Page 57 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

Maybe it’s both.

I charge my phone on the way home, so by the time I pull into the driveway, I have just enough bars to finally read the text from Carly. I’d forgotten about it while Georgia and I were joking around, and then with the whole ankle-twisting thing, I couldn’t exactly prioritize charging my phone over taking care of Georgia. And as I read Carly’s message, I’m glad I couldn’t read it right away.

In fact, I have to read it a few times to make sure I understand what she’s saying.

I’m sorry. I should have told you about Brad. It just feels like we’ve been drifting apart since Georgia came back. Maybe a break while you’re filming the show will be good for both of us.

A break?

What is that supposed to mean? She wants to get back together in a few months?

I let that thought roll around. Do I still have a chance with Carly? Do I stillwanta chance with her?

I don’t know.

When I get inside, I head straight for the shower. That’s where I do my best thinking, and no doubt I need to clean up. But not even a twenty-minute shower is long enough for me to sort out all my conflicting emotions.

I throw on some sweats, but I’m too heated for a shirt. Then I head for the kitchen and start pulling ingredients out of fridge and cabinets. I’m not a chef by any means—that’s all Adam. But you don’t grow up in a family that owns two restaurants without learning how to cook. Putting foods together, combining flavors, experimenting with different tastes…it all calms me down and helps me think. I never follow a recipe. I just try things out.

Today I fry up some bacon, then sauté some mushrooms and asparagus in the grease. Everything tastes better cooked in a little bacon grease. Mom taught me that. Next, I whip together some eggs and cream for a frittata. Beating the eggs helps me sort through all the questions flooding my brain. I separate the questions and examine each, one by one, searching for answers.

What is it I’m feeling for Georgia? And if those feelings are real, what is this tugging toward Carly? She lied to me. We’re not getting back together.

But the fact I’m still thinking about Carly sort of makes sense. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since we broke up. Or, I guess, sinceIthought we’d broken up for good. It would be abnormal if I didn’t feel anything for her anymore.

But Georgia?

I don’t know what these feelings are.

I think over the last few weeks since Georgia’s been back. We picked up right where we left off before she went away for college. Which isn’t unusual. That’s what we always do when we see each other, no matter how much time has passed.

But this time should have been different. I had a girlfriend I was seeing seriously enough to consider marrying. Yet, Georgia was still the person I wanted to be with most of the time.

Suddenly, everything falls into place. Carly wasn’t wrong when she complained about my wanting to spend more time with Georgia than with her. I did.

Because it’s Georgia who fills the space I thought Carly could. The space longing for love and partnership. The space empty of contentment and well-being—the hygge-sized space—when Georgia isn’t around.

Carly was a distraction—a placeholder. But she’s not the missing piece that can fill my soul.

What I’m feeling for Georgia is still friendship but illuminated. Bigger and brighter. Like all I’ve ever done is snorkel above the surface and suddenly I’m scuba diving. There’s a whole new world to explore that I never realized was there before.

That’s not true.

I always knew it was there. I was just afraid to dive in.

But am I ready to now?

No way.

But…I have a perfect excuse to test the waters.

Pretending to date means I can get an idea of whether we’d work as a couple without the risk of losing our friendship. I can act like I’m acting but show Georgia what we’d be like together. And, maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll develop feelings for me too.

I’m not sure how I’ll know if she’s falling for me if we’re both acting, but that’s something I can figure out later. Georgia is good at hiding her emotions, but we’ve been friends long enough that I recognize her tells. There’s a shift in her smile—it grows bigger but not warmer when she’s holding something back.

I pour the eggs over my veggies and add the bacon back in to the pan, along with some Swiss cheese. By the time the eggs have cooked through, I know what I need to do.

With my plated frittata in one hand and my phone in the other, I voice text Carly.

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