Page 2 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“Great! Is it close to your Mom and Dad?” I take a careful sip of my drink.

He tips his head side to side. “Not really…” His excitement wanes, then picks right back up. “But you’ve got to see this place. There’s a huge tree in the backyard that will be perfect for a treehouse, just like the one Dad built in my backyard. Remember?”

I nod. “How could I forget?”

I spent half my childhood there, playing house. Zach was the dad; I was the mom/builder/decorator. Adam was the live-in chef. Bear was the baby and Britta was the dog.

My first kiss happened there.

“I’m telling you, Georgia, it’s perfect. I want you to come see it before I put in an offer. The house needs a little work, but the yard is amazing. It’s got a view of the lake, plenty of room for kids and dogs, maybe a few chickens.” The blue in Zach’s eyes deepens and he drums his fingers on the table.

I don’t want to rain on his parade or anything, but there do seem to be a few pieces missing. “Every kid needs a treehouse, but are you jumping the gun a little bit? Putting the treehouse before the kid? Or, you know, the kid before the mother of your child? You might need one of those first.” I laugh, but his face drops, so I soften my tone. “What does your dad think?”

His face sinks a little more.

I don’t have to say anything about his mom’s quickly declining health for him to know what I’m talking about. Zach lives in an apartment above their detached garage in order to be close enough to help.

“He wishes it were closer, but he’s on board now. He’s actually the one who encouraged me to start looking in the first place. He’s worried I’m putting my own life on hold to help with Mom.” Zach pulls the square napkin from under my mug and folds it into smaller and smaller triangles as he talks.

“Yeah?” I watch him, waiting, more than a little surprised by his answer. I thought Pete would want Zach to stay close.

He nods, slowly. “He’s right. It’s time to start my life. Settle down. Even though Mom’s memory is getting worse, I think that would bring her some comfort—knowing I’ve got some direction.”

“That makes sense.” I reach across the table to squeeze his hand. “Just don’t rush anything. I mean, maybe find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first. She might want to be part of the decision about where to raise your family.”

He shoots me a sad smile. Talking about his Mom always does this to him. Zach’s optimism is as reliable as a spring blizzard in Paradise. But there’s not enough optimism in the world to cure Heidi Thomsen’s early onset Alzheimer’s.

“Carly really likes the house. She’s the one who found it… and I really like her,” he says each sentence slowly, then tugs at his tie.

I look away from his forced smile to the view outside the window. Smuk (pronouncedsmock) Lake—arguably the most beautiful lake in America with the ugliest name—lies just across the parking lot. The water shimmers turquoise and blue against the white snow covering its sandy banks. Its color matches Zach’s eyes, so looking at it does nothing to calm the unexpected emotions swirling somewhere between my chest and my gut.

I’ve sipped coffee at Britta’s and listened to Zach talk about his latest girlfriend probably a hundred times. At least one day a week during all four years of my not-so-illustrious teen years at Paradise Valley High School was spent at this very table listening to Zach talk about girls. I was his sounding board during breakups, his shoulder to cry on through broken hearts, and his practice partner for his first “real” kiss.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend my time. I was the funny-girl misfit. He was the guy every girl wanted. Somehow, we were a perfect match—platonically speaking, of course.

But for some reason, this feels different. There’s an urgency in his voice I’ve never heard before. A desperation that doesn’t have anything to do with love.

“Zaaaach!” Britta yells over the whirring sound of the coffee grinder. “A little help here, please!”

There’s a line in front of the register, and the teenage girl behind it looks ready to cry.

“Coming!” Zach yells back and hustles behind the counter, leaving me to wait a lifetime before I can ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

He’s not in love with Carly; he’s in love with the idea of love. Always has been. I’ve never had any doubt he’d get married someday. He’s wanted to find a soulmate since we played house in his backyard.

I don’t know Carly, but I know she’s not the one for him.

I just hope he knows that too.

Chapter 2

Zach

It’s good to have Georgia home.

That’s the only thing I can focus on as I take everyone’s orders. Take them twice, most of the time. Like I said, Georgia’s on my mind.

And Carly, obviously. I can’t stop thinking about her and the possibility that she might be the woman for me. She’s mentioned more than once that she could see us together long term. And she had some good ideas about how we could make the house I found nicer. She saw things I hadn’t even noticed were problems.

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