A Place in the Sun(64)

Fortunately, our first guest’s impending arrival meant Georgie was flitting around making sure everything was set. For the time being, a discussion about our relationship (or lack thereof) would have to wait.

“Georgie, it looks great. You can relax,” I assured her.

She glanced over at me, as if only then realizing I was there.

“I just want to check one last time!”

She didn’t need to worry; the place was spotless. From the entryway to the bathrooms, every square inch of Il Mare had been fixed up and redesigned as a contemporary, clean space. She’d brought in new furniture for the downstairs common room and even purchased a massive oak table from a carpenter in Monterosso. With it on one side of the room and a couch and coffee table positioned on the other, she’d transformed the space so that it was functional and open. I was impressed.

There was still work to be done, of course. I was outfitting a balcony on the top floor and touching up a few spots in the bedrooms on the second floor, but I promised Georgie I’d only work when our guest had gone exploring for the day. I could have rushed and finished up the work quickly, in a week or two, but I wanted to stretch it out as long as possible. If nothing else, it meant I had an excuse to spend my days as close to Georgie as possible.

I adjusted my tool belt and was about to take the stairs up to the second floor to start working when the front door opened. It was our first guest, arriving a few minutes earlier than expected. I spun to greet her and then stopped short when my gaze caught on a man strolling through the doorway and lugging a heavy suitcase behind him. Georgie had said the first guest was a woman, hadn’t she? This was some posh bloke wearing trousers and a button-down with brown leather loafers. He had a well-made laptop bag hanging off one shoulder and a duffel bag clutched in one hand. With that amount of luggage, it looked like he was planning on staying on a while.

He glanced up and saw me, letting out a puff of air.

“This is Il Mare, right?”

I realized I hadn’t greeted him, just stood there staring at him in disbelief.

“Right, yeah. Are you Taylor?”

He grinned. “That’s me.”

“Taylor is here?!” Georgie called from the top floor. Her light footsteps hit the stairs and then she was there, gliding into the space like a breath of fresh air with Mopsie following after her. She was wearing a light blue dress that morning and it complimented her skin so well. She looked radiant.

“You must be Georgie,” Taylor said, stepping forward with an appreciative smile.

“I am! It’s so good to finally meet you. Did you get in all right? Here, let me get that duffel bag for you.”

He protested, insisting that he could carry it.

She laughed. “Right, well, let me get you checked in then.”

She moved around the front desk and started typing on the small laptop she must have purchased sometime in the last two weeks.

“You’re actually my first guest, so you’ll have to bear with me here.”

Taylor didn’t seem to mind. He moved right up to the other side of the counter and beamed down at her. “No problem. I’m more than happy to be your guinea pig.”

She glanced up at him through her lashes. “You’re from the States, right?”

She’d picked up on his accent.

He beamed. “Seattle.”

“Oh right! I remember you mentioning that in an email. I’ve always wanted to visit there.”

He never took his eyes off her as she worked through the list of things she needed to collect: a credit card to put on file, a copy of his passport…it seemed to drag on forever. I could have left, but I was rooted to the spot, watching their exchange. I tried to see him through her eyes, something I wasn’t very accustomed to. I supposed he was decent looking. He’d done his blond hair like I used to when I worked for the finance firm, all slicked back and unnatural. He had a crooked smile and expressive eyes. He seemed like the type of man girls usually fancied, but what did I know?

“Oh, here, let me find it,” he said, digging into his laptop bag for something she’d requested. He pulled out his wallet and a worn paperback, setting them both on the counter to continue digging.

“Is that Oliver Twist?”

“Yeah. Favorite of yours?”

She blushed. “Haven’t read it. It’s on my list.”

“I’ll loan it to you after I’m finished. Everyone should read it at least once.”

“I’d love to borrow it. It’s actually a mandatory part of British citizenship to read all of Dickens, and that’s why I’m here—I’ve been exiled,” she joked.

The American bloke was enamored by her, and why wouldn’t he be? Georgie was more than any man could hope for in life. To have her love and attention was like standing beneath the scorching sun on a summer day: suffocating and sustaining all at once.

He handed her a piece of paper and she started typing something into the computer.

Mopsie meowed by my feet and I glanced down to see the kitten pawing at my jeans.

“He really likes you,” Georgie said, eyeing me from beneath her lashes.

Taylor frowned. “Oh. Is it a resident?”

Georgie beamed, proud of the kitten we still hadn’t agreed she could keep.

“Yep. His name is Mopsie.”