Or maybe I should go into the living room and watch it so she—
Shite.
What am I thinking, going into the living room so she can sit and watch TV with me on her first night here?
Maybe we should go out. Maybe we could go…I don’t know, celebrate or something. Or would that be weird?
Going to the bar to get drunk and celebrate—such a girl thing to do.
Then I’d have to spend the entire night talking to her, which would be weird. Like being on a date.
The date she still owes me, maybe—not that there’s any chance I would call in that favor, not whilst she’s holed up down the hallway.
The apple orchard…she seemed so jacked up to do it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and they probably have pie there.
I would do a lot of things for a slice of apple pie.
It dawns on me that I’m thinking about her in friendly terms, which is good—we can be friends.
A girl friend.
A friend that’s a girl.
I’ve not had one of those yet, and Lady Louise Channing Winthrop doesn’t count. The daughter of the earl who lived next to us, she would come by to play with Jack and completely ignore me in the process.
No, I wouldn’t consider her a friend.
Nuisance was more like it, hanging around so Jack would fall in love with her.
Joke’s on Louise because he didn’t.
Georgia is easy, a lot like a bloke. Athletic. Funny. Low maintenance. Doesn’t get all decked out and crazy when she’s at parties.
She would probably kill me for thinking all that—what girl wants to be compared to a guy?
I hear her moving things around, shuffling this, shifting that, a box being pulled open.
Her door closes.
Opens a few minutes later. She must have changed clothes and wanted privacy.
The toilet flushes.
The sound of music gently flows toward my bedroom, and I pause from shaving to listen.
It’s a girly song about summertime love, a ballad that surprises me coming from her—I’d expect something upbeat. Techno, even. Or country since she’s from the south.
Georgia hums, and I hear that down the hall, too.
She sounds happy, but she’s not humming on key, which makes me smile to myself as I drag the razor blade across my skin, finally removing the stubble I’ve been growing for far too long.
Twelve
Georgia
“Ash?”
I crane my neck out the door, most of the lights downstairs off or dim.
I lost track of time unpacking my things, most of which I already found a home for. The only messes left are the desk and office supplies I tossed haphazardly into a box without actually organizing any of it.
That will come back and bite me in the ass when I’m searching for a pen.
I’m hungry and would love a snack. Fingers crossed he won’t mind me rummaging through the fridge for fruit, or something crunchy?
I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow, but for now…
Crashing in the den sounds like heaven.
It’s Saturday, and I officially live in a house.
I could twirl and do a happy dance to commemorate the moment, but instead I’ll hit the couch and binge on munchies and a movie—maybe I’ll even be able to convince my roomie to join me.
“Ash?” I say again as I descend the stairs, the light off in his room but the door wide open. He must have snuck downstairs while I was in the shower.
“In the den,” comes his voice from the hollows of the house, and I follow it to the kitchen.
“Do you mind if I eat something?”
There’s a long pause. “No I don’t mind, and you don’t have to ask every time you want something.”
I hear exasperation in his voice and make a mental note: Stop sounding so needy and stop asking for everything.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m sorry.
And don’t apologize.
“Thank you!” I call out, yanking open the fridge and peering inside to study my options.
Hmm.
These options aren’t as great as I thought they were going to be. I can’t even find an apple.
There is a bag of baby carrots, so I take those along with some celery, then hunt down the peanut butter in the small pantry next to the fridge.
Bingo!
Not wanting to sit and shove peanut butter down my face in front of him on my first night here, I spoon some onto a plate. There.
Perfect snack.
After I finish putting things back, I make my way into the den, the TV on the wall bright, casting a glow on all the walls and…
Ashley.
Is it just me, or does he look crazy…handsome?
Plopping down on the opposite side of the couch, I try not to stare directly at him, but he’s lounging here like some Greek god come to life and I’m so utterly…
I tilt my head. “Why do you look different?”
He shrugs. “Dunno?” Lifting a hand to his face, he rubs. “I shaved?”