Page 31 of Matched with the Playboy Next Door

“This is Georgia,” I say, introducing her as an old friend. Georgia steps forward, offering one of her practiced, dazzling smiles.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Harriet,” she says, her tone warm and polite.

Mrs. Harriet’s eyes narrow slightly, not in suspicion but in recognition. “Georgia… Georgia Blackwood?”

Georgia laughs lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Guilty.”

“Wait,” one of Mrs. Harriet’s friends chimes in, her eyes wide. “The model? I knew I’d seen that face somewhere!”

This isn’t good. Mrs. Harriet’s eyes light up, and I know exactly where this is headed. Georgia’s presence was already raising eyebrows, but now? The second Riley hears about this—if she hasn’t already—it’s only going to add fuel to the fire. I need to find a way to get ahead of thisbefore it spirals.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I modeled,” Georgia says modestly, but the damage is done. The news spreads like wildfire through the small crowd gathered near the diner, whispers rippling as people start pulling out their phones.

I rub the back of my neck, already dreading how quickly this will escalate.

“Looks like you’ve still got fans,” I mutter to Georgia, who shrugs with a sheepish smile.

Walking down Bardstown’s Main Street with Georgia feels like trying to steer a parading elephant through a china shop. People stop, stare, and whisper as we pass, their gazes lingering on her like she’s the eighth wonder of the world.

“Is it always like this here?” Georgia asks, adjusting her sunglasses as if that’ll make her blend in.

“Not usually,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “But news travels fast, and apparently, so do old modeling photos.”

I nod toward a group of locals sitting on the diner patio, their heads bent together as they share a phone screen. One of them glances up, catches my eye, and immediately starts whispering to the others. Fantastic.

“Guess the small-town charm comes with a side of nosiness,” Georgia teases, nudging me lightly with her elbow.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Welcome to Bardstown.”

As we head toward Riley’s hardware store, I’m already bracing myself. The stop wasn’t planned—Georgia spottedthe sign and insisted we go in because she “wanted to see where all the magic happens.” I know how this looks, and I also know Riley won’t exactly be thrilled about Georgia’s presence.

The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, and I immediately spot Riley at the counter, organizing a stack of receipts. She glances up, her expression flickering for just a moment before she schools it into something neutral.

“Back again?” she says, her tone even but cool.

“Georgia wanted to see the place,” I explain, forcing a smile as I gesture around. “Figured I’d give her the grand tour.”

“Of course,” Riley says, her lips twitching into a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Georgia steps forward, oblivious to the undercurrent in Riley’s tone. “This is such a cute store,” she says, glancing around. “So much character. You must put a lot of work into it.”

“I do,” Riley replies, her voice tight. “It’s my livelihood.”

“Ethan mentioned that,” Georgia says with a smile. “He’s really impressed by what you’ve built here. Said he’d be lost without your help.”

Riley doesn’t say anything right away, and the silence feels heavy. She looks at Georgia like she’s trying to figure her out, her polite smile doing a poor job of masking the tension in her eyes. I want to explain—want to tell her there’s nothing to figure out—but the words feel clumsy before I caneven say them.

Georgia’s words are meant as a compliment, but they land wrong. Riley’s glance sharpens, and I know she’s questioning everything. It’s not just Georgia—this goes deeper. It’s about the part of me that hasn’t fully committed to staying, the part Riley doesn’t trust. And right now, I’m not sure how to prove her wrong.

“I’m so glad Ethan has friends here to help him,” Georgia continues, completely oblivious. “Even if he isn’t sticking around Bardstown forever, it’s good to have people he can count on while he’s here.”

Riley’s eyes dart to me again, sharp with betrayal, as though Georgia’s casual statement has cracked something fragile and unspoken between us. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, aware that Georgia has spilled something I had no intention of sharing and, in fact, was never sure of to begin with.

The bell jingles again before I can explain, and two locals step inside, their eyes widening slightly as they spot the three of us together.

“Ethan,” one of them, an older man named Frank, says with a grin. “And Georgia, right? Saw your pictures online this morning. Didn’t realize Bardstown had its own celebrity couple!”

My stomach drops. “Frank, it’s not like that,” I start, but he’s already laughing, clearly enjoying himself.

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