Page 36 of Beautiful Desire (Blossom Beach #3)

Fletcher

“ I t’s so nice out today,” Georgia murmurs as she secures the flannel shirt around her waist. Sitting beside me on the blanket, she grabs her little black backpack, and a moment later, hands me a granola bar and a bottle of water before taking one of each for herself.

“Yeah, it is,” I agree, ripping open a corner of the wrapper.

At a state park about ten minutes from Georgia’s house, we drove here this morning, and spent the last hour rollerblading along the flat, paved trail until we found this spot to rest a minute ago.

It’s a perfect morning, giving a glimpse of spring on the horizon.

Birds chirp as they fly around between the lush, green trees.

There’s not a single cloud in the sky as the bright sun bathes us in warmth, and the occasional cool breeze floats by, rustling the fallen leaves.

“Apparently, this is the new cool spot ,” she emphasizes, using air quotes.

“Says who?” I snort.

Turning her head, Georgia’s lips twist into a playful grin. “Blakely.”

“Oh sure.” I nod. “I like to get the rundown on what’s cool and what’s not from little kids too.”

“Don’t let Blakely hear you call her that,” Georgia quips. “She is a preteen , and that’s a very important distinction at that age.”

“Shit, my bad,” I tease.

She giggles, the sound bright and full of life. “But actually, Grace told me about it when I went to the bakery to have lunch with her this week. I guess Blakely and her friends have been coming up here the past few weekends.”

“Does that mean we’re going to run into a gaggle of girls on our way back?”

“No.” Shaking her head, Georgia says, “I asked Grace if Blakely wanted to come with me this morning, but she has a birthday party today.”

My brows pinch as I huff out a breath. “Oh, so I was your last resort?”

Chuckling, she says, “I wasn’t sure you’d even want to come after how bad you were the first time we went.”

“I wasn’t that bad by the time we finished.” I scoff.

Reaching over, Georgia playfully shoves me on the arm. “Okay, fine,” she drawls. “I can admit you are a lot less baby giraffe this time.”

Holding my gaze for a moment, I feel it in the center of my chest. The way my heart rate speeds up. The way my lungs squeeze. And then she turns away, glancing at the scenery in front of us.

But me? My focus remains on her .

I’m enamored by her very existence, and more often than not lately, I find myself unable to look away.

Especially in moments like this, when she’s not paying attention, and I have the time to really admire her while her guard is down.

And it’s always the things I’ve never noticed about someone before that catch my eye the most about her.

Like the dusting of freckles that kiss her cheeks.

How her right one has slightly more than her left, and how there’s a light smattering of them across her shoulders too.

Or how her irises look like the sweetest pools of honey when the sunlight hits them.

And how her smile reaches her eyes when she’s doing something she enjoys.

When Georgia asked me last night if I wanted to come with her this morning, it was an easy yes.

This week has been busy as hell, and I know the next few weeks will be much of the same, so doing something like this with her, that’s fun and doesn’t require me to think too hard about anything important, is exactly what I need this weekend.

Thinking about the way my day-to-day life has shifted so much in such a short amount of time has been interesting, and also, a little funny, to watch.

Just a few months ago, having fun for me consisted of partying with my old frat buddies and taking weekend trips to Miami or New York, and my idea of enjoying nature was spending the afternoon sailing on my dad’s boat or on the golf course.

But here I am now, after a long and tiring week of juggling work and school, completely content spending my Saturday morning rollerblading with Georgia at some little state park in Blossom Beach.

And yeah, I know a huge reason for the shift is because I simply don’t have the means to live the way I want right now, and I’m sure as soon as I’m back home in Charleston and I’m not so goddamn broke, I’ll go back to living the way I was, but at least for now, I can’t deny how peaceful and relaxing, and nice, this is with her.

The silence between us isn’t awkward or uncomfortable as we watch ducks swim around the lake and a man play fetch with his dog.

Sitting up, I rest my elbows on my knees and clear my throat.

“Thank you for what you did,” I murmur, and Georgia looks back at me.

“For helping me get started on my project,” I clarify.

“I didn’t get a chance to say it the other night when we were in your office, and I know the situation with me isn’t ideal for you, so thank you. ”

“You’re welcome,” she says softly.

Neither of us looks away, but so much is being said without saying anything at all.

