That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (28 page)

"I wanted to send you an owl." At his blank look, she gestured with her hand. "You know,
Harry Potter
?"

His grin was slow and incredulous. "I didn't get that reference, probably because it didn't come with a broom. I take it you're a fan?"

She was a fan of him. "You can say that. You look like a grown-up Harry."

He arched his brow, leaning in. "Ms. Olsen, do you have a
Harry Potter
fetish?"

Her face went up in flames. She looked behind the bar and raised her hand. "Bartender, I'm ready for that drink now."

Chuckling, Scott took his suit coat off, hung it on a hook under the bar, and sat down. "What's your pleasure?"

"You," she blurted, facing him. She felt everything fade away—the people and the noise. It was just his eyes looking in hers. She took his hand in both of hers and said, very eloquently, "I want you to show me your big wand."

He nodded. "I can be amenable to that. But beyond that?"

"I want all the magic." She held his hand and pressed it to her chest. "I want to play like this, and talk, and share dreams and fears. I want to make innuendos and make love, and I want to hold hands. For as long as you find me interesting."

Brow furrowed in contemplation, he nodded slowly. "You sent me a messenger dressed as an owl today. I find you extremely fascinating."

She shrugged. "I didn't know what to do. I was afraid you wouldn't give me the time of day after my ex-husband punched you."

"He's an ass." Scott frowned at her. "I'd be worried about your taste in men, except for me."

"You're mostly great," she agreed.

"Mostly?" He held his hands up, hers with them. "The bonus was
not
me. I'd have given it to you. It was only right. I'm not okay with that. I'm making sure they change that policy so they don't do that to anyone else."

"Really?"

He looked her in the eye. "Unfortunately, it doesn't mean anything for you. I tried to get them to settle with you, despite your ex's asinine behavior, but they refused. I'm sorry. I didn't want that to stand as it was."

She searched how she felt. A little disappointed—not by him, just for herself, because she'd have liked to win.

But she was winning, she realized with a jolt. She wouldn't have dated Scott if she'd still worked at WL&W, not to mention that she was going in to meet with Annabelle Warren, and that job really excited her. All in all, she'd lost the bonus, but her life was a major win.

"Tell you what," she said magnanimously. "I won't hold this against you now or at any time in the future."

He narrowed his gaze. "What's the catch?"

"You keep being fascinated by me."

"I'm pretty sure I'm going to find you fascinating for a long time," he said with conviction.

"How do you know?" she asked, frowning. "Because you've only kissed me once. What if we fizzle out?"

He tipped his head. "Are you complaining that I'm moving too slowly?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe."

Leaning in, he kissed her. Unlike the first time, there was nothing soft and questing about this one. He wanted to show her his interest, and she got that loud and clear.

They broke apart, breathing heavily.

Someone cleared his throat.

They both looked up to find the bartender standing before them, his eyebrows raised. "Ready now?"

"We'll have two Cherry Bounces," Dana said.

"Yes, you will." The guy smirked and went off to make them.

"He's just jealous," Scott said, holding her hand firmly. "I’m obviously the winner here."

"You are?" she asked, hopeful.

He kissed her hand. "Better than the lottery, Ginny."

The sign Esme had promised her greeted George loud and clear when she arrived to open the shop. It was written all over the front wall of the building.

She hopped off the Black Shadow and took her helmet off. Drag-queen Popeye was gone, replaced by a most colorful stylized painting.

She recognized the figure in the center to be her on a motorcycle. Her hair trailed in saucy curls behind her, and she wore a dress that flapped modestly around her thighs. An elaborate frame of vines encapsulated it. Studded within the vines were a tango shoe, a dark rose, and a wrench.

It was a summary of who she was. It showed such a clear vision of all facets of her being.

She blinked, swallowing the emotion that rose in her throat. Remy had painted this
fileteado
—she knew it without a doubt. Aside from the fact that it was a classic art form from Buenos Aires, she saw his precise handiwork and attention to detail in every line.

"Pretty."

George glanced over her shoulder to see Esme standing there, her eyes dancing. She frowned. "Did you know he was going to do this?"

"Yes." Esme shifted her gaze to George. "But did he tell me? No. I just figured he had to be ready soon. Some things are meant to be, and no one can stay that dense for that long."

"I did," she mumbled, returning her gaze to the awesome mural. She'd never imagined it like this, but it was totally perfect.

"You and he really are a pair," Esme said brightly. "Made for each other."

She nodded slowly. She was beginning to hope that was the truth.

"It's the truth."

George glanced at her over her shoulder. "You really are creepy, you know."

"I love you, too." At George's confused expression, she just smiled wide and said, "I decided to see that as an expression of affection. It's polysemy at its finest."

