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“I wanted more.”
That sentence does something visceral to me. It’s a tangible thing coursing through my veins, followed swiftly by the sentenceI’d be happy to give you more.
“Wasn’t that part of your lesson? Always leave them wanting more?”
“I regret that I’ve taught you so well.”
I nod sagely. “The student has become the master.”
She laughs. “Don’t get cocky on me.”
“If I aced your remedial lessons, are there advanced courses I could take?”
Her laughter fades out, and her gaze zeroes in on my mouth. “We could probably figure something out.”
With truly impeccable timing, a family with two little kids walks in. Georgia dashes over to them, eager to help out wherever needed. Logically, I know it’s for the best, but emotionally, I’d love to usher the family out, bolt the door, turn the sign toClosed, and take Georgia up on her offer.
For my own sanity, I should probably institute some kind ofNo PDArule in the store.
One day.
Eventually, the family leaves with their book selections tucked safely in their arms. But before Georgia and I can get back to her hands-on approach to my dating life, my mother walks into the store.
“Mom. I thought you said you weren’t up for driving this week.”
She shoots me a sour look and turns her attention on Georgia. “How are you, sweetheart?”
She beams at my mom. “I’m just great. It’s good to see you.”
It’s been a while since Mom has felt up for a trip into town. Thus, my well-meaning but poorly phrased greeting.
“Cece brought me to town to do my hair.” She pats her messy bun. “I’m thinking about going shorter, so I don’t have as much to brush.”
“I bet that will look cute on you. Do you want to come sit down?”
Georgia’s being so sweet to my mom, and I’m still standing around like a stranger.
“We’ve got a few pumpkin cream cheese muffins left,” I offer.
“Oh, no. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to stop by and say hello.” Mom turns back to Georgia. “And to tell you I saw that cute cover you did with that couple by the lake. It’s beautiful.”
I love the way Georgia glows from that brief praise. She needs to hear how impressive her art is every day.
“Thank you,” she says. “I really enjoyed that one.”
“But all your covers are so adorable. I’m sure the authors you work with are pleased.”
“They seem to be.”
“You could do even more with your art if you wanted. Digital prints, stickers, licensed work. You could have an entire online store.” It’s pretty clear Mom’s been thinking about this a lot. Her entrepreneurial spirit tends to rub off on everyone around her.
Georgia stands a little taller, like Mom’s encouragement is a grow light and she’s a sunflower who can’t get enough. “I’ve thought about some of that but haven’t tried to pursue anything yet.”
“Well, you’ve got plenty of time. Your art has a very distinct style. I can see why you have such a big following.”
“You follow Georgia on Instagram?” I ask.
“Of course. I have to keep up with her cover reveals somehow.” Mom turns to me. “I’d follow you if you had social media, honey. But alas.”
