Page 39 of Frosted and Sliced

Georgie blinked at him. “Your mom doesn’t know where you live?”

“Of course not,” he said, as if that were in any way natural.

“What if she has an emergency?” Georgie asked.

“The senior facility has my number, in case of emergency.”

“But I saw her message you,” she protested. It had been a tender moment, when she watched him read a message from his mom. Or so she thought.

“She writes messages. The facility collects them and passes along anything pertinent,” he explained.

“What if she’s lonely and wants to talk?” she asked.

“That’s not how it works. She can leave a message and I’ll decide if I want to get back with her,” he said.

Georgie couldn’t help it; her eyes bugged. “You don’t call your mother back sometimes?”

“Rarely,” he said. His tone was so blasé, so bored, but how?

“Burke,” she exclaimed.

“What?” he asked.

“I get that people aren’t your favorite, but you have to contact your mom. She’s, well, she’s your mom.”

He shook his head.

Georgie stared at him, dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe this man she had started to trust, started to think so highly of, was a person had had no contact with his mother. “But she’s yourmom.” She thought of her mother, so soft and warm and always smiling, in Georgie’s memories. Her heart ached for Burke’s mother, stuffed somewhere in a facility like the dismal one they’d just left. As she focused on Burke, everything within him seemed to tighten and shut down. It was like watching an expert island dweller prep for a massive hurricane—shutters down, stakes tied, windows closed.

Georgie braced herself for his rebuttal, waited for him to reply, to argue, to explain. They pulled into the driveway. He shut off the car and finally spoke. “Leave it, Georgette.”

Then he got out of the car and disappeared, as if into mist.

CHAPTER 17

Georgie remained in the car.

“Is he going to come back?” she asked the empty space. The car didn’t respond, of course. And if she shook a Magic 8 Ball in that moment, the answer would probably be,all signs point to no.

Eventually she got out of the car. Was Burke watching? Probably. He’d probably climbed a spruce and was watching her like Mowgli, silent and unseen.

Her chin quivered a little because she hated confrontation with anyone, couldn’t stand the thought of anyone being upset with her. But she also had her pride, so she faked a sneeze, putting on a good show to cover the chin wobble. Maybe he’d think she caught a cold, sitting in the freezing car. Then he’d be sorry.

The only place to go was indoors, but it held no appeal for her right now. She didn’t want to share space with Burke at the moment, even if he was in his attic lair.

I’ll hang the wreaths,she thought, and it felt like a stroke of brilliance. While most of the food for the winter festival was already prepped, she had only barely started to decorate the inn. One simple thing she could do right now would be to hang thetwo giant wreaths on the front façade. They were four feet in diameter, nearly Georgie’s size. But not overly heavy. And the hooks remained on the house, meaning she only had to hang the actual wreaths, a simple enough task she was certain she could handle on her own. Brody usually did it for her, with a little pleading and persuasion. This year she’d intended to ask Burke, but she didn’t need him; she didn’t need anyone. She could do it on her own.

The ladder, however, was another story. An extending ladder that could reach up to thirty feet, it was much too heavy and oversized for Georgie to carry. It took her several tries to learn that fact, however. Several attempts to lug it from the detached garage to the house that ended with Georgie toppling over like she had a bad case of vertigo.

At last she dragged it, dead body style, and, after a few more attempts, propped it upright and extended it.

See? I don’t need a man,Georgie thought, and then sat down and put her head between her knees until the spots disappeared and her breathing returned to normal.

When she could stand again without wobbling, she tucked a wreath in the crook of her elbow and began her ascent, thankful she wasn’t afraid of heights.

Progress was painfully slow. The wreath hadn’t felt heavy on terra firma, but hauling it up a ladder was another matter entirely. Georgie was sweating so much she could swear she could smell nutmeg, as if the snickerdoodles she’d eaten that morning were now oozing through her pores. Was it possible to sweat spices? If so, should she have that looked at?

I can do this,she answered herself, using it as a mantra to prod herself up the ladder one rung at a time.

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