Page 12 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“Nah,” I say slowly. “There’s no question she knows it was you. Who else would spray paint a caricature of her as Hitler?”

“Anyone who knows her,” Georgia snaps back, still grinning wildly. “But I obviously didn’t write ‘Voglmeyer for townNat-zi.’” She emphasizes each syllable in the word, knowing she’s the only person who can get away with teasing me about how badly I spell.“I won the sixth-grade spelling bee. I know there’s no ‘t’ in Nazi.”

“I know that too…I just didn’t then.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you stay here when everyone in town knows what a troublemaker you were.”

I laugh with her, but her words hit a little too close to home. I’m comfortable in Paradise. Until a few years ago, I never thought I’d want to leave, which is why I didn’t go to college after high school. But to be honest, for a while now, I’ve thought a lot about getting out of Paradise, as much I love it here. In fact, if Mom hadn’t gotten sick a few years ago, I would have left.

But she did, so I stayed.

I don’t regret my decision, but that doesn’t mean I never wonder how my life would be different if I had moved somewhere else. And, now that I’ve found a house, I probably won’t leave. Which is fine. I’m glad Carly loves it here and wants to stay. I’m sure, with all the recent growth, Paradise won’t feel too small for much longer.

Sitting next to Georgia, though, reminiscing and watching her smile, everything about Paradise feels right again. The chatter and commotion outside my Bronco is background noise. There’s only the two of us. I sink deeper into my seat and let my whole body unwind in a way I haven’t in…I don’t know how long.

“What do you think of Grandma Rose’s house?” I ask her, wanting to stretch our time alone as long as I can.

Her mouth pulls to the side. “The house is beautiful. Evie did an amazing job. But is it weird that I miss the green shag carpet?”

I look down the street, past the houses with peeling paint and broken shutters to the only two-story house in the neighborhood, where Georgia’s been staying since she came back. Grandma Rose’s renovated cottage is the farthest from my granny’s, but it stands out from the rest of the run-down cottages like a football player in a clean uniform at the end of a tough game.

“Nah.” I shake my head. “We had some good times in that house. I’m sorry to see Granny’s change too.”

She stares out the window with me. “I wish the houses were in good enough condition to do more restoration instead of complete rehabs.”

“Same, but it doesn’t make financial sense.” I brush my hand over her shoulder and tug one of her curls, like I used to when we were kids. “People think they want old houses until they realize they’ll have to go without ensuite bathrooms, open floor plans, or air conditioning. You wouldn’t have been able to compete with all the new houses going up if you restored instead of rebuilding.”

We’ve gone back and forth about this ever since she found out Grandma Rose left Little Copenhagen to her, and I helped her decide what to do with the old cottages. Because I’ve agreed to help with the real estate side of things, we’re not just friends—we’re business partners. That’s what she calls us, anyway. Partners.

Except the part where she puts up all the capital and takes all the risk.

My only job is to sell the cottages as we finish them and help her with the condo development.

That’s why the constant thought that she’s doing me a favor is hooked tight in my brain.

On top of that, I’m concerned adding a business component to our friendship will mess everything up between us. That worry gnaws at me even more than thedoing me a favorthought. It’s the same biting feeling I get when I occasionally let myself wonder what it would be like if Georgia and I were more than friends.

But the risk of losing our friendship has always kept me from pursuing any real ideas aboutus.

Which is the right thing to do.

Someone like Georgia who has the whole world at her feet wouldn’t want to tie herself to a guy like me who’s never lived anywhere besides the small town where he was born and raised. Georgia was always going places I wasn’t.

I just hope I didn’t do the wrong thing by agreeing to work with her. The last thing I want is for business, or anything else, to get in the way of what we have.

Chapter 5

Georgia

I jump at the knock on Zach’s truck window, then yelp when I see giant brown eyes, a mushed nose, and a mouth with puffed-up chipmunk cheeks pressed against the glass. Bright orange mittens frame the face, and I let out a relieved laugh when I realize who it is: little Stella Sparks, all grown up.

Then I do the same thing back to her on my side of the window. I’m still laughing when I pull away and feel Zach lean over my shoulder.

“This is who you hire as an assistant?” he asks dryly.

“Stella is going to be awesome.”

“Good luck keeping her in line.” He shakes his head as I roll down the window.

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