by Maggie Wells
Grateful for the opening his lack of eloquence gave her, Georgie released the boy and turned back to Rosie. The other woman’s narrowed gaze had drifted back to the spot where Mike and his sister stood. James had joined them, and whatever welcome there may have been in their embrace had clearly evaporated. The conversation looked heated. Lines of worry deepened the grooves in Mike’s forehead. Unsure what else to do, and not wanting to add to his strain, Georgie decided some distance was needed.
“I’m going to go jump with Chrissie,” she announced.
Rosie startled and turned back to her, a guilty half-smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry? What?”
“Chrissie looks overwhelmed,” Georgie said, nodding to the girl sitting on the sidelines. “I thought I’d go play with her.”
Rosie’s eyes warmed as she glanced over at Mike’s daughter. “Oh, yes. She would probably like it if you would.”
Officially cut loose from the moorings of adulthood, Georgie quickened her pace as she approached the edge of the play area. When she reached the trampoline where Chrissie sat staring death rays at the kids sending shock waves across the mesh surface, she folded her forearms over the padding and leaned in, an overtly wistful expression on her face.
“Man, this looks like fun.” Georgie heaved a gusty sigh. “Is it as fun as it looks?”
“They bounceded me,” Chrissie said, pointing an accusatory finger at some boys from a concurrent party. Her solemn expression turned positively mutinous, and the eerie blue eyes so like her father’s narrowed to slits. “They’re too big.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m bigger.” She made a show of toeing off her shoes, then sent up a silent prayer for Mike to be looking the other way as she jumped up and scrambled ungracefully over the edge. “Wanna bounce with me?” she asked, slightly breathless from the exertion.
Chrissie’s eyes grew round. “You bounce?”
Georgie snickered. “Who doesn’t?”
“Growed ups,” the girl answered gravely.
“Some grown-ups,” Georgie corrected. “This grown-up likes all sorts of fun things. Bouncing. Cake. Uh, playing games with dolls and stuff,” she finished lamely. Chrissie shot her a look so skeptical Georgie almost burst out laughing. “Okay, I’m better with Legos and Hot Wheels. I only have a brother, but he is really bossy.”
Chrissie’s pink rosebud mouth dropped open and wondrous delight lit her smile. “I hab a bossy brudder!”
“See?” Twisting up onto her knees, she darted a poisonous glance at the boys making the trampoline’s surface undulate beneath her. Cautiously, she worked her way to her feet. Bracing them wide to keep her balance, she offered Chrissie both hands and a conspiratorial smile. “Two girls with bossy brothers. We should totally bounce together. Show ’em how this is done.”
“Your hair’s pretty,” Chrissie said as she placed her hands in Georgie’s.
Georgie gave the chubby, slightly sticky fingers a squeeze and pulled her new best friend to her feet. “Yours is, too.”
“Are you a unicorn?”
Shaking her head, Georgie pulled a regretful face. “Sadly, no.” Taking a careful step back, she pulled the child away from the trampoline’s edge. “Not even a mermaid.”
Chrissie frowned as she processed the latest disappointment in her short life, but the scowl was gone in a blink. “You’re pretty.”
“Thank you. I think you are, too.” She backed up another cautious step and Chrissie hopped forward. The boisterous boys who’d been jostling at the center took note of her approach and wisely decided to move to an adjacent span. Once they stood squarely in the middle, she looked down at her cohort. “You ready to show these kids how to really bounce?”
Chrissie nodded, her blond curls taking advantage of the movement to get a head start.
Bending her knees, Georgie gave the girl’s hands a squeeze. “Okay, but you go first and show me how. I’ve never done this.”
Chapter 13
Each time he heard his daughter’s high-pitched squeals, Mike’s stomach turned a somersault. Chrissie was having the time of her life, and Georgie didn’t exactly look bored, either. With her multicolored hair and funky-patterned leggings, she looked like she belonged in the middle of a gaggle of giggling kids. And her smile. She wore a grin a mile wide. Her cheekbones shone rosy as apples and almost obscured her eyes. He stood at the edge of the bank of trampolines, as mesmerized by her today as he’d been the day he’d walked into her bakery.
