Page 12 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

“I don’t need help,” she says again, in a tone that tells me she’s serious. But then her body relaxes, as if she wants to apologize for telling me to go to hell. “My old boss…she was always going on about how my ideas were ‘too much’ or ‘too silly’ or whatever. And maybe they were.”

“Your old boss was an idiot,” I interrupt.

Elodie smiles, tilting her head in consideration.

“Maybe. But then, I don’t know, I was watching some reality show where the couples are all on this pre-wedding vacation thing, which was weird, but it doesn’t matter.

It got me thinking about how there’s so much emphasis put on the wedding itself, right?

And there’s so much stress involved in it, and all the details and energy go there.

Which makes sense—for most people, anyway, that’s the big moment.

The huge party. The celebration. But what about the honeymoon?

Who’s putting the detail and thought and love into that?

I mean, sure, there are probably people on those giant island resorts who do this as part of an overall wedding package, but I’m talking about making it happen anywhere in the world.

Not just a relaxing island vacation, either.

Whatever a couple wants. Wherever they want.

That’s what I want to give them.” She’s flushed again, but this time, it’s because she’s bursting with excitement. And it’s incredible to see.

“Can you plan my honeymoon?” Rosie asks, her mouth full of mac and cheese.

I point a finger and give her my best fake scowl. “No way. You’re staying with me forever.”

She gets the joke and delivers her own fake pout in return, before smiling brightly. “Okay! As long as I get the guesthouse.”

I pretend to think about it. “Deal.”

“Deal!” Rosie pops another forkful of food into her mouth and chews.

I look back at the remarkable woman to my right and blurt, “Elodie. It’s an amazing idea.

Truly.” I reach over to grasp her free hand and squeeze it, the movement so natural that I don’t realize I’ve done it until I feel her skin beneath my own.

And when I look up, Elodie’s expression belies a jumble of emotions.

I pull away right as she does, both of us reaching for our waters. I down mine in a giant gulp. I have got to get a grip.

After a beat, Elodie recovers. “Right. Well, thank you,” she says with a shaky laugh. “Anyway, that’s my plan. I don’t think I’ll have it up and running in a mere six weeks, though, so…I don’t really know what I’m going to do after the summer.” She delivers the last bit of information as a mumble.

“Then stay here.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to catch them.

“Oh, I couldn’t?—”

“Why not?” I interrupt. “I won’t charge you rent, and the guesthouse will be empty otherwise.

I’m not asking you to watch Rosie; I’ll have figured something else out by then.

” As I talk, it’s as though I’m having an out-of-body experience.

Watching myself look and sound like an absolute nutter while Elodie slowly retreats into herself.

I take a breath. “Just think about it. The offer stands.”

She smiles, but it’s strained. “Thank you. Truly. It’s a generous offer. But I can’t accept.”

Well, that stings. “Why not?”

Her lips curve up. “Because I can do it myself.”

“Just because you can do it yourself doesn’t mean you have to.”

She studies me, and after a beat, she says, “You’re right.”

Right. I’m right.

Wait. Is she saying—? I squint at her. “You say I’m right, but why does it feel like I’m actually wrong?”

Rosie giggles.

Elodie bites her lower lip, considering. “I mean that you’re right. And…that you should probably tell yourself that, too.”

Oh. Oh. I shrug. “Living the single dad life makes things pretty straightforward,” I say. “If I want something done, then I’m the one who does it. No one else.”

Her eyes soften as she regards me. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

She wipes her mouth and lays her napkin on the table. “Just…I’m the same way, kind of.”

“How so?” I lean back in my chair.

She slides a glance at Rosie and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway,” she sighs, “I’m still trying to figure everything out about the new adventure.”

I nod. It’s clear she’s giving me the stiff-arm, and just like on the pitch, there’s nothing to do but respect it. So I stand and say, “Sounds good,” like an absolute goober, before grabbing my plate and glass in a desperate need to breathe without taking in her vanilla and sugar scent.

Later, after Elodie is long gone and Rosie is asleep upstairs, I let myself back outside to the dark of the screened-in porch, a small glass of whiskey in my hand.

It’s loud outside, with all the nighttime crickets, cicadas, and frogs calling to one another.

It’s one of my favorite sounds. I settle onto the couch, glass balanced on my knee, and take a deep breath to relax.

Or at least, attempt to relax. Once upon a time, I could count on this time of night to provide a sense of contentment. Of a day well-earned. But these days, the best I can hope for is for the constant swirl of anxiety to recede a bit.

I force my thoughts away from Elodie and the endless to-do list that surrounds my daughter, and focus instead on the team.

We’re working hard, pushing ourselves on the pitch and in the weight room to within an inch of our lives.

No one’s happy to be practicing this intensely in the sweltering heat of an Atlanta summer, but the improvement I’m already seeing tells me I was right.

There’s been some chatter about updates to the roster, but that’s nothing I can concern myself with.

My job as captain is to set the example, keep everyone focused, and execute the drills that Coach gives us.

I take a sip of whiskey, feeling the familiar burn course down my throat, and run through the list of plays we’ll do tomorrow.

A few minutes later, a light blinks on in the guesthouse bedroom.

My breath catches. I should turn away, but I’m rooted to the spot, watching Elodie move around the room through the gauzy curtains.

She’s left the blinds open, leaving me easily able to see her from where I sit in the dark.

She’s in a tank and skimpy sleep shorts, and as I watch, Cleocatra leaps gracefully onto the bed, her tail swishing as she arches her body beneath Elodie’s outstretched hand.

After a moment, Elodie leaves the room, but returns with a glass of water that she places on the bedside table.

She reaches up and pulls her hair out of its customary bun, and I whimper.

Her hair is its own fantasy, thick and waving down her back.

But my joy is short-lived, because she pulls it back to the top of her head and binds it loosely before climbing into the bed.

With a languid stretch, she reaches over to the bedside lamp, throwing the room into darkness.

It’s only then that I realize what an absolutely horrible thing I’d just done. Spying on the nanny? What if she’d been naked?

Then that would have been amazing.

I shake my head. No.

After tipping the rest of the whiskey back, I stand and head inside.