“Your brother and Henry are friends,” Momma explains. “They’ve become closer since you left.”
“I know,” I say, though I haven’t really picked up on that since they told me.
“How’s my grandbaby?” Momma checks.
“Good,” I inform. “Cece and he video chatted with me earlier…around seven.”
“Were you back before then?” Momma inquires protectively.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.
“Good,” Momma huffs. “No need for Henry to get the wrong idea before you two talk things out.”
“At the rate we’re going, I’ll need to be here for six months just to get him to sit still long enough for me to say anything,” I snicker.
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Momma pries with a devious grin.
“A little,” I groan. “I do have a life…a son.”
“I know,” Momma confirms, placing some fresh cut fruit in a bowl and pushes it toward me. She adds two halves of a bagel into the toaster and takes out the cream cheese. “Want anything else?” she checks.
“Nah,” I say with a mouthful. “I’m good with this for now.”
“So…” Momma prefaces. “How did the talking go last night?”
“Like I said…it didn’t,” I remind.
“None…at all?” Momma checks.
“Okay, there was a little…but we didn’t get into anything like that,” I reveal.
Momma stays quiet, knowing that I’ll keep talking eventually. I take several bites of food.
“He’s changed,” I add while chewing.
“Good change?” Momma inspects.
I can’t help but smile. “I think so.”
“I’d say so,” Momma teases.
“He clarified a few small things,” I state.
“Like?” she pushes.
“Like…he regrets not fighting for me…for us,” I explain. “That he will.”
“Has he ever said things like that before?” Momma asks.
“Kind of, but not really,” I confirm. “It’s different with how he says things now. Henry’s never really said that he’d fight before. He seems more confident.”
“Like he’s a man who knows what he wants?” Momma suggests.
“Yeah,” I huff. “But, it still sounds like he only wants me.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Momma poses. “What if it is still just you, but this time he’s willing to do whatever it takes, even go to New York, to be with you.”
“I think that’s a bit too optimistic,” I counter.
“You’re the one who says he’s changed,” Momma reminds, handing me my toasted bagel.
“True,” I reply, smearing the cream cheese all over the bread.
Momma lets me eat in silence, letting our conversation sink in and probably to give me time to think about everything that has happened since I arrived. Momma always knows how to push gently without overstepping. She does it with everyone she knows and she’s great at it. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to get me to consider not only how Henry has changed, but how I have changed as well.
Right as I’m washing my dishes, the doorbell rings. Momma shouts from the other room that she’s got it and Nana and Pops don’t bother getting up from their spots in the living room. I take the coffee pitcher over to them, checking if they need another round.
“Hey,” Henry greets, walking into the kitchen.
“Hey,” I reply, grabbing my loose cardigan and pulling it further across my body.
Henry looks me up and down and smiles. “Got any plans today?” he checks.
“Well, I was hoping to go to church,” I say calmly.
Henry’s eyes narrow a little. “Bullshit,” he challenges.
“Not in front of Momma,” I scold.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Momma claims, walking past us. She offers me a goofy smile, happy to make me feel uncomfortable and point out that she’s happy Henry’s here.
“Bull honky,” I counter playfully.
“I know you’ve changed,” Henry states with a wicked grin. “But, there’s no way in hell you’re suddenly into church.”
“How do you know?”I quip.
“It’s almost nine and you’re not even showered or dressed,” he says, calling me out.
I look down at the hot mess that I am. “It’s a slow morning,” I claim. “I was shooting for the eleven o’clock mass.”
“There’ isn’t one,” Henry claims. “Never has been here. You know that.”
“In New York, there are,” I reply with attitude and stick out my tongue.
“We’re not in New York anymore, Ivy,” Henry goads.
“I say a day date is a wonderful idea,” Momma chimes in.
“No one said the word date,” I challenge.
Henry smiles and doesn’t negate Momma’s word choice.
“It was implied, Sweetpea,” Momma states.
“Don’t you have something to do?” I inquire, giving Momma a funny face for butting in.
“Help make sure my baby girl doesn’t mope around the house? Yes,” Momma agrees.
“I’m not moping,” I argue.
“Looked like a little moping to me,” Henry interjects.
“Not something you want to say to a girl you’re trying to convince to go out on a date with you,” I remind.
Henry laughs. “So, go get ready. I’ll wait.”
“I hadn’t agreed,” I tease.
“She’d love to go,” Momma says.
“How do you know?” I pry playfully.
“Because, we were just talking about him and how you have nothing to do,” Momma announces.
“No, we weren’t,” I correct, glowering at her.
Henry’s attention bounces back and forth between Momma and me. When he looks at Momma, I give her a dirty look. When he looks at me, I offer a smile.
“Well, are you going to keep arguing with me, or are you going to get ready?” Momma pushes, redirecting the conversation.
“Behave,” I command, waving my finger at Momma.
“When am I not?” she feigns.
