground to be mean. I didn’t like that.”
“Yeah, that’s not nice,” Layla says. “I like bugs. I like almost everything. Except Brussels sprouts.”
“Same,” Simon says seriously. “I threw up once after them, so now I don’t have to eat them.”
We sit there watching them like it’s a movie. They’re close enough that we can hear them, but far enough away that they don’t realize it.
After a few minutes, Layla pops up.
“Uncle Harry! Can I use your phone?”
“Careful,” he says, handing it over.
“I know. I’m not a baby.”
She runs back, and she and Simon immediately get to work, taking picture after picture.
“So, I’d say they’re hitting it off,” Harrison says.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “This is... new for him.”
“Do you all want to join us for ice cream? Or Simon could come with us.”
Georgie glances at me, then smiles. “Actually, if you don’t mind, Lizzie and I could skip ice cream and pop over to the bookstore while Simon is with you.”
“Sure,” Harrison replies.
I hesitate, biting my lip. “It’s not too much trouble? I can give you some money—”
“Okay,” he cuts in gently. “First, no. I’m not taking your money. Second, it might actually help me if Simon’s there. I love Layla, but she talks nonstop.”
We all laugh. I’ve only known Layla for a short time, but it’s clear she knows how to command an audience.
“I guess if he wants to, it’s okay,” I say.
Layla and Simon rush over.
“Uncle Harry, can you send the pictures to Lizzie? We’re making a bug book!”
“I just need her number,” Harrison says.
“That’s easy,” Layla declares, handing me Harrison’s phone. She directs her attention to me. “You just text yourself from his phone and then you’ll both have the numbers.”
I hesitate—just for a second—then send myself a brief text message from Harrison’s phone.
“Where’d you learn that?” Georgie asks.
Layla shrugs. “Sometimes when I’m with Uncle Holden, girls try to do that with him ‘cause he’s handsome.”
My chest tightens. Sharp. Unexpected.
“Jesus, hell,” Harrison mutters.
“Uncle Harry!” Layla scolds. “No bad words!”
“Sorry, Ladybug.”
He glances at Simon. “Hey, I’m Harrison.”
“Hi,” Simon says softly.
Layla whispers something, and Simon sticks out his hand.
Harrison grins and shakes it. “Want to get ice cream with us?”
“Yes, he does,” Layla answers.
“Let him answer,” Harrison says, his voice full of gentleness.
Simon looks at me.
“If you want to go, you can,” I tell him.
He nods at Harrison. “Yes, I’d like to, please.”
“Okay. Are we ready?” Harrison asks the kids.
“Yep. Bye for now, ladies,” Layla says.
“Bye, Georgie. Bye, Mom.” Simon gives me a hug, and then they’re off.
They don’t make it far before Layla stops and glances back, her eyes finding mine.
“Don’t worry about those girls and Uncle Holden. He doesn’t really like them.”
My stomach drops.
“What the hell was that about?” Georgie asks.
I exhale slowly. “I didn’t want to talk about Holden yet, but I guess I should.”
Her eyes widen. “No, Lizzie. You cannot go there. He’s hot, yes, and I love him like a brother, but he’s not a commitment-type of guy.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in him.”
Liar.
“But I do need to explain something.”
We head toward the bookstore.
“We went to college together,” I say. “We had... a thing going on back then. I don’t even know what you’d call it, but it didn’t end well. I’m not ready to tell the whole story yet, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Just be careful. He’s a good guy, but he has the potential to break hearts.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”
Georgie stops walking. “Hey, you all right? I didn’t mean to be harsh.”
I force a smile. “You weren’t. I promise. I’m good.” I walk again.
Georgie nudges me as we reach the storefront. “Well, that got heavy fast. Let’s fix it.”
We step into the bookstore. It’s cozy, and the cool air is welcome.
“Let’s find some book boyfriends to cheer you up.”
I laugh. “I’m fine.”
She tilts her head. “Really?”
“Really.” No, not really.