Page 107 of Hate You Later
“I’m just not sure it’s realistic.” I continue. “I mean, this party’s definitely going to help but—”
“Let me show you something, Georgia.”
Xander pulls out his phone and swipes up. He selects a page that is showing the same slideshow currently running on the screens in the loft. Then he clicks in the corner on a running total that makes my eyes bug out.
“We made that much already?” I ask.
“This is just ticket sales and pledges. We just opened up the auction, and we haven’t even started the costume contest yet.”
“Holy shit, Xander,” I say. “You did it.”
“Kismet is coming back better than ever! And nothing’s happening to the house.” He smiles. “I told you not to worry, Georgia.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Xander,” I say. The relief is overwhelming, and I’m trying not to get too choked up. “None of this would have happened without you.”
“And I wouldn’t be here without you,” Xander points out. “You’ve always taken care of me. Feels pretty damned good to pay it forward. Thanks for letting me be the hero for a change.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, and then I accept and reciprocate his hug because resistance would be futile.
“I wish Mom was here.” I sigh.
“Me too,” Xander agrees.
“She’d be taking terrible photos with her flip phone,” I say, and we both laugh.
“Doors are opening in two minutes!” a volunteer booms out. Mac waves both arms over his head to beckon Xander back to the banner.
“Tell Mac thanks again, from me,” I tell Xander before he turns to go.
“Are you going to come clean about your feelings for Hudson?” he asks. “Or are you going to grow old alone with your cats?”
“Dogs,” I say. “He’s the one with the cat.”
Xander rolls his eyes at me. “You deserve nice things, G. Don’t you forget it.”
hudson
The intern stopsme in the breezeway as I’m exiting my apartment.
“Whoa! Cool costume. You look so Viking-y!” he says. “You’re Hudson, right?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m looking past him toward the elevator. There’s still time to find Georgia before I have to make my speech.
“I’m supposed to ask you about the space heaters?” he says, uptalking the statement into a question.
“What about them?”
“We need help turning them on.”
Shit. I take the stairs and survey the outdoor areas. Nobody has put the propane tanks into the space heaters on the roof deck and patios, and the temperature is dropping quickly.
Cookie runs over to greet me, and I scratch behind her ears. She licks my face. Her iridescent-green fairy wings, rhinestone-studded collar, and hot-pink faux hawk are adorable. I snap a few photos of her and add them to my Instagram story, tagging her account.
“You really are the goodest girl,” I tell her affectionately. “Even though you drool.”
With the help of the intern and two of the larger teenaged volunteers, I start the laborious process of hauling propane tanks over to heaters and getting them lit.
It takes a lot longer than expected. By the time we’re done, I’m a sweaty mess and most of the guests are checked in.
