There was a silence on the line. “Leo, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go home with you today.”
Something in her tone made a chill rise up his spine. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Georgia didn’t answer right away. “I think we need to slow things down just a little. Just . . . take a step back for a couple of weeks.”
“Um . . .” Leo had no idea what to say. The last time he’d seen Georgia they were fucking like porn stars in his shower, and she was yelling his name. “Baby, we have to go sing Happy Birthday to my mom. It’s her fiftieth. And then we can talk about whatever’s bothering you.”
“I can’t go,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She actually disconnected the call, and Leo stood there like an asshole with his Katt Phone pressed against his head, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Don’t panic, he told himself. He grabbed his bag and ran out of the apartment, taking the elevator down to the lobby where the concierge was waiting with Silas’s car. “I’ll be just five minutes,” he said. “Be right back.”
He darted across the cobblestone street and leaned on Georgia’s bell.
“Hello?” a female voice called down. The sound quality was so bad that he wasn’t sure it was Georgia.
“It’s Leo. I need to come up.”
The door rattled with its unlocking buzz, and he yanked it open then sprinted up the stairs. It was Becca who opened the door. Wordlessly, she beckoned him inside. Then she tipped her head toward Georgia’s bedroom door.
Leo walked over and stood in the doorway. Georgia sat on the edge of the bed in slacks and a soft sweater. Her bag was beside her, and her coat lay across her lap. “Babe? Looks like you’re all ready to come with me.”
She lifted worried eyes to his. “I don’t think I should. Your family . . .” She let the sentence die.
“. . . Loves you,” he finished.
“I don’t have a gift for your mom,” she argued, her voice dull.
“No problem. I’m bringing her a jersey and her favorite bottle of wine. We’re covered.” Georgia didn’t look convinced. “Did I mention that DJ made lasagna?”
“Lasagna?” Her stomach growled so loudly he could hear it across the room.
He took two steps into the room and held out a hand for her. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s bothering you. But let’s not be late for dinner. There’s probably a birthday cake from Reinwald’s. Chocolate with raspberry filling. And if there’s something you need to tell me, I’ll listen.” He held his breath, waiting.
Georgia sighed. But she put her hand in his and stood up. “I don’t find it easy to resist you,” she whispered.
Something warm bloomed in his chest as his hand closed around her smaller one. “The lasagna and birthday cake don’t have a thing to do with it, I’m sure,” he joked. “Let’s go. The car is waiting.”
They went downstairs and across the street. He held the passenger door open to the black Volkswagen Jetta, then ran around and got in on the driver’s side. Georgia’s reluctance had cost him fifteen minutes, and he didn’t have time to spare.
“Nice ride,” she said as he pulled away from the curb.
“It belongs to Silas. But I drove this same car all through college. DJ has it now.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Weird. I can only picture you in that old truck.”
“I sold it after you broke up with me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Too many memories. Every time I got in that truck, I thought of you. I swear it even smelled like you.”
Georgia turned to look out the window, as if she didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t know what had frightened her today. But if she thought she could just slink away from their troubles without it mattering to him, she had another think coming.
They were in this together, damn it. That’s what he should have said when they were eighteen. On the other hand, when a girl who’s been raped tells you to stay away, you do it. Even if you don’t want to.
This time would be different, though. They weren’t kids anymore. He’d ask her to own up to whatever was bugging her out. Later, though. He’d give her a couple hours’ reprieve. “This is the way to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, right?”
“You got it.” They rode in silence for a moment until he accelerated onto the highway. “I need to stop at the florist before we get to your house. I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Mom is going to do backflips when she sees you. She doesn’t need a gift. You’re it.” He hadn’t told his parents that he and Georgia were an item, either. It was so new, and kind of a secret. And he hadn’t felt like answering anyone’s questions.
Georgia was awfully quiet, and so Leo turned on the radio and tuned it to WBAB. This rock station was the sound of his high school life. He chuckled. “It’s still there. Some things never change.”
She didn’t answer but he could almost hear the echo of her thoughts. Some things do change, even when you don’t want them to.
* * *
They pulled up to the house almost on time, and Leo parked opposite a stretch limo with a driver reading the newspaper behind the wheel. That’s how his brother’s girlfriend, an honest-to-god movie star, traveled.
He took Georgia’s hand as they strode up the driveway to the kitchen door of the two-story Tudor where he’d grown up. She’d been there a million times before. He wondered if it seemed strange to be there again after all that time.
Leo pushed open the door and stepped in. “Hey, Mom! Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be thirty?”
His mom turned around to smile at him, but when she saw Georgia, her happy expression faltered. “Georgia, honey!” She gasped. “My God.” She put a hand up to her mouth.
A few feet away at the kitchen table, Leo’s little sister Violet let out a shriek and dropped the knife she’d been using to cut up a tomato.
Beside him, he felt Georgia stiffen.
Okay—this was a lot more drama than he’d meant to cause. Obviously he should have tipped off his mom that Georgia was coming today. Now they were gaping at her.
“Guys,” he said gently. “You’re freaking Georgia out. She hasn’t risen from the dead.”
Mrs. Trevi dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m really happy to see you, honey.” She came over and hugged the startled Georgia.