“Don’t make me call Papa from the garden to answer that,” I challenge with a smirk. I look back at Henry. “What did you have in mind?”
“Something where we’ll be outside…possibly dirty and wet….”
“Oh, sounds like fun,” Momma exclaims.
“Would you like to go?” I ask.
“Who me? No. I’ve got stuff to do around the house,” she replies. “But, thanks for thinking of me. You kids have fun.”
“Give me fifteen minutes,” I tell Henry as I walk toward the stairs.
“You can go with her,” Momma offers.
“No, he can’t,” I object, with my foot on the first step.
“Sure he can,” Momma claims.
“No,” I repeat, inching up higher.
“I’ll play it safe and stay down here,” Henry states while remaining in the living room.
“Good choice!” I shout from the top of stairs.
After a thorough shower, making sure I don’t have a single hair on my legs or armpits, I rush the last few steps in the bathroom only to stare at all of the clothes I brought back with me. I had jammed a number of things in my luggage to bring down, but I didn’t see anything that would be appropriate, comfortable, and not too revealing.
I check my closet and laugh when I find all of my old stuff still hanging. I opt for an old tee shirt from back in the day, my jean shorts, and sneakers. I grab an oversized cardigan I brought with me, my purse, and head back downstairs.
“Ready?” I ask, barely entering the living room.
“Don’t you look cute,” Momma states.
“Sure,” Henry says, turning to look at me. “Hey, isn’t that my old Guns N’ Roses shirt?”
I look down. “Uh, no,” I fib. “This one was mine.”
“There is no way that that one is yours,” Henry challenges.
“Why not?” I pr
y.
“Because, you’ve filled out up top,” Henry states bluntly.
Momma snickers.
“This one was mine,” I claim.
“Yours was tight back then,” Henry states. “It would only be tighter now.”
“I stretched it out on purpose…a while ago,” I lie.
Henry eyes me but doesn’t continue. “Thanks, Mrs. A, for the cookies.”
“You gave him cookies?” I whine.
“I packed you both a lunch and there’s more in there,” Momma says, handing me her large cooler bag.
“Yay,” I reply with a smile. “Thanks, Momma.” I start digging through it.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Getting a cookie,” I reply, sticking it in my mouth.
“You’ll spoil your lunch,” she claims.
“I just had breakfast, besides, Henry had one,” I complain.
“Ladies don’t whine,” Momma corrects.
“Yes, we do,” I tease with a grin. “Especially in New York. That’s how we get what we want instead of sleeping our way to the top.”
“I thought it was through hard work,” Momma quips.
“Sometimes,” I laugh.
“Don’t let your Papa hear that,” Momma teases following us to the front door.
Henry opens the passenger side of his truck for me, the gentleman that he’s always been. We’re on the road in no time and silent for a long while. I know he and I need to talk, but driving is never a good time to reveal things to people. I’ve seen my share of fights and breakups in this small town while someone is driving where it either almost or does cause an accident.
“So…” I begin.
“So?” Henry repeats.
“What do you do?” I ask.
“Don’t you know?” he checks.
“No,” I say. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Your Momma never told you?” he checks.
“There’s been a no talking about Henry policy,” I reply with a wince.
“Really?” Henry returns with a pained expression.
“It always made things easier for me,” I admit, looking out the window.
“Easier? he asks.
“Kind of,” I answer softly.
Henry gets quiet.
I glance in his direction but don’t push knowing that I’ve offended him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be,” he replies. “They refrained from talking about you too.”
I nodded, happy to hear that because the less talking about me, the less chance of Henry discovering my secret.
“I’m in construction,” Henry reveals, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Construction, really?” I ask, eager to hear more.
“Yeah,” he chuckles.
“What specifically in construction?” I check. “I know you always helped your dad with stuff around the house and all and were good at it.”
“I did a lot of odd jobs over the years, learned a lot more when the newer log cabin rentals were being built…you know, the Awohali Ridge ones,” he explains. “They’ve got over fifty different family size properties and several lodge locations.”
“That’s cool,” I reply. “What about your statues?”
“They’re just a stress reliever,” he informs.
“They’re really good. You should make some specifically to sell them,” I suggest. “I bet you’d get a lot for them. You can sell them online and do custom made-to-order designs and charge a lot.”
“Yeah?” Henry chuckles.
“Yeah,” I reply excitedly. “You’d be amazed at how a skill and ability like that can make some people a lot of money.”
“I’ll look into it,” he says with a chuckle.
“You should,” I encourage, able to envision what his website would look like and the niche market his skill is in.
“What do you do?” he inquires.
“After a few years of experience in business and marketing, I’ve started my own brand equity agency,” I share.
“What does that mean?” Henry asks.
“It means I help companies with their reputations where the business is selling more products and services, making more money, able to expand their online engagement, as well as acquire new talent,” I explain.
“Okay,” Henry replies.
