Georgie, All Along (32)
I catch Evan’s eyes on me, and he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and sliding out a slim white card.
“It’s a long shot, I know,” he says, “but if you’d have time to lend us some of your talent for a spell while you’re here, we’d sure appreciate it.”
Olivia whispers “Ohmygod” again, and Bel closes the space I put between us.
He holds out the card, and for a second, all I can think about is Levi. His stern face in contrast to this smiling one. How hard it was for him to ask for help, and how easy it seems for Evan.
But this time, Bel doesn’t even have to nudge me, because my own sense of self-preservation does. Why am I thinking about Levi, who’s probably packed up and gone by now? Why am I not focused on the stir of anticipation at the prospect of having something else, something useful, to fill my time?
Why am I not thinking about the fact that this prospect—a job at the Fannings’ inn, however temporary—is also, conveniently, magically, even, a ready-made opportunity from the fic, one I hadn’t even considered including in my new plan? Never mind that I don’t have a stomach flutter over Evan anymore, shouldn’t I be taking this as some sort of sign to keep going?
Shouldn’t this, like everything else on my list, be an opportunity for me to think about what I want?
I reach out my hand, ignoring the way Bel makes a quiet peep of excitement beside me, and also ignoring my lingering Levi-related misgivings. I send a bright smile to his younger brother, add a nonchalant shrug that belies all the swirling emotions of the last several minutes, and say, “Sure. Why not?”
*
MY SELF-ASSURANCE lasts right up until I pull into my parents’ drive and see Levi’s truck parked beside the carport. I’d so thoroughly convinced myself that he wouldn’t be here that I’d been looking forward to getting home to an empty house after dropping Bel off, eager for some time to process the day in general and the fact that I’ve accepted an invitation to The Shoreline tomorrow in specific. But there’s Hank, lying at Rodney the metal rooster’s feet, and as soon as he sees me, he barks and heads in my direction. I look immediately toward the back door and see Levi on the porch, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
Great, I think, taking in that closed-off posture, feeling a frustrating pang of guilt. The card from Evan might as well be burning a hole in my back pocket.
I take the distraction Hank offers when I get out of the car, patting his flanks and talking nonsense to him about his day. Eventually, though, my stalling is pointed, and I make my way to Levi, Hank hopping at my heels excitedly. I half expect the man to simply turn his back and go inside without greeting me, now that his dog is headed in, but he simply stands waiting.
He’s freshly showered, the ends of his short hair still damp, his beard newly trimmed. He smells great, like the blue bar of soap he’s got in the shower, and like the light salt tang of the water when you’re close to the shore. Without his ball cap on, I can see his eyes, and that’s trouble. They’re a deeper blue than Evan’s, hooded with thicker brows and framed with longer, darker lashes.
“Hey,” he says, arms still crossed forbiddingly. Maybe he can somehow sense I’ve seen his brother and sister. Maybe he’s got a secret love of antiquing and he saw the whole thing.
“Hi,” I say, desperate to shake off this unnecessary guilt. “You’re home early.”
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I realize how weird it sounds. Home? He doesn’t live here. Early? I don’t know his regular schedule. I might as well be the one-dimensional wife in a bad TV pilot.
If he hears the strangeness in it, he doesn’t let on. He only says, “Finished up early today. I had some trouble keeping track of Hank on the job.”
“Oh. You should’ve texted. I could’ve—”
“You’re not on call for me,” he says before I can finish, and then he blows out a breath, uncrossing his arms. He lifts one and rubs a hand roughly through his hair. “Sorry.”
I shrug and bend to scratch at Hank’s uninjured ear.
Levi clears his throat. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry about the way I acted the other night.”
My hand stills on Hank’s ear, and I rise up again, meeting Levi’s eyes. He looks earnest and nervous and determined, and for a second, I can’t say anything at all.
“You caught me off guard,” he adds. “I’m not the best conversationalist.”
I’m still staring. The problem is, I’m having a humongous stomach flutter.
“And I’m not used to—” he breaks off, clears his throat once more. “I’m not used to talking about my family.”
No more stomach flutter. Is my back pocket ticking?
“No, I’m sorr—” I begin, but he cuts me off again.
“This is a one-way sorry. I didn’t act right. Especially after all you’ve done for me, letting me stay. Watching Hank, and that nice dinner you made.”
“It’s no problem. And I know the dinner was . . . I know those beans didn’t really go in that pasta.”
“It was real good.”
Oh, jeez. I can tell he’s lying, but it’s the loveliest lie I’ve ever been told. My lips curve into a smile.
“I thought I’d return the favor,” he says. “Not that you got a dog for me to watch. Or need a place to stay.”