My gaze dips down to her mouth, to the barely-there smile that makes my stomach flip, and my lips tingle with the urge to lean in and kiss her, especially when her tongue pokes out and wets hers, like maybe she’s thinking the same thing.

Would she let me kiss her out here? Does she want me to?

Heart pounding, I bring my gaze back up to Georgia’s eyes, and the evident desire staring back at me warms my blood and steals the breath right out of my lungs.

Fuck it.

Skin tingling with anticipation and need, I lean in, but before I can press my lips to hers, a sudden, red-hot sensation hits me in the wrist. My body jolts back from Georgia as I turn my head and glance down at my wrist. “What the fuck,” I hiss.

“What’s wrong?” There’s concern in Georgia’s tone as she shifts onto her knees.

“I don’t know exactly,” I murmur as the intense pain radiates from my wrist through my whole arm. “Something must’ve bitten me, or fuck… I don’t know. It hit me out of nowhere.”

“Lemme see.” Georgia grabs my hand, keeping her touch gentle. “You got stung by a bee,” she offers after only a few moments.

“What? Are you sure?”

She nods. “Yeah, if you look closely, you can see where the stinger went into your skin.” My wrist is red, but in the center of the welt forming, I see what she’s talking about. “Are you allergic?” she asks, fingers letting go of my hand.

“I have no idea.” Huffing out a breath, I admit, “Never been stung before.”

“Well, we’re about to find out.” Georgia snorts before standing up. “Come on, let’s go. When we get to the house, I can try to take the stinger out.”

By the time we make it home, my wrist is swollen and hot to the touch, and the sting itself itches like a motherfucker. After she scrapes the stinger out—which feels as fucking pleasant as it sounds—she mixes up some baking soda paste and applies it to my skin, which admittedly helps.

“How’s that feel?” she asks, flicking her gaze up to meet mine. Her eyes are soft, as are her fingers holding my wrist, which I can feel throughout my whole body.

Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Feels okay.”

“Good.” A small smile tugs on the corner of her mouth, and it reminds me how close we were to kissing back at the park.

Her thumb is rubbing gently along my wrist, making my pulse race.

A shiver sinks down my spine. She holds my gaze—and my wrist—for another moment longer before moving onto the next step.

“Where’d you learn to make this?” I ask when she places a bandage over the freshly pasted area.

“Google.” Lifting her eyes to meet mine, humor dances between her gaze as a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Chuckling, I say, “Okay, smartass.”

Georgia breathes out a laugh. “Being the oldest sibling, I learned a lot of handy home remedies. The house we lived in growing up before my parents split was right next to a field full of sunflowers. We’d play over there a lot, and so did the bees.”

“Did you like being the oldest?” I ask.

“For the most part, yes.” She shrugs. “But there were definitely times when it was frustrating.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, it was infuriating seeing how lax my parents were when it came to raising Grace and Graham, knowing how strict they were with me when I was their age.” Tossing the bowl used to make the paste in the sink, she adds, “But also, I got stuck babysitting a lot. Especially during the summer, and it was always just kind of…expected of me, since I was the oldest. Just little shit like that.”

“Being an only child, I always wondered what it would’ve been like to have siblings,” I admit. “And then when our parents got married, I was never close with you or the others because of the large age gap between us.”

“The way you behaved around us had a lot more to do with it than our age difference,” she muses, pinning me with a look.

Furrowing my brows, I huff out a laugh and ask, “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Be so for real, Fletcher. Don’t act like you weren’t a spoiled, entitled brat.” She snorts. “Any time you were around us, you acted above us. You never even tried to have a relationship with us, even when we were nice to you.”

“That is not true.” I scoff, which makes Georgia laugh.

“You were an insufferable douchebag, even at fourteen or fifteen years old.”

“Were, huh?” A smile spreads across my face as Georgia looks at me with confusion. “You said ‘you were an insufferable douchebag,’” I clarify. “Meaning, you don’t think I am now.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” she says teasingly.

“Bullshit,” I mutter. “I’ve grown on you, and we both know it.”

Georgia rolls her eyes and turns away, but I don’t miss the smile she’s trying to hide. “I don’t know about all of that, rich boy.”

I take a step toward her, and then another, until I’ve got her pinned between me and the counter, and as she turns to face me, a bolt of heat shoots down my spine at the heated look in her eyes. “Admit it, Peach,” I husk, relishing the sight of her pupils dilating.