Page 80 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

Even the stubborn part who refuses to wear sensible shoes to work.

Which actually works in my favor. As the day goes on, Georgia’s ankle swells and starts to ache. She has to hold my arm or hand if we walk, and I’m forced to put a supportive arm around her waist if we stand too long.

“Let’s wrap it up!” Ike finally calls at seven o’clock.

The sun is on its way down, painting the sky orange, purple, and pink as it goes. Nick gets one last shot of Georgia and me in front of the newly installed entry door, admiring the sky’s show. The air is crisp, but not too cold, hinting of spring.

As soon as the camera goes off, Georgia sinks against me like she might collapse. With some effort, she slips off her shoes and shrinks half a foot. The top of her head comes to my shoulder, and she rests against it.

“I could go to sleep right here if I weren’t so hungry,” she yawns.

“Then how about I carry you home and make you something to eat?” I sweep my arm under her back and knees and scoop her against my chest.

“Zach!” she protests, but I’m already carrying her across the walkway toward her house. “You can’t carry me all the way home!”

To be honest, her house does look a lot farther away than it ever has. Suddenly I’m more exhausted than I realized, so I set her down. “Okay, you can walk, but only if you let me cook dinner for us.”

“Is this a date type of situation? Is that what’s happening here?”

I blink and words fail me. Because,isthis a date kind of thing? Did I just ask Georgia out for the first time ever? And is she as excited about that possibility as I am?

Before I can say anything, Georgia staggers back to the step and grabs her shoes. She bends over to slip them on. With her back to me I have the courage to say what I’m wondering.

“Doyouwantittobeadate?” I leave no space between my words. I have to say them all at once or I won’t say them at all.

Georgia stands. Turns. Bites her lip. “Do you?”

I stare at her mouth. Her teeth tugging her lip. I lick my own lip and nod.

Georgia’s face stretches into a smile. “Okay, then. Let’s do dinner.”

“Let’s do dinner.” My eyes don’t leave hers.

A stillness settles in the air between us. It’s a comfortable stillness, but not relaxing. It’s too heavy with anticipation. Like the few seconds at the top of a roller coaster ride before the brake releases.

Georgia moves closer, and I hold out my hand. She slips her smaller one into mine. Her skin is soft and warm, and I lace my fingers through hers.

“Do you have any food in your house?” I ask as we walk side by side toward Grandma Rose’s.

“I have cereal and bread but no milk.”

I shake my head at the same time my phone blasts the chorus to “Look What You Made Me Do.”Which is the only Taylor Swift song I know because Britta chose it as her ringtone on my phone. Then she called me once an hour for an entire day until I couldn’t get the song out of my head. (Don’t ask why I didn’t change it. Maybe I liked it).

“It’s Britta.” I stop and take my phone from my jacket pocket. “She’s been with Mom this afternoon.” That’s all I have to say to Georgia. She understands why I have to take the call.

“Britta? Everything okay?”

“Hello to you too,” my sister says, and I exhale. Loud voices and music in the background tell me she’s at the Garden. Dad must be with Mom now. “We’re slammed here, and one of our dishwashers didn’t show up. Can you come help?”

I glance at Georgia. She rubs her arms, shivering. “What’s up?”

I cover my phone, but not my frustration. “Adam needs help. Raincheck?”

“Of course!”

“Come to the Garden for dinner?”

She nods. “Yeah. Maybe…probably. After I change out of these shoes.”

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