Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(67)

Me: I’m sorry

At the very least he was due an apology. I went back to the photo of us, not expecting an immediate reply. Not after our last exchange at the police precinct when I had let us both down. When his message popped up, my heart tripped a little, feeling suddenly connected to him through this tenuous thread of dialogue. Even if he was halfway across the country.

Logan: What for?

Me: Everything

I wish I could take back the words I had said. I wish I had been more honest with him . . . with myself. I’d still be stuck in Muskogee, but there wouldn’t be the foul taste in my mouth whenever I thought of my last sight of him.

Logan: Where r u?

Me: Still at home. Alabama.

I’m sure he’d been apprised of my change in location by Pepper and Reece. For a moment, it appeared he was typing, and then nothing. I was reminded of his resolve that night in the police precinct. He was finished waiting on me. Inhaling a watery breath, I typed again.

Me: I wish I could do things over . . .

He didn’t reply. I stared at the screen for a few moments, resigning myself to the fact that he wouldn’t. Those words were enough. As much as I could offer. I wouldn’t tell him that I loved him. That wouldn’t be fair. Not with me stuck here and him there. He had moved on, and I was taking his advice and growing up.

The most adult thing I could do was let him go.





Chapter 22

GEORGIA! CAN YOU COME down here?”

I left my room and descended the stairs, assuming Mom wanted help with dinner.

When I stepped in the living room I noticed my sister’s face first. Jeremy was with her. They’d been watching a movie, but the big screen was frozen on pause. Pity gleamed in her green eyes, which I didn’t quite understand until my gaze shifted and collided with Harris.

For a moment, it felt like déjà vu with Harris standing in my living room, Mom beaming beside him, Dad sitting on the couch with an absent expression on his face as he read the latest Clive Cussler novel.

I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come. They were there, trapped in my head but couldn’t get past my lips. What are you doing here? Go away. Go away. Go away.

“Hi, Georgia.” He stepped forward and touched my elbow as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. My skin shivered. “Good to see you. You look great.”

I didn’t look great. I hadn’t washed my hair in two days and I had pulled it tight in a slick ponytail to try to hide the fact. As for the rest of me. I wore yoga pants and a Dartford T-shirt. Yes, the former me was making a silent protest.

“Isn’t it nice Harris decided to drop by? He’s home for a visit.” Mom stared at me with wide, almost pleading eyes, willing me to say something nice.

“Hello.”

There. That was civil.

Awkward silence filled the air. Mom jerked her head toward Harris, looking at me meaningfully, trying to convey only God knew what she wanted me to do.

Suddenly she clapped her hands together. “Well, it’s almost dinnertime and we haven’t made any plans yet.”

Um. Liar much? Any fool could smell the roast that was cooking in the oven.

“Oh.” Harris glanced between me and my mother, reading her unsubtle maneuvering. “Maybe we could all go grab something to eat?”

Mom waved a hand. “Oh, no! I’m not dressed to go out.” And I was? “You two kids should go to dinner.”

I glared at her. Was she really doing this? It wasn’t going to work. The ploy might have worked in The Parent Trap, but forcing me alone with Harris wasn’t going to get us back together.

Maybe I needed to let him know that. No matter what our mothers plotted, I wasn’t interested in reconciling. For all I knew, neither was he and he was only here because his mom had pressured him. I knew something about pressuring mothers, after all.

Harris lifted an eyebrow and grinned suggestively—a grin that used to make my heart melt but did nothing for me anymore. “How about it, Georgia?”

I held silent for a long moment, considering him, and then, “Sure. Give me a minute to change.”

IT TOOK THE WALK to Harris’s car to confirm that our mothers had arranged the night’s impromptu dinner date.

“I have a reservation at Guido’s Kitchen.” It was the only establishment in Muskogee that could be considered fine dining.

I nodded, pissed, even though I had surmised as much. “So when did you get in?”

“Yesterday,” he replied, backing out of my driveway. “And it took five minutes for my mom to inform me that I had to take you out tonight.”

“Nice.”

“I kind of knew it was coming though. She’s been on my case ever since we broke up.”

“Same here with my mom.”

“Mom never liked Tiffany.”

I didn’t really care to talk about the girl who had briefly replaced me. I supposed I should be curious. Weren’t ex-girlfriends always curious about their replacements?

Shaking my head, I looked out the window at the passing lights of the Muskogee’s main street, aptly named Main Street. It was a short ride to the restaurant. It wasn’t very crowded. We probably didn’t even need a reservation. They seated us near the large brick-oven fireplace that they cooked their pizzas in and the heavenly aroma of rosemary and olive oil and bread washed over me.