“She your girlfriend?”
His sister tried to soften the disbelief with a fake laugh, but her chortle proved to be weak cover. Without sparing her a glance, he continued to watch the kids flock to Georgie. Mike couldn’t blame them; she was damn near magnetic. “Yes,” he answered succinctly.
The admission itself triggered a trickle of apprehension. He’d never viewed their relationship in such black-and-white terms. Georgie wasn’t the type of woman who fit labels. She was unique. Like a snowflake. Or a rainbow. Or, as Chrissie insisted, a unicorn. Some kind of magical creature who appeared when he needed her most. But snowflakes and rainbows and unicorns weren’t something one could hold on to. Wasn’t it some sort of crime to try to keep one for oneself?
Girlfriend was an okay term, though. Saying someone was your girlfriend didn’t imply permanence.
“The cake looks amazing. Rosie says she has her own bakery.”
She turned and stared at his profile. Mike had to fight the urge to look at her. Megan had a certain freaky kind of power when people looked directly at her. Not the turn-a-guy-to-stone type. More a mold-them-into-putty power. Her charm worked on all men, regardless of age or relation.
When they were young, she’d been the only one who could appease their father when he’d been in one of his drunken rages. All her life, Megan had only to look at him and Mike found himself bending to her will. And James. Poor James hadn’t stood a chance when she turned the full force of her wacky brand of charm on him.
“What do you want, Meggy?” he asked, his gaze locked on his nephews who were currently throwing themselves at Georgie’s feet.
His sister didn’t answer, which was a dead giveaway in itself. Money. She needed money, as always. But he’d told her the bank of big brother was closed when she left for Oregon with her driftwood sculptor.
All he had to do was keep his eyes averted and stand his ground. “I’m not giving you any more money.”
“I’m not asking you to give me money. I need a loan,” she said, a wheedling note pitching her voice an octave higher than her usual contralto.
A memory struck like a Mack truck. The scent of gin and stale cigarette smoke filled his nostrils. His father’s hand gripping his arm, claw-like in his urgency. Loose coins and crumpled bills scattered across the scarred kitchen table. The coffee can Mike used as a bank lay on its side near the humming harvest-gold refrigerator. His father had found the stash of cash he’d accumulated by hoarding lunch money and occasionally subbing for guys on their paper routes. The money he foolishly thought would get him to college one day, and out of the sad, sagging house where he grew up forever.
I’m not takin’ your money. I just need a loan, Mikey-boy. Rent’s due.
His father had chuckled as he said it, but cuffed Mike’s ear hard enough to make it clear there’d be no arguing. And no way would he ever see any other money he brought into the house again. He’d never recoup a dime of the thousands he’d “loaned” his sister over the years. He didn’t want money from her. He loved Megan. Once upon a time, it had been the two of them against the world. The last thing he wanted was to turn his only sister away from him. He only wanted her to grow the fuck up.
She had a bad habit of shirking responsibility. Small ones or large. She’d flitted her way through high school, frittered away an impressive art scholarship, blown through boyfriends like a hurricane, and left her own
children to chase whatever her passion of the moment might be. Their mother used to say he got all the worrywart genes and Meggy got all the whimsy, and she hadn’t been wrong. But Megan was almost thirty. She had two kids she wasn’t caring for, and absolutely no purpose in life. How long was he supposed to keep bankrolling her aimless lifestyle?
Drawing a breath, he opened his eyes and sought James out in the crowd. Spotting him wasn’t difficult. His friend stood a head taller than most people, and his red hair glowed like a beacon. “How ’bout I pay James some of the back child support you owe him?”
Megan huffed. “Child support. He doesn’t need my money any more than you do.”
