ONE
Georgie
“Ready for your Fifteen Minutes?” I call out as the room of people facing me cheers. Handing the microphone over to tonight’s volunteer host, I’m fighting my lips so they don’t show my gums. My smile is that wide.
I could never have expected my little Pages and Prose Bookshop stuffed full of people like it is tonight. Ever. When I got the idea a few months back to start hosting open mics here once a week, I wanted to try something different. A “creative speakeasy” if you will. See if any residents of Sweetkiss Creek were hiding away in their homes and not showing off their talents.
Boy, did I find my people. Beatnik poets, solo guitar acts, interpretive dancers (looking at you and your seventy-five-year-old badass self, Mrs. Linden), and even stand-up comics.
A familiar face appears in front of me. He’s got to be in his teens, maybe a senior at the local high school. It’s hard to tell his age, but he spends at least two afternoons a week here after class perusing the shelves.
“Hey, Miss Simpson, do you have enough power in this place that I could bring my band next week?”
“Please, call me Georgie,” I say. Even though I’m cringing inwardly, I work hard to not show how my insides feel on the outside. “But, no. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to do full bands, but maybe one day?” I hold up crossed fingers as I walk away. I love supporting the local arts, but someone’s first garage band in this small store would be pushing my luck. And all of our eardrums.
I make my way through the throng back to my perch on the other side of the counter. I guess since I’m the owner of the store it’s my reserved spot. I keep the sign-in list up there for folks who want a go at the mic for fifteen minutes. That’s why tonight is called ‘Fifteen Minutes of Fame’, so anybody can have a chance. Anybody within reason, but yes, anybody.
There’s a temporary stage that my friends helped me build. Don’t worry, it’s sturdy. I tested it by having two of my biggest friends, Levi and his brother, Austin, jump up and down on it to make sure it wouldn’t break. They both play in the NFL, so I figure if it can stand up to them and their muscly-body weight, it’ll hold up for everyone else.
Looking around the room, I see the faces of so many of my new friends. Moving to Sweetkiss Creek a couple of years ago, I wasn’t sure what I was in for. I just needed to start over. Fresh. Reinvent myself. I was living in New York City and had to get out. I hadn’t known where I was going, I only knew I had to go.
It was very strategic how I chose to move here, too: I pulled out a map, closed my eyes, and placed my finger down on the paper. Sweetkiss Creek won.
My host for the night is local cop, and one of my best friends' husbands, Zac Wright. He waves to me as he heads around the counter, making a beeline for me. “Hey, Georgie,” he says.
On stage, Mr. Johnson, the local florist whose business is only a few doors down from mine, starts his set. Who wouldhave thought that a man so serious about roses is funny? Not me. Yet his sets here seem to be some of the most popular, and it makes me happy. His wife passed away last year, so to see him coming out of his shell like this makes me really happy. When I hear a loud “Woo hoo!” as he starts talking, I know his daughter is also in the audience giving him energy as he’s up there, and it’s gold.
“Great night tonight, Zac. Thanks for being my host with the most.” I hold my hand up to high-five him. “Where’s your wife? I thought she was coming.”
“Etta had to drive Dylan and Reid to the airport. They’re off to do their yearly EMT training. I think they’re in Florida for a few weeks?” He shrugs as he leans against the counter. “All I know is we’ve got their dog.”
Dylan is another one of my friends, and Reid is her husband. The dog in question is Max, and he likes to hang out with my dog. You know. When we go to the dog park. It’s a whole vibe. IYKYK.
Honestly, I landed in the village of couple goals when I came here. I’ve never been so accepted by the popular girls, probably because I’m the one who lets her freak flag fly. It usually means I roll solo. I’m also so jealous, in the best way possible, of the relationshipping that happens here. I can only hope that I find someone here who’s meant for me like my friends seem to have done.
Maybe one day.
“I’ll text her this week and see if she wants to go to the dog park. Sounds like having Max along with your two dogs she’ll need to get everyone worn out.”
“Who knew doggy play dates were a whole thing?” Zac chuckles. “Love it.” He cranes his neck and looks around. “I don’t see Levi here tonight. Is he coming?”
The tiny flutter that happens inside of me when I hear Levi Porter’s name never ceases to amaze me. I hesitated atbecoming his friend. I even tried to talk myself out of it, especially once I realized the way I was starting to feel about him. But he’s become a sugar addiction I don’t want to quit. The TV show I have to tune into every week. That gas I put in my car.
Let me back up and explain. Levi Porter is one of the aforementioned NFL brothers, and he also happens to be one of my closest friends. We met a little over a year ago through a mutual friend, Riley. In the way small towns work, of course, he and Riley grew up together and were super tight, besties practically, but when she met and fell in love with her now husband Jake, she made sure to leave Levi with another female bestie who could be by his side.
That’s me. Although I did pretty much offer myself up for the role.
“He picked up his godson yesterday and moved him to the farm,” I share, keeping my voice low so I don’t annoy anyone in the crowd.
Zac lets out a giant breath of air. “Wow. To go from a single man to a dad in only a matter of months… Crazy. How’s he coping?”
“I’d say he’s doing the best he can. I mean, he hadn’t seen his friend for a few years and didn’t even know he’d been made a guardian until the call came from the emergency room that there had been an accident.”
Even though it was almost a year ago, the memory of the moment and Levi’s worry is burned into my memory. We were at Riley’s wedding when his phone rang. He’d left immediately to go to the hospital in New York where his friends had been rushed after a horrible fire.
“Isn’t there anyone else who can take the boy in?” Zac asks.
I shrug. I know that there is, and she’s waiting in the wings like a crazed stand-in on opening night,but I also know it’s a source of contention right now. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
