Page 21 of You Wish
Georgia groaned. “Connor…”
But Jake just grinned, dropping onto the couch across from him. “Half a degree’s the difference between champions and spectators.”
“Good thing I’m not a spectator then,” Connor said, tapping a sketchbook full of hand-drawn track layouts. “I’ve got my own designs. Gonna build the perfect circuit one day.”
They spent the rest of the evening trading barbs and debating tire strategy. Jake explained the physics of oversteer; Connor countered with a theory about cornering that made Jake rethink his own line. By the time Georgia returned with coffee, the two of them were hunched over the sketchbook, arguing about pit stop windows like old teammates.
When they finally left, Georgia slipped her hand into his and smiled. “You didn’t have to spend the whole time with him, you know.”
Jake glanced back at Connor, who was waving from the porch, sketchbook balanced on his lap. “Didn’t have to,” he said quietly. “But I think he gets it — the part of me no one else does.”
Shaking off the memory, Jake ran down the photos until the collection ended, the last photo a bittersweet reminder of a chapter closed far before its time.
Just the whisper of Connor caused a dull ache to settle behind his ribs. God, that kid was something else. Special. Brave. Just like his sister.
Speaking of Georgia, at the sound of her boots on the wood floor, he turned around to find her dragging what could only be described as the entire luggage section of a high-end department store. Three roller bags, two duffels, a garment bag, and something that suspiciously resembled a hat box.
Only, his attention was fried when she stepped out of the shadow, because—God bless his luck—she’d dressed to impress.
Dressed in a pair of hip-hugging leggings, a fuzzy green sweater that dropped off one shoulder, showing a hint of black lace beneath, she was a walking wet dream. He’d bet his championship that she was trying to punish him for blindsiding her. Little did she know he liked to be punished.
Almost as much as he liked toes.
Jake leaned against the fireplace mantel and let her see the spark of amusement—and something else—in his eyes. “We going on a week road trip or relocating to another time zone?”
“Some of us like to be prepared,” she said, popping the handle on her largest suitcase with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Prepared?” He arched a brow. “For what? Zombie apocalypses? Random royal weddings?”
Georgia set the suitcase down with a thud that rattled his nerves more than his race car’s suspension. “You say that now, but what if there’s a sudden cold snap? Or an unexpected heat wave? Or… you show up to a gala in flip-flops?”
Jake laughed, reaching for the largest bag—the one that was nearly as big as Georgia. “This one’s for your toothbrush, right?”
“Nope,” she shot back, yanking it from him. “Emergency shoe kit.”
His gaze slid lower. “Emergency shoe kit? Georgia, are we driving to the Pacific Ocean or just the mountains?”
“You never know when strappy heels, flats, and combat boots will come in handy. Fashion is situational,” she said, a faint edge creeping into her tone.
He walked the suitcase out the door and down the front steps, Georgia hot on his heels dragging the second largest bag. The first step nearly took her out.
“Give me that,” he demanded.
“Nope. I got it,” she panted.
He grabbed the handle from her and, a bag in each hand, walked to his car. He opened the trunk, stared back at the house at her mountain of bags, then said, “Okay, two options: One, strap half of this to the roof and hope it doesn’t take out a traffic cop. Or two, you pick your top… three.”
“Three?” Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “You really don’t know me at all.”
Jake smirked, closing the trunk with a deliberate click. “Oh, I know you. That’s the problem.”
The words lingered, heavier than any suitcase. Georgia’s jaw tightened—old ghosts of arguments past, heartbreak, and late-night regrets clouded her eyes.
She turned away, pretending to wrestle with another bag. “Fine. Any red carpet chaos? Your circus, your clowns.”
“Noted.”
Agreeing to leave the rest of the bags behind, Jake slid into the driver’s seat, eyes flicking to hers. “And if we run into zombies?”