Her dismissive attitude cut him to the quick. She was so adept at wielding their father’s brand of self-pitying justification. I need it more than he does. Why shouldn’t I keep what’s mine? They have plenty enough already.
Stiffening his spine, he pivoted away from her. “Good, because apparently you don’t have any money.”
“Mikey—”
He didn’t turn back. Couldn’t. If he looked at her now, he’d give in. Again. The fact that James didn’t hate him for all the times he made his feckless sister’s escape from responsibilities possible spoke volumes about the depth of their friendship. And Mike had vowed to himself he wouldn’t aid and abet her antics any longer.
“Hey,” he said as he approached the tables where his friends stood watching the kids run wild. He glanced down at the small plates and plastic forks Rosie had arranged beside the cake. “Almost time for the good stuff?”
“Let them eat cake,” Colm pronounced with a sweep of his arm.
“Good luck getting them to come down,” James remarked dryly.
“All a matter of how you pitch it,” Monica said, sidling past her sister. “Watch this.”
Colm’s girlfriend sauntered over to the play area with the confidence of a woman who knew she had all the right moves. Chuckling under his breath, Mike darted a look at his friend. “What’s she going to do? Bribe them?”
Colm’s gaze was locked on Monica, his expression rapt and openly admiring. “Nah. If there’s anyone who knows how to leverage a situation, it’s Monica.”
“Hey, Georgie,” she called loud enough to be heard over the din. “Cake?”
An incandescent smile lit Georgie’s face. Apparently, Monica said the magic word. “Cake!” The word exploded from her as she bounced again, Chrissie’s hands gripped in hers. Georgie turned to his daughter, her face alight with joy. “Cake time!”
Without waiting for assent from the kids, Georgie starting bouncing her way toward the edge. Of course, her merry band of minions followed without a word of protest.
By the time they reached the side of the trampolines, her chant of “Cake, cake, cake, cake” had taken hold and gained momentum. The adults joined in as they handed kid after kid down to solid ground.
Mike had to laugh when Chrissie continued to jump in place, her golden curls bouncing with each breathless demand for birthday cake. The kids took off for the tables, Aiden leading the way with a fist thrust into the air. While the crowd dispersed, he held out a hand to steady Georgie as she stepped onto the padding. She bent into a crouch, but he caught her at the waist. Rather than the graceful dismount he’d hoped to give her, Georgie tumbled into his chest with an, “Oof!”
“Sorry,” he murmured into her pastel-striped hair. “I was trying to help.”
Instead of righting herself, Georgie wound her arms around him and squeezed tight. “This does help.”
She tipped her head back and her tousled waves fell away from her face. Her skin was flushed pink and damp with exertion. Her eyes sparkled. Unable to help himself, he swooped in and brushed a soft kiss across her plump, ripe mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”
Georgie’s breathless laugh tickled his cheek. “I’m a mess.”
“I like you best when you’re a mess.” The words were meant to be glib, but the truth of them struck a chord deep inside him.
He did. He, the man who prized order, the one who painted his entire house eggshell-white, liked this chaotic kaleidoscope of a woman. And the depth of his affection for her scared the ever-loving crap out of him.
A lock of lilac hair clung to her damp cheek. He caught the soft tendril with one finger and looped it back behind her ear. “You’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”
Her smile flashed fast and bright. Like a streak of lightning in the night sky, there one second, then gone.
“You must be Georgianna.”
Mike stiffened as Megan’s over-bright greeting sliced through the moment. Georgie’s arms loosened fractionally, then she ducked her head and slipped from his grasp entirely.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Georgie.” She cast a quick glance at him as she took Megan’s proffered hand. “And you’re Mike’s sister…”
“Megan,” his sister supplied with a smirk of a smile. “I can tell he’s told you as much about me as he’s told me about you.”
Mike wanted to argue the unfairness of the statement. Until she strolled into Trampland, he honestly had no idea where his sister was or what she was doing. Instead, he clamped his jaw shut and took a deep breath. When he was ready, he spoke in the even, noncombative tone he’d perfected by the fifth grade. “We should, uh,” he nodded toward the tables where the buttercream frenzy was in full swing, “cake.”
