Page 19 of Lift Me Up

A List of Thoughts

1. She’s here

2. She is here!

3. She

4. Is

5. Here!

Ican’t believe the words actually come out of my mouth. The comment about the yarn and her being tied up and naughty was supposed to be an internal thought and then BOOM. Correction: I can’t believe any of this is happening right now. Mostly, I can’t believe it’s her.

God, she’s beautiful. Georgie is here, in front of me, and all my expectations are blown out of the water and more.

The last two weeks have been rough, to say the least. Returning to work after the incident, I made it all of three days before I was called in for a talking to. I thought it was going to be a slap on the wrist, a ‘don't do this again,’ ‘we’re disappointed in you’ sort of chat. But when I entered the office, the big boss, the HR lady, and my supervisor all sat around the conference table, laughing, chatting it up, shooting the breeze until they saw me in the doorway. Their chatter faded, and moods shifted to professional and anger. I swallowed hard and sat down in my seat of intimidation, and awaited my fate.

They started talking me up, which couldn’t be a good sign. I knew this company like the back of my hand, having been a part of their roster for five years. I knew that when they buttered you up, it was just to soften the blow. I braced for impact. It hit me like a brick wall even still. Either I accepted full responsibility and paid for the call, out of pocket and all at once, a hefty thousand-dollar price tag I couldn’t afford, or they would fire me. There was no room for debate; there was no time to think about it. They wanted an answer by the end of that day, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift until the decision was given.

It wasn’t even a question at that point. I didn’t give them the chance to fire me. I quit on my own terms and told them to figure out how to cover the cost because I wasn’t about to pay for it, and nowhere in my employee contract did it ever say that I would be responsible for something like this. There was a moment of weakness, when it finally set in that I was jobless, where I wondered if it was worth it. But to know that I helped someone through a traumatic time was more than enough to prove that it was the right thing to do. I liked feeling needed, and Georgie needed me.

I thought I had gotten over thinking about her because I never thought I would see her again. How would I? I didn’t work at the one place she might be able to find me, and I no longer had access to the database to even try and remember what building she was in. But here she is, like some call from the universe to tell me that I did the right thing. She’s here, and she’s beautiful, and I refuse to let this opportunity go to waste.

“Is it really you?” She asks.

“It’s me,” I tell her.

She nods, eyes wide, “What are you doing here?”

That was a good question. What was I doing here anyway?

“I was checking out the shop for a new hobby. I have a lot of spare time on my hands right now, and I figured doing puzzles or learning how to knit would be better than watching the paint peel off my walls.” I shrug, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I—I really—oh come on.” She huffs when she’s unable to get herself untangled, turning around and dropping her yarn-knotted hands on the wood table. She slumps her head against her forearms with a groan.

I want to laugh, because it’s precious to see this side of her when all I have known is her in panic, but I remain quiet. I go to the other side of the table, so now we’re face to face without her having to turn around. I clear my throat so she’ll look up. Her big brown eyes melt me where I stand. Butterflies, stomach somersaults. Dry mouth. Jesus, it’s been a while.

I point to the seat in front of her with a raised eyebrow, a silent question. Can I sit here? She motions her hands as if to say be my guest.

So I sit. She watches me carefully. I take her in for a moment, just because I can. In the light of the room, her cheeks are flushed pink. With embarrassment? Something else? I can’t be sure. Her lips are pursed and pink. Her lashes are impossibly long, but her face is clean of makeup. Her hair is this dark brown that’s almost black. Her face is round and smooth skin, she’s all soft curves. Georgie is even more beautiful than I thought she was in the elevator. But it’s her personality that sings to me. She’s crass, confident, sassy even when terrified. She had me at the first call.

I want to know her. I want to be her friend. I want anything she will let me have of her.

“What are you staring at?” She looks down at her hands and flushes scarlet when she realizes what I’ve been doing amidst my thoughts.

I find the loose end of one of the yarns entrapping her and start rolling it into a new ball, slowly working the knots out. My hands don’t touch hers, but I can feel her trembling.

“You. Is that ok? I just. It’s hard to believe you’re real.”

Georgie laughs, gasping and moving to cover her face at the realization that she’s just snorted. I can’t help it; I laugh too. I am so attracted to this woman it’s not even funny. I pull her hands back down to where I can reach them and take care of her knotty situation.

“That was adorable.” I chuckle, beaming at her like I’ve learned a new secret. “I’ve almost got the red, now the white,”

She watches my hands unweave the yarn, and finally, one hand is free. Her face remains flushed, and it travels down her neck to where her collarbones are exposed. All soft skin and- scarring. From what, I am not sure, it’s soft pink splotches that look blown out as if time has passed since she got them. Georgie notices me looking and tries to pull away, to tug at her shirt collar and right herself where it’s fallen off her shoulder. I grab her hand, exposed from the yarn this time, stopping her.

“You don’t have to hide,” I tell her simply.

“I…” she trails off, looking away. She tugs her shirt up anyways, I pretend not to notice. “Look, I don’t even know you,”