The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

letters. He’d been able to break down Scarlett’s walls because he’d been there, holding on to that suitcase in Middle Wallop, so I’d packed mine and gotten on a plane.

I steadied my temper, lifted my hand, and knocked again. To my surprise, she answered.

“As I was saying, hang up on me—” My words froze in my throat.

There was something very wrong here. Georgia looked…off, as though she had just been delivered the kind of news you had to sit down to hear. Not that she wasn’t as beautiful as always, but her skin was bloodless, her face slack, and her eyes—those exquisite blue eyes—were empty.

“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, my chest tightening.

She looked right through me for a second. “What do you want, Noah?”

Something was definitely wrong.

“Can I come in? I promise not to talk about the book.” My chest tightened with an immediate, overwhelming urge to fix whatever had gone wrong.

Georgia’s brow knit, but she nodded and opened the door for me.

“Come on, let’s get you something to drink.” Did this have to do with Damian?

She nodded again, then led us down the hall and into an expansive kitchen. It was all I could do to keep my hand off the small of her back or offer her a hug. A hug?

I’d never been this far inside the house before, but the kitchen fit what I had already seen. It was a Tuscan theme, with tawny-colored cabinetry and darker granite countertops. The woodwork was ornate but not overdone. The appliances were professional grade. The only thing that seemed out of place were slightly discolored pieces of artwork pinned to a bulletin board on the wall.

“Why don’t you sit down,” I suggested, gesturing to the stools that lined the kitchen island.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” she asked, averting her gaze.

“Let’s just pretend our roles are fluid for the moment.” I moved to the stove, noting the teakettle on the back corner burner. To my relief, Georgia sat down, resting her forearms on the granite.

I dropped the keys to my rental car into my right pocket, filled the teakettle with water, and set it back on the stove, igniting the gas burner. Then I began my hunt.

I opened three cabinets before I found the one I was looking for. “Do you have a favorite?”

Georgia looked past me to the carefully organized tea supply. “Earl Grey,” she responded.

There was a squeezable honey bear next to the tea, and on instinct, I brought that to the countertop, too.

“You’re not having any?” Georgia glanced toward the singular packet of tea.

“I’m more of a hot chocolate kind of guy,” I admitted.

“But you’re making tea.”

“You look like you need it.”

Two lines appear between her eyes. “But why would you…” She shook her head.

“Why would I what?” I braced my palms on the island across from where she sat.

“Never mind.”

“Why would I what?” I asked again. “Why would I take care of you?” I guessed.

Her gaze flickered my way.

“Because, contrary to popular belief, I’m not that big of an asshole, and you look like your dog just died.” I tilted my head. “And both my mother and sister would kick my ass if I didn’t.” I shrugged.

Surprise flared in her eyes. “But they’d never know.”

“I try to live most of my life like my mother will always find out what I’ve done.” Corner of my mouth tugged upward. “In reality, she usually does anyway, and the lectures last for hours. Hours. And as for the other parts…well, she never needs to know.” My brow puckered as the overwhelming silence of the house hit me. “Where is your mother? Usually she’s the one making sure you’re hydrated.”

She scoffed. “She was making sure you were hydrated. She’s well aware that I can fend for myself.” She laced her fingers in front of her, and her knuckles turned white. “Besides, she’s probably halfway to the airport by now.”

My stomach sank. Given the tone with which she’d said that, my bets were on Ava being the reason Georgia looked shell-shocked. “Was it a planned trip?”

Georgia laughed, but there was nothing happy about the sound. “Yeah, I’d say it was planned well in advance.”

Before I could question her, the teakettle whistled. I removed it from the burner, only to realize I hadn’t looked for a cup.

“Cabinet to the left, second shelf,” Georgia said.

“Thanks.” I grabbed a mug, then set the tea to steep.

“I should be the one thanking you.”

I arched a brow. “Fluid roles, remember?”

She offered me a smile. It was barely there, lasting only a flash of a second, but it was genuine.

“Do you take it with milk, too?” I asked as I slid the mug and honey across the island to her.

“God no.” She tilted the honey bear on its head and squeezed a dollop of the amber liquid into her tea. “Gran would tell you that’s sacrilege.”

“Would she?” I asked, hoping she would elaborate.

Georgia nodded and slid off her stool, coming around the island to open the drawer directly behind me. “She would.” She took the spoon from the drawer and returned to her seat before stirring her tea. “She actually preferred sugar, though. The honey was always just for me. It didn’t matter how long I’d been away; she always kept it for me, kept a place for me.” A wistful look crossed her face.

“You must miss her.”

“Every day. Do you miss your dad?”

“Absolutely. It’s gotten better with time, but I’d give anything to have him back.” Come to think of it, I’d only ever heard about the Stanton women. “What about your dad?”

“I don’t have one.” She said it so matter-of-factly that I blinked. “I have one, or had one, of course. I’m not the product of immaculate conception or anything,” she said as she took her spoon to the dishwasher and put it in. “I’ve just never met him. He and my mom were both in high school when I was born, and she never gave up his name.”

Another piece of the puzzle that