“I hear you made the cake,” Megan said as they made their way into the thick of the party.
“I own a bakery in Uptown. Getta Piece.”
Mike tensed when his sister drew to a halt and quirked an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“The bakery,” Georgie continued, unabashed, “it’s called Getta Piece.”
There was something Mike didn’t like about the way the two women eyed one another. The air crackled with unspoken challenge.
“Oh, like a piece of cake.” Megan gave a high, fake tinkle of a laugh and the hairs on his nape stood on end. “Cute.”
He felt Georgie stiffen and jumped into the fray. “It’s a great place,” he said with a shade too much enthusiasm. “Very popular. And Georgie is a magician. I mean, look at what she made.”
Mike gestured toward the manhole cover cake as if showing off a masterpiece. And in a way, he was. He could see the care Georgie took with each turtle’s joyous expression, the deliberate use of bright color to lighten the overall mood of the sewer scene. The subtle sparkle of colored sugars gave the cake magical depth and dimension.
Perhaps he felt a misplaced need to prove to his useless sister his girlfriend was so much more than outward appearances might convey. Maybe he was panicking. A shrink might say he felt the need to mitigate his feelings for her. Whatever his motivation, he went ahead and blabbed anyway, because he was a dolt. “Georgie’s parents are Gerald and Meredith Carson.”
Megan’s eyes widened for real this time, then her brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean the mayor, Gerald Carson?”
“Former mayor,” Georgie replied, her voice sharp as she turned her face away from them.
Mike cringed, then squeezed her hand in silent apology. Despite herself, his sister looked impressed.
“Wow. Lucky you,” Megan said with breathless admiration. “Hey, isn’t your brother getting ready to run for mayor, too?”
“He is running,” Mike said when Georgie didn’t respond right away. “We’re doing some work for his campaign.”
“Ahh. I see.”
Georgie turned back to the conversation, her jaw tensed. “Yes, I hope you’ll vote for him. I think Gerry can do some great things for this city.”
“Vote? Oh, yes. I keep meaning to register, but I move around so much…” Megan trilled her annoying fake laugh again and brushed the notion of the whole democratic process off with a wave. “I’ll try to remember, now I’m back.”
Megan gave a distracted nod and narrowed her eyes at the scrum of children gathered around the table. “I’ve lined up a job teaching pottery through a learning extension program.” She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “I need to find somewhere to crash until I can get a place of my own.”
For one anxious moment, he thought she meant to move in with him. Then, Mike noticed the way her gaze lingered on James and the calculating gleam in her eye. The knot in his stomach tightened as he waited for her to check on—or even notice—her twin sons. But she didn’t.
With a sinking feeling, he acknowledged his sister was only interested in what she might take from people, and his nephews had nothing to offer her besides their love. The worst was knowing they’d give her their hearts without a second thought. The boys might be more than a handful when it came to mischief-making, but they were sweet, affectionate boys. They’d been too young to notice more than the lack of regular meals when she left the first time. Megan had never stayed for long in the subsequent years, but each time she came and went, she left their lives in disarray. What would happen if James was dumb enough to let her stay with them, to let those boys hope?
He felt a tug on his arm, then Georgie slid her hand down to thread her fingers through his. At her reassuring squeeze, he exhaled long and steady and held on. Candles were lit, and the group warbled a robust, if off-key, rendition of the birthday song. When the crowd moved in closer to get their piece of the birthday boy’s wishes, he turned to look down at Georgie.
“Sorry.” He spoke softly, under the din of clamoring children. “I don’t know why I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, releasing him with a quick shake of her pastel-painted head.
“So, Mr. Mayor’s daughter owns a bakery in uptown, huh?” Megan interrupted.
“My father hasn’t been the mayor in over a decade,” Georgie pointed out.
