“Something with more texture would be nice. With the light oak, off white, and green you have going, I think we can add some texture with the dinnerware.”
I shrug. This isn’t my field of expertise and I’m happy to step back and let her take the lead.
“This. Definitely this.” Georgiana holds up stoneware which is partly glazed with white brush lines and an exposed clay finish.
It’s beautiful and a dinner set for four is only forty dollars. “Sold. If we take that and the silverware for twenty dollars, you’ll have a hundred and fifty dollars to splurge on pretty stuff.”
“Does that include the soft furnishings and bedding?”
“No, there’s extra for that, as you well know.”
She shoots me a grin. “Let’s get this now, then we don’t need to come back. I know where we’re going to splurge on the rest. There’s an interiors and linen shop on Burlington’s Church Street that has the most divine fabrics.”
I fake a flinch but laugh. “Contain it, Miami, if you can.”
We make our way into downtown Burlington, and I park close to the Church Street Marketplace. Georgiana leads the way to a small upmarket store named Ally & Cat’s Interiors, which has richly upholstered wingback chairs in the shop window, nightstands with lamps, wall-mounted framed prints, and a clutter of other things that would make any home interiors enthusiast break out in a light sweat with the need to touch and feel.
I follow her inside and stand back as Georgiana strikes up a conversation with the shop owner. Eventually I lean against the counter as I observe her picking up and discarding decorative knickknacks and throw pillows.
“I rather like that.” I toss my opinion her way, but she shakes her head.
“Nope, it won’t work. You’re not the only one who can visualize, you know.”
I chuckle and decide to rearrange a throw on a wingback and make myself comfortable. I eye Georgiana’s growing collection on the counter with mounting discomfort. If nothing else, this minor worry takes my mind off things.
Eventually she stops and stands back, hands on her hips, chewing her lip. The shop owner looks ready to tally it all up, and I’m flinching for real this time.
“Right,” Georgiana says and plucks her phone from her purse. “We’re going to use all this to decorate our tiny house that has quite a following on Instagram. Let me show you.” She holds her phone’s screen to the owner, and for five minutes they scroll our Instagram feed together. On several occasions, the shop owner glances at me and nods. “I can tag your shop when we take photos of the interior and send some business your way,” Georgiana says. “We’re on a tight budget though, so do you think you could give us a discount?” When the shop owner seems amenable to her idea, she smiles and continues. “Also, I won’t take these throw pillows, but two yards of the fabric instead and I’ll sew my own.”
This is where I heave out of the wingback. “You sew?”
“Yep, as you’ll soon see. May has a sewing machine?”
“Definitely. She quilts with the local guild.”
“There, it’s settled then. You want to do the math?”
“Let’s see what it adds up to.” After seeing her in action like this, I have to let her style our tiny house into the home she’s secretly envisioned. With our purchases today we meet the National Tiny House Competition’s prescribed kitchen contents. We are allowed to allocate the remaining budget as we see fit. If nobody was watching our expenses, I’d pay for this out of my own pocket with pleasure.
“We’ll make a plan,” the shop owner says and scans the items.
When we walk out half an hour later with our purchases bubble-wrapped and hanging heavy from our hands, I want to lean in and kiss her. Georgiana has bargained us down to budget, opting to do more sewing instead of buying the other finished products.
Happiness sparkles in her eyes and there is a skip in her step. That was pure Miami Magic and I want to soak it all up while I can.
By the time we get home, it’s late, as we enjoyed a late lunch at the Burlington waterfront. It was as close to a date as I’ll ever get with her, and I didn’t want this day to end. But now she’s disappeared into her room, and I doubt she’ll want to hang out tonight. We’re both tired from diverting from our usual routine. For once I don’t have an escape plan, and tonight is when I need it the most.
I go outside to stop myself from knocking on her bedroom door and wrapping her in my arms and begging her to stay close tonight. Usually, I’m physically exhausted after a day of hard work, but shopping did nothing to wear me out. I should have gone to Hunter’s for a canoe and exhausted myself with a row around Ashleigh Lake. The only thing I can do now is go for a run, even though that won’t occupy my mind as much as I need it to.
Back inside, I change into running gear and grab my earbuds to listen to something that will keep my mind from going into a tailspin. Soon I pass the farmhouse and hit the worn tar road, sprinting up every incline and going even faster downhill. Forty minutes in, I turn back, as it’s already dark and the only reflectors I have are on my shoes. I slow my pace, knowing that regardless of how fast I run, the past will catch up with me.
When I eventually stride into the boathouse, sweat-drenched and chest heaving, Georgiana comes out of the bathroom, and I catch her in a black silky robe in the soft glow of the light from her bedroom. God. She’s beautiful. I haven’t seen her like this yet. She’s too shy, and our unofficial shower schedule worked around this situation perfectly.
This visual of her is maybe all I need to get through the night. It had to be enough because it’s all I’m getting.
“Oh. You went for a run.” A blush rises to her cheeks, and I drop my gaze.
“Won’t sleep otherwise.”