Page 27 of You Wish
“You go ahead. Miss Georgia and I will mosey on up there.”
Jake drove to the cabin while Georgia and Nic walked the few hundred yards. She was snickering, Nic was smiling, and it made Jake wonder what they were talking about. Then realized he probably didn’t want to know.
He unloaded the luggage and shook his head in amusement when he saw Georgia’s suitcases. He could only imagine how orderly they were packed. She was normally a no-frills kind of woman. Cool as a cucumber, precise in her decisions, and navigating twists and turns with ease. She’d make one hell of an F1 driver. Until it came to packing for a trip. Then she brought everything but the linens.
“I can get that,” Georgia said, reaching for her bag.
“And have my meemaw chew my ear off? No way. I’d rather suffer your wrath than hers.”
He pulled on the bag, but, stubborn as ever, she held tight.
“Honey, let him get that,” his grandma said from the front porch.
“I like to carry my own weight.”
Didn’t he know it.
Joy chuckled in a way that only a woman with over seventy years of experience on this earth could. “The great thing about being with a gentleman is that they know you can carry your own weight, but they are offering to carry it with you. There’s a difference.”
He saw the wheels in Georgia’s head turn so fast he was surprised a gear didn’t break.
With one last unsuccessful tug she let go. “Only because I don’t want to offend your grandma.”
He chuckled. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
10
Georgia stood at the window with a steaming mug of hot buttered rum, mid-sip. Her eyes were glued to the scene unfolding outside, like she was watching a nature documentary. A very thirsty nature documentary.
Beyond the gentle falling flakes of snow, Jake was wearing a flannel shirt that had been rolled up to his biceps and was chopping wood like the fate of humanity depended on it. His beard had that I-just-woke-up-like-this scruff, and every swing of the axe made his flannel shirt cling in new and dangerous ways.
“Well, damn. Isn’t that a thirst trap,” Georgia muttered to herself.
She took a sip of hot buttered rum, only it dribbled down her chin when he lifted the axe and, with a single, calculated swing, split a piece of wood right down the middle. He picked up another and with graceful ease chopped it like it was nothing more than a twig.
The only thing that would make it better was if he was shirtless.
“Forget a six-pack. Hercules is hiding a whole case under that shirt.”
“If you're gonna stare at him like that, at least open the window and let the man know. We’re Southern. We announce our intentions,” Joy said.
Georgia choked on her hot buttered rum. “Oh my God—Mrs. E?—”
“Grandma Joy. Mrs. E sounds like I should be stroking a cat and demanding a ransom.”
“Well, Grandma Joy, I wasn’t staring.”
“Honey, you were one flannel button away from fogging up the glass,” Joy said. She bent over to open the oven. The mouthwatering smell of a cooking roast filled the room.
“I was just observing. From a respectful, non-drooling distance.”
“Mmm-hmm. Observing his biceps? His swing technique? Or the way that shirt clings to him like sin in a Baptist sermon?” Head still in the oven, Joy stuck out a hand. “Give me that baster on the counter, will you?”
Georgia did as she was told, then watch as Joy basted the perfectly browned roast.
“I was appreciating the way the snow clings to the trees,” Georgia said. “It feels like Christmas.”
“Then you aren’t interested in knowing the story about when wore his Batman cape everywhere—even to church. I had to sneak it off him during the pastor’s prayer.”
