Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

and put on a brave face. It was just a glimpse but I knew just then. She was a person who knew how to wear a mask. Underneath all that entitled Daddy’s Girl bologna was a mystery I intended to solve. Perhaps I had it in me to be an investigative reporter after all.

“That’s a nice ride, isn’t it?” I said, sweeping my gaze over the Mustang.

She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. “Sure is.”

“You ever drive a car like this?”

A shadow crossed her features. “No. I can’t drive a stick.”

“Oh. Maybe I can teach you.”

Her brows shot up. “Right now?”

“No.” I laughed. “It’s a thousand degrees below zero out there. And I’m not in the mood to go to jail for grand theft auto.”

“They might have better bathrooms in jail,” she joked.

I laughed, peeking my head inside. Reeses was sitting comfortably on her lap, his fuzzy ears perking up at the sound of my voice. He didn’t move, though. Usually he was at my feet all the time. But he seemed to like Georgia. She stroked her fingers into the soft fur under his collar. He loved to get scratches there.

“Pop the trunk,” I suggested. There was a Native American blanket draped along the backseat and I hoped there were more of those in the trunk. Al left the heater on in the shop, but it was nowhere near cozy. Georgia took a minute to find the lever but eventually found it. When I lifted the lid it was like Christmas came early.

“I found the mother load,” I exclaimed. There was a neat pile of folded Native American blankets in the trunk as well as several pairs of moccasins and various leather goods. All hand made. “Whoever owns this car probably sells this stuff at pow wows. Oh wait. I found his price list. Dang, that’s dirt cheap.”

I scooped up a few blankets and two pairs of moccasins tossing Georgia the smaller pair as I slid into the passenger side of the car. Georgia ran her hand along the fur lining of the shoe. Reeses sniffed it suspiciously.

“I can’t just take someone’s stuff,” she said.

“It’s just for the night. Unless you’d rather freeze.” I kicked off my converse and sank my chilled feet inside the soft, pillowy moccasin. “Ah. This is nice. It’s like a hug for my feet.” I unfolded one of the blankets and covered my legs. It was almost like camping.

Georgia stared at the moccasins and bit her bottom lip. After a full minute she passed Reeses to me and took off her boots, lifting her legs on the bench seat between us. She wiggled her toes with apparent relief, pointing and flexing them. When she extended her toes, they brushed momentarily on my leg and I smiled inwardly at her red and white striped socks with dancing elves stitched in. The heavy blanket over my lap provided a cushioned barrier, but the gentle pressure of her small feet shot awareness through me just the same.

When she finally slipped on the moccasins, she sighed.

I nodded knowingly. “Right?”

“Yeah,” she said, her face transformed. “They are like feet hugs, aren’t they? I’m buying these.”

Feet hugs. She looked huggable all over. I shifted my vision elsewhere. Anywhere but on Georgia. I was comfortable and cozy under the blanket, but if I had to sleep on the murder couch to get my mind off the pretty girl a couple feet away, I’d do whatever it took.

Something shiny caught my eye. The keys were in the ignition. They were really trusting at this place.

“Should we put on some tunes?” I reached over and switched on the auxiliary power before getting a reply. A song came on I didn’t recognize. Georgia winced. I remembered her shutting off the car radio earlier. What did she have against good ‘ol honky-tonk?

“What? Don’t you like music?”

“I like music if it’s done well,” she answered.

“Okay. Give me an example.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Pachelbel, Mozart, Hayden...Chopin.”

“Really? I was not expecting that.” I turned the knob on the radio to change the channel. Most of it was static, some commercials, and more static again. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find an after-hours classical station,” I said.

A smile cracked on her pretty lips and she leaned closer to me to give Reeses a nice scratch. That strawberry shampoo or lotion she used hit my senses. I breathed it in ever so covertly. Didn’t want her to think I was a weirdo or anything.

“There! Go back,” she chirped. “That’s Elvis.”

I turned the knob back. Sure enough, it was Blue Christmas.

“How did you catch that?”

She smiled smugly. “I have a good ear.”

“A far cry from Bach or Tchaikovsky,” I mused.

“It’s Elvis and Christmas. Classical music.”

We listened for a bit, swaying where we sat. The lyrics reminded me of how alone I’d be this Christmas. The first away from my folks. Then I watched her face. She had a sweetheart back in New York or was he in LA? And she was stuck with me in Nowhere’s Ville, Nebraska with no phone to call him—thanks to me.

“Do you miss him?”

“Hmmm?” She was too into the music. “Elvis?”

“Uh, no.” I shook my head. So silly, this one. “Your boyfriend or...fiancée or whatever.”

She stopped swaying and stared at me blankly. “Fiancée? I never said I had a fiancée.”

I gestured to her left hand. “It’s a little obvious with a year’s salary in diamonds on your ring finger.”

She glanced at the ring then back at me and laughed. She had a sweet laugh. It made my heart swell—which I would have liked if I wasn’t so utterly confused. Did she think I was funny? I wasn’t trying to be funny. I could be so much funnier. At least, she might think I was if she was into dad humor. I was full of corny jokes.

“It’s fake,” she said on a sigh. “My brother makes me wear it to keep the men away.”

Fake. The ring was fake?

“Y-y-you...I mean...uh.” Yes. I could speak English. “It doesn’t look