face had me more than curious.
“Five marriages, four husbands.” She flipped the page. “She married number three twice, but I think they’re getting divorced, since she’s currently back with number four. I honestly don’t bother keeping track anymore.”
It took a second to connect those dots.
“Anyway, you need the pictures from the forties, and these are mostly just me—” She moved to shut the album.
“I’d love to see them.” Anything to help me understand her better.
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“I mean, Scarlett’s in them, too, right?” Weak.
“True. Okay. We can move to the older stuff next. Don’t let it get cold.” She motioned to the burger I had in front of me.
We ate and flipped through the album. Page after page was filled with pictures of Georgia’s childhood, and though some of the pictures included Hazel or Scarlett, it was years—and my entire lunch—before Ava appeared again. Georgia looked like a happy child for the most part—huge smiles in the garden, the meadow, out by the creek. Book signings in Paris and Rome—
“No London?” I asked, turning the page back to make sure I hadn’t missed one. Nope, just Scarlett and Georgia—who was missing two front teeth—at the Colosseum.
“She never stepped foot in England again,” Georgia said softly. “This was the last book tour, too. She wrote for another ten years, though. Swore it kept her from going senile. What about you?”
“Me? Am I at risk for going senile?” My eyebrows shot up. “How old do you think I am?”
She laughed. “I know you’re thirty-one. I meant, do you think you’ll write until you’re ninety?” she rephrased, elbowing me gently.
“Oh.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to imagine a time I wouldn’t write. “I’ll probably write until I’m dead. Whether I choose to publish it or not is a different subject.” Writing a book and going through the publishing process were two completely different beasts.
“I get that.” As someone raised in the industry, she undoubtedly did.
Another page, another picture, another year. Georgia’s smile was blindingly bright as she stood in front of a birthday cake—twelve, going by the decorations—with Ava at her side.
In the next picture, which looked to be a few weeks later, the light was gone from Georgia’s eyes.
“You’re not going to ask why my mother didn’t raise me?” She peered at me sideways.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” she asked softly.
“I do.” I knew enough of the bare bones to piece it together. Ava had become a mother in high school, but she wasn’t cut out for being a mom. “Contrary to what experience you have with me because of our project here, I’m not in the habit of prying information out of women who don’t want to give it.” I studied the lines of her face as she looked anywhere but at me.
“Even if it helped you understand Gran?” She flipped the album page carelessly, as if the answer was inconsequential, but I knew better.
“I promise I’ll never take anything you don’t wholeheartedly want to give me, Georgia.” My voice dropped.
She turned my way and our eyes met, our faces only a breath apart. Had she been any other woman, I would have kissed her. I would’ve acted on the blatant attraction that had grown way past any analogy I could’ve mustered. This was no longer a simple zing of electricity, and it had developed far beyond a shot of lust or a surge of overwhelming desire. The inches between us were thick with need, pure and primal. It was no longer a matter of if, but when. I saw the battle raging in her eyes that felt all-too-familiar, because I waged the same war against inevitability.
Her gaze traveled to my mouth. “And what if I wholeheartedly want to give it to you?” she whispered.
“Do you?” Every muscle in my body tightened, locking down the nearly uncontrollable impulse to discover how she tasted.
Her cheeks flushed, and her breath hitched as she looked away, back to the photo album. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” She flipped through a chunk of the album, landing on her wedding pictures, not formal, but candid.
“You look beautiful.” It was more than that. Wedding-Day Georgia wore a look so openly, honestly in love that a stab of irrational jealousy flooded me. That asshole hadn’t been worthy of her heart, her trust.
“Thanks.” She flipped to what was obviously the reception. “Funny, but now when I think about that day, I