“You’re a little young to be out here on your own, no boyfriend joining you?” I clear my throat, my hands balled into a fist. I’m willing her to say no.
“No. And I’m twenty-seven. I just look younger than my age. How old are you?” She reaches for a donut.
“Thirty-nine. I look older, I’m told. No skincare routine.”
She laughs, powdered sugar brushing on her cheek as she takes a bite. “These are delicious.”
“Sweet stuff is one of my weaknesses. Runs in the family. Dad’s Irish, Mom’s Greek. Food is a big deal in our house. My brothers and I go back home for dinner on the weekend every month.”
“That sounds nice. I like to bake. I’ll make you a coffee cake to say thanks for helping me out. Unless you’d prefer some vintage-style pajamas.”
It’s my turn to laugh. I can’t get enough of this girl. “I sleep bareback. But I’ll take you up on the cake, Peaches.”
Albert skitters in through the window from outside, his tail like a brush. I stand up. “My phone’s about to ring. I don’t know how he predicts it, but….”
My phone starts buzzing and I pick up.
“Bro, can you bring one of your chainsaws over to the firehouse? Griff’s busted ours and we need it. Not an emergency, but urgent.” Mav sounds stressed.
“Roger that. Give me thirty minutes.” I turn back to Georgia, who’s watching Albert hunting for the cookie jar. “You’re welcome to stay here while I go into town, or I can run you to your aunt’s house. You shouldn’t go back home until that roof’s looked at. I know a roofer in town who owes me a favor.”
She sighs. “As much as I’d love to stay on your couch and eat donuts, I’ll text my aunt. And if you give me your roofer’s number, I can call him?”
I shake my head. “Let me do it. I’ll get you a better price. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow and run you back home. You need to give that hand time to heal before you start driving again.”
She looks like she might be about to protest, but then nods and stands up. Her expression is strange, like she’s remembering something she doesn’t like. I want to scoop her up and tell her everything’s going to be okay, but I’d be overstepping the mark. And I’ve done enough of that today. I don’t want to freak her out.
On the car ride down the mountain, my beautiful passenger is quiet. A couple of times she raises her hand to her mouth as if she’s going to start biting her nails, then catches herself and puts it back in her lap.
She keeps her head down, texting her aunt and then typing her number into my phone at my request. I want to be able to contact her to let her know when the roof can be fixed and maybe drop her car off to her. Georgia’s aunt lives a couple of streets from the town square. She thanks me and dashes from the truck into the house without looking back. I head over to the firehouse.
My brother swings the door open before I’ve had time to park. “You saved my bacon, Dec. This is the third piece of equipment Griff’s broken this month. That guy doesn’t realize his own strength.”
I pause before I get out of the truck. “Well, that meansyouuse my saw, not him. If he breaks it, he pays for it.”
“I get you. Is thatperfumeI can smell?” Mav sniffs the air like a bloodhound.
“It is. And mind your own business unless you want me to take my chainsaw back home again.”
Mav is dying to interrogate me, but his need for the saw is greater, so he presses his lips together.
On my drive back home, I stop by Georgia’s cabin. I get on the roof and take a few photos of the hole up there. Then I give my roofer buddy, Tristan, a call. I helped him and his wife out with an out-of-control tree on their property last winter. He agrees to come up tomorrow morning and look at the hole.
There’s maybe a couple of hours of light left. Georgia’s abandoned paint can sits by the porch. I pick it up and find the brush, then get on with finishing what she started.
Chapter Four
GEORGIA
“Carl says a storm’s coming. Gonna break up some of this weather. Air like a wet sponge! Thank the Lord, folks will bewiltingat the exhibition otherwise. And my petunias surely need it.” Aunt Trish waves her hand in front of her face as we rock slowly back and forth on the porch swing.
“Who’s Carl?” I ask. My body aches from spending the night on my aunt’s uncomfortable sofa bed. She has five cats, who were all delighted to have company and kept pushing the door open to come greet me.
“Oh, he’s a Snowflake fixture alright. Ancient guy who looks like Santa with that big ol’ white beard. Or one of those garden gnomes, I think they call them? Anyway, he’s got a whole side hustle in weather predicting. Got his own spot on the radio now. He’s a grumpy old goat but he’s right more often than he isn’t. Thunder scares me silly, but I’ll welcome the cooler air.”
My phone beeps with a text. A thrill runs through me when I see the name come up.
Declan: How’s your hand, Peaches? I have some news for you.