I smile, knowing that most people don’t understand what it is I exactly do, even those who are in business don’t.
“Mom’s been letting me help her with the bed and breakfast with what I do,” I state proudly.
“Awesome. How’s that working out?” Henry searches.
“Good,” I answer. “The Inn has been booked solid that last two years.”
“So, does that mean you might be in Georgia more?” Henry pries.
“Maybe,” I reply with a grin.
“Good to know,” Henry says.
“Hey, do you know what company owns the lodges and cabins over on Awohali Ridge?” I inquire.
“I can look into it for you, why?” Henry replies.
“Do you know if they’ve opened yet?” I check.
“They do in a month,” Henry informs.
“Cool. I think I’ll talk to the owner to see what they’re doing to market the place,” I mention.
“I’m sure my dad might know who owns it. I’ll ask him,” Henry states.
“Awesome. Thanks,” I reply.
16 Henry
“So, what did you have planned for today?” Ivy asks as her excitement becomes more evident in her face and body.
“We’re almost there,” I inform.
“Where?” she presses.
“Why are you hyper?” I ask.
“I’m not,” she denies.
“How many cookies did you eat?” I push.
“Just one,” she says.
“Bullshit, Firefly,” I call out.
“Why do you call me that?” she asks suddenly.
I’m not sure if she honestly doesn’t know and wants to know or if she’s avoiding my question.
“Why?” I check.
“Just curious,” she replies.
“Tell me the truth and I’ll share,” I barter.
“I only had one,” she claims.
“Then, why do you so hyper?” I press playfully.
“I don’t know,” she sighs.
“Really?” I ask in disbelief.
“Oh,” Ivy says as if she’s a child who just found out she’s going to Disney World. “It’s probably from the sugar in the cookie.”
“One cookie?” I speculate.
“Yes,” she confirms, bouncing her leg. “Okay…two.”
“How can that happen with all the cookies I’ve seen you eat over the years?” I goad.
“I don’t eat sugary stuff,” she states. “I’ve kept certain foods out of my diet since moving to New York.”
I nod, not sure what to say at first. “It’s going to be hard for you.”
“What do you mean?” she checks.
“You know, like a crash and burn type of things from two cookies if you really haven’t hand any in a while,” I explain.
“Don’t know,” Ivy says, shrugging her shoulders as she continues to bounce.
“Please, stop bouncing,” I request.
“I’m not bouncing,” she denies.
I reach over and place my hand on her left leg that has been twitching for the past several minutes.
“Oh,” she gasps, looking down. “Ha ha. I guess I am. Sorry.”
I remove my hand and her leg immediately starts back up. “Either get that leg under control or I will,” I command.
“I can’t and don’t know how,” she states. “If I can’t, how can you?”
I offer a smile. “I know a few ways.”
“Stop reverting everything back to sex and answer my damn question,” she commands.
I laugh. “Say the word sex and not get turned on,” I challenge.
“I did,
” she alleges.
“Then, why are your pupils dilated?” I inspect.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she quips.
“They are,” I chuckle.
“They’re dilated because of the sugar,” she suggests.
“They’re dilated because you’re horny,” I accuse.
“Answer my question,” she says, unbuckling herself and turning to face me. Ivy puts her right leg up on the dashboard, flashing me her crotch. “And, I’ll let you fuck me.”
“Let me,” I scoff. “Honey, I’ll take you if I want.” My right hand reaches over, touching her left knee.
“I let you take me,” she rebuts with a grin.
My fingers slide higher on her leg. “Mine,” I remind.
Ivy starts to shift away in her seat to prevent contact. Her upper body leans more toward me than she means to and that’s when I get a hold of her arm and yank her all the way to my side of the truck. As I pull the truck over onto the side of the road into one of the patches that are meant for hikers, I squeeze down on her thigh, making her laugh.
Throwing the truck in park, I turn in my seat to face her. “Mine,” I growl as I unbuckle myself. “All mine.” I grab her hips and place her over my lap so she’s straddling me and facing forward.
Ivy giggles as she tries to get away, but I keep her back glued to my chest with one arm across the front of her body, securing her with my hand on her shoulder. My right hand reaches down her pants. The second I make contact with her soft, sweet clit, Ivy’s wiggling changes.
“Mine,” I repeat, circling my fingers slowly.
“Henry,” she whimpers.
“Tell me,” I command.
Ivy remains quiet as her body starts to fall into a rhythm with my hand. Her ass grinds against my cock, indicating that I’m hitting a good spot.
“Tell me,” I demand, nipping her shoulder.
Ivy shakes her head as if it’ll help her win.
I continue to play with her. Each time she gets close to coming, I deny her the ability.
“Henry,” she whines.
“What?” I goad.
“I wanna come,” she pants.
“Then, tell me,” I growl.
Her head shakes a little, but she says it lowly on a breath out, “Yours.”
“Louder,” I command, resuming the movement.
Hot Georgia Rein Page 12
