Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

got spooked or something because I jumped back. Reeses yelped. Did I step on his paw? I stumbled to right myself, tripping over the fluffy moccasins on my feet. Reeses leapt into Georgia’s arms to avoid my backward trajectory. I did that thing with my arms to find my balance, but that only made things worse when my body hit a work shelf. The thing was made of a flimsy aluminum. Really, it was a wonder it could hold anything at all because as I fell to the floor, grasping for anything to break my fall, the whole shelving unit came crashing down on me. And all the mechanicky stuff on the shelves came tumbling down with it.

8

Georgia

The more time I spent with this Wyatt guy, the more I was convinced he was Charlie Brown in the flesh. I’d never met anyone with worse luck. And what a klutz! He did dance well, though. That was nice. But outside of doing the boogie woogie, he was a walking disaster.

“Are you all right?” I went to reach for him just as a box of washers fell on his head.

“Ow.” He winced, but at least didn’t seem too damaged. Reeses leapt from my arms to comfort him. “Not now, doggie.”

Wyatt peeled himself off the floor and assessed the mess. “This will be fun to clean up.”

“I’ll help you,” I offered.

He gave me a sheepish grin rubbing his head. “Actually, could you check if there’s an ice pack somewhere?”

“Ice pack. Got it.”

I hurried to the office where I found the first aid kit. Just Band-Aids and a half-used tube of Neosporin. Then I looked in the freezer. There were plenty of Hungry Man dinners but no ice pack.

“Welp. I guess this will have to do.”

I grabbed the frozen dinner and snagged a couple of ginger ales from the fridge. This was a well-stocked refrigerator. A package of Italian salami and cheese taunted me. I took that, too.

I got back to the garage to find Wyatt and Reeses in the Mustang, snug under one of the blankets. I slipped in to join them.

“This is all I could find,” I said, handing him the frozen dinner. He accepted it with a smile and placed it on his head.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. At least it wasn’t an audience of hundreds. Here.” I handed him a ginger ale.

“Thanks.” He rested the can on the other side of his head.

“That’s for drinking.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a free hand.” He winked. “Salisbury steak dinner and a soda. I’m all set.”

“Well when you’re done heating it up with your head I’ll pop it in the microwave for you,” I joked.

He chuckled. I tore open the salami and cheese pack and we recounted his ridiculous fall while we nibbled. I fed him his first few bites before he abandoned his makeshift ice pack so he could use his hands.

I shut off the radio to save the car’s battery and we talked for a long time about Christmas traditions. He told me about making minced meat empanadas with his mom (well, less making them and more eating them) and I told him about our California snowball fights which were really just an excuse to throw crumpled up wrapping paper at each other.

We finished our snack and moved on to dessert. Candy canes and some cookies Wyatt had in his backpack. We gobbled those up. Then he insisted I at least text my brother to give him peace of mind. Wyatt already had Will’s number saved as ‘Billy’ in his phone’s contacts. So I sent a quick text while Wyatt took Reeses out and then I set the phone to silent.

They weren’t gone long. Even Reeses was done with the cold.

“Brrr.” Wyatt stretched his feet on the dash. “You know what sounds really good right now?”

“An antacid?” I was beginning to regret all that salami.

“Nope. A warm, cozy fire and a mug of hot cocoa.”

Ah, yeah. That did sound nice. I became more aware of the chill inside the garage and tucked my blanket under my chin. Even with the central heat on, the place lacked the insulation to keep it in.

“Mmmm. That’ll be something to look forward to when we get to California.”

He laughed. “I doubt the amenities are that snug at the Motel 9.”

“Oh. I guess not.”

I was on the verge of inviting him to come visit while in Los Angeles but then I thought better of it. My brother guarded his privacy.

Instead I asked, “What did you say you’re doing in L.A. on Christmas? Some top secret news story?”

He hesitated. “Yeeeah.”

“Is it political?”

“Can’t say.”

“Papal visit?”

He laughed. “No. Kinda the opposite.”

“Hmmm.” I scrunched my brows together. What could it be?

“Okay. I can tell you this.”

I perked up and Reeses took the opportunity to nuzzle under my arm.

“All I can say is that it’s an exclusive. There’s a good chance the story hasn’t leaked. If I get this, I hold all the cards. It’s a good payday.”

“So if it’s such a secret story, how did you learn about it?”

“I know a guy.”

I snorted. “Riiiight.”

“Whatever.” Wyatt shrugged and reached in his bag for more snacks. “Snickers?”

“No thanks.” My tummy couldn’t handle any more junk food.

Wyatt noshed on his candy bar. Not a care in the world.

“What about you?” he asked between bites.

“Me? I’m just going home for Christmas. That’s all. Nothing exciting. No top secret missions or anything.” Did I sound too obvious? I probably did.

“No, I mean. What do you do? Back in New York?” He popped the rest of the candy bar into his mouth. It was more than half. He watched me, waiting for my reply while laboring to chew the huge bite of peanuts, chocolate and nougat.

My brother liked to warn me not to give people too much information. Part of it was a little excessive even for a celebrity. But part of it was founded in the very real fear someone might try to take advantage of me again. So I went with vague.

“I’m a