The Things We Leave Unfinished by Yarros, Rebecca (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

was Georgia Stanton clicked into place. She never knew her father. Scarlett raised her. So what did that make Ava?

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” she asked. “It feels a little weird not getting you something when you made tea for me.” She looked at me expectantly.

“Not everything is quid pro quo,” I said softly.

Her spine straightened, and she turned her back on me, heading for the refrigerator. “In my experience, it’s always quid pro quo.” She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then shut the door. “In fact, there are very few people who don’t want something from me.” She set the bottle of water down on the counter in front of me and returned to her seat. “So please, drink up. After all, you didn’t fly all the way to Colorado because your Spidey senses told you I needed a cup of tea.”

You want something, too.

Her eyes said it even if her mouth didn’t, and damn it, she was right. My stomach fell into what felt like a bottomless pit.

I nodded once, and then we both drank.

“Why are you here? Not that I’m not thankful for the tea, or the distraction, because I am. I just wasn’t expecting you.” She leaned forward, warming her hands on the mug.

“I promised I wouldn’t talk about the book.” Book or not, I was glad to be here, glad to see her in a way that had zero to do with anything professional. The woman had been on my mind in one way or another for the past month.

“You always keep your promises?” Her eyes narrowed in speculation.

“I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t make the promise.” It had been an expensive lesson.

“Even to the women in your life?” She tilted her head. “I’ve seen quite a few pictures.”

“Checking up on me?” Please say yes. God knew my browser history was full of Georgia Stanton.

“My best friend keeps sending me pictures and articles. She thinks I should jump you.” She shrugged.

She what? I squeezed my water bottle so hard, I crushed it. “Really?” My voice dropped, pushing every single image that sentence brought to mind far out of my head, or at least trying to.

“Funny, right? Especially given the parade of women you keep your promises to.” She gave me a sugar-sweet smile and batted her lashes.

I laughed, then shook my head. “Georgia, the only promises I make to women are what time I’ll pick them up and what they can expect while they’re with me. Days. Nights. Weeks. I find it saves a lot of misunderstandings and a lot of drama if everyone knows what they’re getting up front, and despite your thoughts on my writing, I’ve never had an unsatisfied complaint.” I twisted the top back onto my empty water bottle, keeping my thoughts far away from the things I wanted to promise her.

“So romantic.” She rolled her eyes, but color flushed her cheeks.

“I never claimed to be, remember?” I smirked, leaning back against the counter.

“Ah yes, the bookstore. Noted. So you’ve never broken a promise?” Her voice pitched in disbelief.

My face fell.

“Not since I was sixteen and I forgot to take my little sister, Adrienne, for ice cream after I said I would.” I winced, remembering the sound of the beeping hospital monitors. “My mom took her and got into the accident I told you about.”

Georgia’s eyes widened.

“Adrienne—my sister—was fine, but Mom…well, there were a lot of surgeries. After that, I made it a point to never commit myself unless I was sure I could follow through.” I’d also drafted my very first book the following summer.

“You’ve never missed a deadline?”

“Nope.” Though that might change if she didn’t start communicating with me about this particular book.

Curiosity sparkled in those crystal blue eyes. I could have written an entire novel dedicated to them. In a way, I guess I already was, given that she and Scarlett had the same ones.

“Never blown a New Year’s resolution?”

I grinned. “I never make them,” I admitted like it was a dirty little secret.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

Shit. I wanted to suck it free. The bottle crinkled in my hand.

“Never stood a woman up for a date?”

“I always say that I’ll do my best to make it, and I do. I never promise a woman I’ll meet her unless I’m already there.” Anyone who went out with me knew that if I was sucked into a story, chances were, they were getting a cancellation text. Granted, I’d send it hours in advance, but the story came first. Always. “I’m not exactly the guy you depend on during a deadline. Unless you’re my publisher.”

“So you’re more about the semantics,” she argued, sipping her tea.

I barely managed to keep from sputtering. “No, I’m more about defining expectations and either meeting or exceeding them.” We locked eyes, and that tangible hit of electricity struck me again.

“Uh-huh.” She clicked her tongue. “Do you still have dinner with your mother?”

“Once a week. Unless I’m on book tour, a research trip, vacation, that kind of thing.” I gave it some thought. “Sometimes she makes me cut it to every other week.” My lips tugged at the corners.

“She makes you cut it?”

“She does.” I nodded. “She would prefer I spend less time at her house and more time finding a wife.”

Georgia startled, nearly spit out her tea. “A wife.” She set the mug on the counter. “And how is that going?”

“I’ll let you know,” I managed with a straight face.

“Please do. I’d hate not to be in the know when it comes to your love life.”

I laughed and shook my head again. She was something else.

“Gran would have liked you,” she mused quietly. “She wasn’t a fan of your books, that’s true. But you, she would have liked. You have just the right mix of arrogance and talent that she would have appreciated. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty. She liked pretty men.” Georgia rubbed at the back of her neck. It was long and