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Chapter 7: Mending Bridges

"I owe you an apology."

"Apology?" George echoed, looking genuinely confused.

Isla nodded. "Yeah. For snapping at you yesterday. I just... I don't handle things not going as I intended them to very well. I was very impolite. I am sorry." She felt sheepish apologizing after George had taken the first step, but it was still better than nothing.

Face lighting up in a smile, George shook his head. "It's okay. I wouldn't have brought you this if I were still mad at ya."

George didn't leave until two hours later. And after he had left, Isla felt like she was floating on clouds. They had done nothing but talk, but Isla could feel her pull to the guy getting stronger with each passing minute they had been in this room together.

She sat now, sipping what was left of the Chateau Lafite Rothschild she shared with him while she thought.

These few hours with George had given her a little more insight into his personality. The guy was reasonable and very intelligent. He hadn't talked much about his background and neither had she. In fact, they both seemed to be treading with caution. The wall issue had set them back a few steps. George didn't even ask for a date again.

Her happiness from George's visit was quickly doused at that reminder. George hadn't asked her out on a date again! Perhaps her small craziness over the unfixed wall had killed whatever romantic interest he had in her, and he had decided to just be friends. Her assumption didn't match the look in his eyes when he looked at her, but nothing else made sense to her. Or maybe he still had an interest in her but just didn't want anything romantic anymore.

Sighing, Isla closed her eyes. Maybe she should have asked him out instead. The idea hadn't occurred to her at the time, and even now as it did, she lacked the courage to. If he didn't ask her out again, it probably meant he didn't want to go out with her anymore. Would it make any difference if she did the asking?

Sleep that night was terrible for Isla. She tossed around in bed for hours, wondering if she should let a potential lover go without even trying. He was the first to make her reconsider her decision to live without a man… It was just like Olivia had told her; 'Trust me, when you see the right guy, that vow would just fly out the window.'

Was George the right guy? Then it looked like whatever she would have had with him had flown out the window alongside the vow. It wouldn't be the first time she ruined something with her irrational irritability.

Blue eyes closed at the memories that tried to flood her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, turned to the other side of her queen-sized bed, and pleaded for sleep to take her under its feathery wings, but sleep eluded her.


Balancing the tray on his right hand, George rapped at Isla's door early the next morning. He checked his appearance in the reflective gleam of the door but didn't have the time to make conclusions before the door swung open, and an irate looking Isla faced him with those abominable blue eyes.

"What?"

George mentally backpedaled a bit. Was this lady bipolar? Wasn't she the same one he had talked and laughed with last night? Why did she look like someone spat in her coffee?

"Are you alright?" George asked in genuine confusion. How did one switch from friendly to stone cold in a few hours? It hurt his brain.

He watched in satisfaction and relief as her stony expression gave way to a softer one. She looked really worn out. Had she even slept? The bags beneath her eyes were hardly inconspicuous.

"Sorry," Isla whispered. "I am cranky when I don't sleep. Do you want to come in?" She eyed the tea-cup and chinaware jug on the tray he held, salivating at the smell of jasmine tea. A sharp glance left and right of the hallway revealed that no one had seen them yet, and she hurriedly ushered him in. The last thing she wanted was to become gossip material for the neighbors.

Her home was much neater than last night. As long as he didn't go into the kitchen that is. Isla had considered getting someone to do some cleaning and other chores, but it still felt too invasive for her.

She watched George place the tray on the decorative table and crossed her arms, a look that appeared casual but was more of an effort to hide the way her chest was heaving. She was breathing so hard just from having George in her space again.

"You made tea for me?" She wondered aloud, taking the sofa beside him, much like last night.

"I made it for us," he corrected, his eyes fixed unabashedly on her face.

An embarrassed blush colored Isla's cheeks and she added quickly, "Yes, of course."

Cold. Aloof. Shy. Sweet. The different personalities he saw in this particular woman should have had any normal man running for the hills - she might be a bit mental for all he knew. Instead George found himself more intrigued by her.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" He asked softly. "Missed me so much when I left that sleep fled?"

Isla's lips stretched into a grin even as her heart beat picked up. "Yeah, you wish." She continued in a more serious tone, "I lose sleep sometimes. Comes with the job. It's the consequence of countless times of staying up late at night to write. Our circadian rhythm just gets messed up."

George nodded slowly in understanding. "I see. Maybe you should take a break and do something fun. Something that makes you happy. Perhaps you will find your muse and be able to sleep better."

Isla's eyes jumped to his face, stunning him again with how blue they were. Her eyes had to be the most beautiful feature of her face, framed with long dusty lashes that brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

"You..." She trailed off, looking unsure about whatever she wanted to say.

"What is it?" When she still hesitated, George gently urged. "Say it Isla."

Jesus. Isla felt goosebumps on her skin and heat pull in her belly. George had no idea what that command does to her

"Are you free this weekend?"

"Yes, why?" He saw her throat move with a nervous swallow. Whatever she was about to say, it wasn't easy for her.

"I want to take you somewhere."

He looked at her now, a small smile playing on his lips. It was exactly what he had hoped for, leaving the ball entirely in her court.

"Are you asking me out?" He inquired teasingly. It was a cliche question, but he just couldn't resist.

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the smile lingering on her lips as she faced him fully. "What if I was?"

He chuckled huskily. "Then I will take it."

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