“I would walk back out of the room so she could put clothes on.”

“Okay, but what if she sleepwalks into your room at night?” He seems to be enjoying this game of make-believe, dreaming up scenarios that are never going to happen, not in a million years. Isn’t stopping him though.

“Who sleepwalks anymore?”

“I sleepwalk,” he boasts.

“Since when?”

He thinks, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh! Once when I was seven, I got up in the middle of the night and pissed in the bathroom cabinets all over my sister’s hairspray and makeup.”

“So, fifteen years ago.” He’s exhausting me now. “Good story, bro.”

“Maybe I still do and no one is around to tell me,” he reasons.

“The point is, Georgia isn’t going to sleepwalk into my room. You’re delusional.”

“Don’t tell me that isn’t your fantasy.”

“I’m going to lock my bedroom door to make sure it doesn’t happen.” Ha ha.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Stewart looks horrified.

Finally, I rise from the bench, reaching for my water bottle and towel, standing, planting a hand on my hip. “Are you helping me or not?”

“Yeah.” Andy grins. “I’ll help you.”

We have her moved in no time. She had less stuff than I did when I moved here to the States, and we didn’t end up needing anyone’s help but our own to get the rest of her things moved inside.

Standing at the threshold of her bedroom door, I watch as she glances around the room then groans.

“Ugh, I don’t have sheets for a double bed! I’m such an idiot!”

The bed is already made with the things Mum bought—throw pillows and all—and I point to the setup, confused. “What’s wrong with this stuff?”

My new roommate looks crestfallen. “I can’t use your stuff. That’s so rude—I’m already taking advantage of your hospitality.”

“This isn’t hospitality. You’re paying rent.”

Rent I’ve given her grace on, which I’ll receive once her reimbursement check comes from the university registrar’s office.

“Still. I totally forgot. I’ve been racing around like a maniac with practice and meets and school, and I spaced on running to grab new sheets. I only have this stupid twin size.”

I’ve no idea why she’s so frazzled, but she needs to chill. “You’re stuck with these until you get to Target, so unless you fancy sleeping on the bare mattress, I suggest you relax.”

She watches me silently, then breaks into laughter. “God you are so British.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Sorry, you just sound so serious and your sentences are so proper. It’s nice. I wasn’t being a jerk.”

She’s smiling, so I believe her.

“I won’t bug you—holler if you need anything.”

“Oh hey, Ash?” I pause in the doorway as she calls my name. “Thank you.”

A nod is all I give her before moving down the hall to my own room, keeping it open on the off chance she does need something or has a question but going into my closet to change out of my sweatpants and into shorts and a tee so I can hang and watch TV before bed.

Or maybe I should go into the living room and watch it so she—

Shite.

What am I thinking, going into the living room so she can sit and watch TV with me on her first night here?

Maybe we should go out. Maybe we could go…I don’t know, celebrate or something. Or would that be weird?

Going to the bar to get drunk and celebrate—such a girl thing to do.

Then I’d have to spend the entire night talking to her, which would be weird. Like being on a date.

The date she still owes me, maybe—not that there’s any chance I would call in that favor, not whilst she’s holed up down the hallway.

The apple orchard…she seemed so jacked up to do it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and they probably have pie there.

I would do a lot of things for a slice of apple pie.

It dawns on me that I’m thinking about her in friendly terms, which is good—we can be friends.

A girl friend.

A friend that’s a girl.

I’ve not had one of those yet, and Lady Louise Channing Winthrop doesn’t count. The daughter of the earl who lived next to us, she would come by to play with Jack and completely ignore me in the process.

No, I wouldn’t consider her a friend.

Nuisance was more like it, hanging around so Jack would fall in love with her.

Joke’s on Louise because he didn’t.

Georgia is easy, a lot like a bloke. Athletic. Funny. Low maintenance. Doesn’t get all decked out and crazy when she’s at parties.

She would probably kill me for thinking all that—what girl wants to be compared to a guy?

I hear her moving things around, shuffling this, shifting that, a box being pulled open.

Her door closes.

Opens a few minutes later. She must have changed clothes and wanted privacy.

The toilet flushes.

The sound of music gently flows toward my bedroom, and I pause from shaving to listen.

It’s a girly song about summertime love, a ballad that surprises me coming from her—I’d expect something upbeat. Techno, even. Or country since she’s from the south.

Georgia hums, and I hear that down the hall, too.

She sounds happy, but she’s not humming on key, which makes me smile to myself as I drag the razor blade across my skin, finally removing the stubble I’ve been growing for far too long.

Twelve

Georgia

“Ash?”

I crane my neck out the door, most of the lights downstairs off or dim.

I lost track of time unpacking my things, most of which I already found a home for. The only messes left are the desk and office supplies I tossed haphazardly into a box without actually organizing any of it.

That will come back and bite me in the ass when I’m searching for a pen.

I’m hungry and would love a snack. Fingers crossed he won’t mind me rummaging through the fridge for fruit, or something crunchy?

I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow, but for now…

Crashing in the den sounds like heaven.

It’s Saturday, and I officially live in a house.

I could twirl and do a happy dance to commemorate the moment, but instead I’ll hit the couch and binge on munchies and a movie—maybe I’ll even be able to convince my roomie to join me.

“Ash?” I say again as I descend the stairs, the light off in his room but the door wide open. He must have snuck downstairs while I was in the shower.

“In the den,” comes his voice from the hollows of the house, and I follow it to the kitchen.

“Do you mind if I eat something?”

There’s a long pause. “No I don’t mind, and you don’t have to ask every time you want something.”

I hear exasperation in his voice and make a mental note: Stop sounding so needy and stop asking for everything.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m sorry.