Page 35 of Own the Eights Gets Married
She tried to school her features. “Do what?”
“Get all worried.”
“What makes you think I’m worried?” she asked, knowing that was probably the question every worried person threw back when they were attempting to seem unbothered.
Good God, though! After today’s wedding bonanza, she was surprised she was still standing.
“Your grandmother Jensen used to do that, too. When things were going well, she’d get nervous and drive your grandfather bonkers,” Mr. Gilbert offered.
Georgie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I never expected so much so fast.”
The man chuckled. “All I can tell you is that life moves fast, and I have to say, watching you get engaged on morning TV was quite an experience. But I guess all the kids your age are TV stars these days with the internet. Do you know, there’s a fellow who films himself eating beans every morning?”
A peaceful warmth washed over her. A conversation with her favorite eighty-year-old was just what the doctor ordered to calm her frayed nerves.
She dusted a few muffin crumbs into her hand. “I did not know that.”
“Beans, Georgiana!” Gene exclaimed as she caught Irene’s eye, and the women stifled a laugh.
“That reminds me,” Irene said, glancing at her watch. “I need to stop at the market for beans. We’re making chili for dinner tonight.”
“Are you going to film yourself eating it?” Gene asked.
“Probably not tonight, but I’ll let you know,” Irene answered with a teasing quirk of her lips as Gene shook his head.
Her friend picked up her purse. “And don’t worry about Mr. Tuesday, Georgie. He can stay with us for as long as you’re gone.”
Georgie hugged her friend goodbye, then turned to Mr. Gilbert.
“Just because something is on the internet, it doesn’t mean you have to watch it.”
The man scoffed. “I was so damned proud I figured out how to get to your CityBeat site, I clicked on the first thing that popped up. Oh yeah, and congratulations on your engagement, by the way! I would have told you at your party, but you didn’t seem to be there.”
“This wedding is a little non-traditional, to say the least,” she replied.
“And your mother is certainly happy,” Mr. Gilbert continued.
Georgie eyed the man. “You know she lives for a good champagne fountain.”
“And I know your dad’s looking down on you from heaven and smiling, too,” Gene added, his gaze softening.
Georgie felt her chest swell with emotion. “I wonder what he would have thought of all the hoopla?”
And then it hit her. She didn’t have her father to walk her down the aisle. Sure, there was her stepfather, Howard. He’d always been kind to her and would probably do it if she asked. But he was always working or away on business.
She’d lived in the man’s house for years but rarely saw him.
Her mother had fallen into the role of a Denver socialite and a pageant mom more than the life of a wife. Still, she and Howard seemed happy in their own doubles-tennis, drinks at the club way. But that wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted with Jordan.
“Your father would have seen that you were very much in love, Georgiana,” Gene answered, pulling her from her thoughts.
Her father was a renaissance man. He’d loved fixing cars and reading literature. He’d awakened her love of reading and all things book related. Losing him as a girl had been dreadful, but she’d found comfort and companionship with the books her father had gifted her before he’d passed. She’d discovered her literary trifecta, the fictional helpers she knew in her heart her father had sent to guide her.
She wiped a runaway tear from her cheek as the excitement of the day got to her. “I think you’re right.”
After his death, Gene and Marjory Gilbert had been a godsend, taking her to the library between beauty pageants. A few months ago, when she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep the bookstore going, it was the Gilberts, bringing in their friends to buy books and purchase her baked goods, that had allowed her to get through the hard times.
She met her old friend’s gaze and knew what she needed to do.