"Polysemy?"

"A diversity of meanings. In case you're still a little dense, it's time to wear the dress." Beaming, she waved as she headed down the street. "I'd tell you to have fun, but I see that you will."

George shivered at Esme's portentous statement, but it was a shiver of hope. "I knew you were a perv," she called after the woman.

Esme's laughter sang happily in her wake.

Going inside the garage, the first thing George did was turn the music up—all the way. Canaro began crooning about lost love, in the desperate, tango way.

But that wasn't her, George knew without a doubt. Instead of the pain, she heard the promise of the movement. She danced by herself right there in the middle of the shop, gliding backward in her boots, swinging her leg in a wide arc in time with the music. Her heart lifted cautiously, wanting to feel the joy of tangoing again.

It was time.

"This is new," Ariana said as she strode into the garage, holding out the cup in her hand. "Are you dancing in the dark?"

"It's daylight," she pointed out, taking the cup.

"Barely, and you're perky." Her friend looked at her suspiciously. "Have you already had caffeine?"

No, she'd had a different jolt to her system. "Do you have time for a facial later this afternoon? And maybe a makeup consultation?"

Ariana stilled. "What's his name?"

"Remy Savage."

"He did the mural out front," she exclaimed, lighting up with comprehension.

George frowned. "Have you been channeling Esme?"

"No, I saw his signature." Winking, Ariana began to move toward the door. "Come by at two. We have a lot of work to do."

She really did have a lot of work to do. Discussing the changes to the garage with Alex was going to be easy—she already knew he was ahead of her in thinking out the new business.

"Oh!" Ariana gasped, stopping in the doorway. "I forgot to mention."

"What?" George asked.

"Sebastian fixed the granny furniture situation. The movers are coming to take this stuff"—she gestured toward the waiting area—"away and drop off the new stuff. He says you'll like it."

She sat up. "They took it back?"

"Sebastian has magical ways." Ariana glowed, the twinkle in her eye bright and shiny.

"Please." George held a hand up, even though she grinned. "I don't need to hear bedroom secrets."

"I have a feeling you're going to have your own bedroom secrets soon." Ariana laughed, the happy sound of a woman in love. Then she winked. "Mum's the word."

She rolled her eyes, but the tingle in her chest felt like hope. She just had to figure out what to do about Remy.

But she didn't have to figure it out herself; she knew the person to ask for help.

Taking out her cell phone, she called her mother.

Siobhan answered on the second ring. "Your father and I were just talking about you, Georgina."

"I need your help, Mom."

There was silence on the other end. After a long pause, her mother's voice came through soft but clear. "Anything for you,
mi corazón
."

* * *

George paced in the middle of the empty bay in her garage, wearing the red tango shoes and the clingy red dress, wondering if Remy would show up—not just to tango with her, but to be open to being her partner in life.

Her mom had assured her he would, but she still had doubts. The love he'd had for his wife was strong. George wasn't sure he'd be able to give her anything beyond tango.

Her belly turned over at the thought.

She had to try. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath.

Then she pulled out her phone and called Sebastian.

"Hey," he said in his upbeat voice. "Did you get the furniture?"

She turned to face the waiting room. The furniture sat there, sleek and colorful and perfect. "I love it, but that's not why I called."

"Tell me."

"We're changing the focus." She exhaled deeply on the tail of the statement and evaluated how she felt. Good, she realized, relieved. This was the right decision.

"Of?" Sebastian asked carefully.

"The party." She searched for terms he'd understand. "The launch party is going to be for a new business instead of a rebranding. We're starting fresh. Alex and I are going to do custom work."

"That is brilliant," Sebastian enthused.

"Really?" Her shoulder eased with weight she hadn't known she was carrying.

"Really. I'm on it. I have ideas already, and it's going to be great." He paused. Then he said, "This is the right thing to do, George, and you're brave for doing it."

She took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Ariana and I have your back. We'd tell you if you were crazy."

"You guys are pals." She grinned, but her heart filled with love for them.

"I'll take care of the details. You just get a spiffy dress. Awesome mural, by the way. Savage sees the real you," he added softly.

"I know." She got off the phone and exhaled again. She just hoped Remy wanted her just as much.

Then she heard it.

At first she thought she heard her heart beating, but it was the tap of his footsteps as he entered the garage. He wore a loose cotton shirt and a blank expression, as though he didn't know what to expect.

Then he stopped and stared, his eyes focusing sharply on her. She stood still, letting him take in her subtle makeup and her hair, which Ariana had braided partially into a goddess crown on her head. He took in her dress and the way it clung to her body and the tango shoes.