Page 22 of Georgia: Britain's Story: Part 1
“Right, so you want me to get the locksmith out there tonight?” Niko responds casually, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place. Tori was his girlfriend originally and he recommended her for the job two years ago.
“That’s right, tonight. And since you started this mess, you can help clean it up. I need you to come to the office here and wait for the locksmith to finish.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Be here in 15, got it? I need to get home.”
“No problemo.”
Britain
The drive from Broken Ridge to Spearhead Lake only took 40 minutes, thank god. Living in the D.C. exurbs, you get accustomed to spending a ton of time driving. It’s 30 minutes to an hour just to get some decent tacos, so 40 minutes to get to the top of a mountain range is no problem.
I decide to drive through the main strip of town before heading to the rental. I need to understand whether takeout is even an option or if I need to do a big grocery trip. There’s only six businesses in total that make up the town of Spearhead. The buildings are all exactly how I remember them from my childhood, the town frozen in time. The names of some of the places have changed, but that’s the extent of the transformation.
On one side of the road there’s a small grocery, a gas station, and a diner (that only keeps morning hours,noted). On the opposite side sits a small gift shop/coffee shop, a bar and restaurant, and last but certainly not least, Maggio's Pizza. Thank god it’s still here and it’s open. With the exception of the gas station, each business looks like it could have been a residence at one point. Each building is similarly built in a log cabin style and surrounded by tall evergreens, the only difference is the business signs and small parking lots out front. Only the bar and restaurant has more than four places to park. There’s pine needle-covered paths between each business and a crosswalk connecting both sides of the street, though it’s barely visible from the years of traffic.
It may be off season, but luckily, it looks like there’s at least some life in the town and the restaurant and Maggio’s are open for business. There’s a handful of cars at the restaurant and a couple more at Maggio’s. If I were being adventurous and outgoing, I would head into the bar for a drink, to get the lay of the land. But I’m not, and worse, I’m exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Today has felt like the never-ending song — it just goes on and on, my friend.
The clock in the car reads 6:11. I’m still running on east coast time, which means my body thinks dinner should have happened two hours ago. Even though dinner sounds amazing, sweats sound better, so I use the gas station to turn around and head to my new home first.
Two hours ago, though, I was in a living hell involving a too-fast golf cart and a lot of memories I was trying desperately to keep repressed. Then top all that off with seeing Liam. My mind is still trying to make sense of what happened back there. “I’ll see you around,” plays over and over in my mind. Why would he say that to me?Jerk. Then I get mad at myself.How dare you let him make you feel warm and twitterpated inside?! What the hell, body?
I’m still mentally berating myself as I pull up to my home away from home and stare at the house, in shock. I’d remember this place anywhere, even though the house itself has been completely renovated. What was once a large log cabin with a separate double carport, is now a modern lake house and detached garage with an apartment over it, which is where I’ll be. Even with all the changes, the lot is still the same. And I bet if I went to the side of the house, I’d still be able to find the tree where my mom and I attempted to carve our initials.
I park in front of the garage and as soon as the car comes to a stop, I reach for my phone and open up Zillow.I need to know. I enter the address and scroll down to the sales history where it shows it was sold, two years ago.Thank fuck. I don’t think I could spend the next six weeks with the threat of seeing someone, anyone, from the Scala family hanging over my head. I release my breath and turn off the car.
So far, this trip has felt like a nightmare and it’s only day one. What was I thinking doing this? Coming here? It’s all a bit too much too soon, and I think I already know what I want to do. I want to get one good night's sleep, or at least try to, and then I want to leave this place, again.
After unloading the car (well, just my luggage; no use bringing in everything if I’m leaving tomorrow), I throw on the biggest, comfiest pair of sweats I brought with me. I slip on my Ugg slippers and head back down the apartment stairs to where my car is parked. I’m really hoping the gas station has some ice cream, but I’ll gladly settle for a Reese's or Snickers if not.
Just as my feet hit the bottom step, a Range Rover pulls into the driveway and parks directly next to the Porsche.Crap. I have no desire to see, talk, or anything with other people right now. If I was at home, I’d have DoorDashed the ice cream, but that’s not really a thing here in Spearhead. I was hopeful there wouldn’t be anyone staying in the main house next door since it’s still a bit too cold to be lake season. But, as luck would have it (and clearly I have none), thereissomeone staying there.
I’m sure the driver has already seen me, and since it’s probably bad form to turn around and run back up the stairs, I brace myself for what I hope will be a brief, polite encounter.So I can go get my emotional support ice cream.
The driver’s door opens and the first thing I see is silver hair connected to a hot as hell body, of course. They should just change Murphy’s Law to Britain’s Law, same principles still apply. This couldn’t be Linda and Tom Schmidt’s retirement cabin, oh no. This is William Millar’s house,of course.
“What? Are you following me now?” I ask rudely.
“No, this is my home, Britain,” he replies.
“Yeah, no shit. I was able to make that connection, but thanks for the confirmation.”
“Listen,” he starts as I turn my head away in frustration, like a 5-year-old that didn’t get their way. “I’m really sorry Britain. Can we start again, please?”
He’s sincerely pleading with me. His voice sounds so nice, so comforting. Maybe that comment back at Broken Ridge was just an accident. He didn’t realize the connection that was so very clear to me. Maybe he was just being literal in that he would see me aroundhishouse, the one I’m staying next to. And I’m tired, I’m so damn tired from carrying thisweight…in my bones. I turn my head to face him and when our eyes meet, I can’t hold back the tears that form, and begin falling without permission.
He reaches for me, pulling my body into his. His large hand cups the back of my head tucking me beneath his chin. He reaches both arms around my body to hold me in place. I realize I didn’t fight him on it, at all. I let myself be pulled into him and it feels so fucking good to be held by his strong arms, I start crying even more.
“I’m sorry Britain, I’m so so sorry,” he whispers over my head softly. His voice is like molasses, heavy and sweet. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the top of my hair, and continues murmuring his apology. My tears start to slow and I whisper back to him, “Don’t oversell it,” and he laughs. I feel the vibration in his chest all the way down to my toes.
I move to break the embrace, but he doesn’t fully let me go. He looks down at me with emotion-filled eyes and says, “I thought I’d never see you again, but I’m so glad I did.” There’s a heat starting to form in my belly, slowly making its way to my cheeks. We stare at each other for several moments before I realize I should probably say something.
“I’m sorry about all…this,” I use my hand to gesture to my tear-stained face. Then I gesture to his tear-stained shirt.
“Don’t worry about it, really.” He pauses, never breaking eye contact, “Can I take you to get some dinner? Please?”
“Like, right now?!” I ask in shock, looking down at my oversized sweats and Uggs.
