Free Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) by Ainslie Paton Page B

night’s show.
    “Is it true you gave them the spew spawn line for Dystopian Conflict ?”
    He could hear Georgia, but not see her. It was true the movie’s most quoted line came from his mouth and not the scriptwriter’s page. Wasn’t so unusual, it was collaborative process. “If I say yes, will you think better or worse of me?”
    There was a general hubbub of agreement and disagreement, people moving about, leaving, and Georgia came into sight, a blurred shape with a dark halo of hair sitting opposite him. “Can I talk to you for a minute before we start again?”
    He sat forward. “I’d like that.” He knew this wasn’t going to be about spew spawn or the work.
    “You’re, um.” A deep drawn breath.
    “Go on.”
    “You’re um. I think, um. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to focus on the work. I’m new here and jobs like this are hard to find.”
    “I understand, but are we not working well together?” He could’ve had any engineer, Avocado employee, freelance, or flown in specially that he liked on this job, but he’d wanted to work with Georgia.
    “I just.”
    He scooted forward on the lounge. “I wish I could see your face, because what I hear in your voice concerns me.”
    “That’s just it. I don’t want you to waste time worrying about me. You don’t have to be nice to me, or win me over, or be interested in me.”
    That’d come out in a hot rush. “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not interested in you.”
    And that was ice-truck killer cold. He sat back. That told him. He could play this off as a misunderstanding but that tasted like too much effort. “Right. I wish that was different.”
    “Why?”
    Now she wanted to play twenty questions. “Because I’m not seeing anyone and I find you interesting.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Everyone is interesting.”
    “Well, I’m not.”
    “You have a head full of corkscrew curls and they’re brown like your eyes. You smell of vanilla strawberries, like those wild freesias that sprout up every spring in yellows and purples. I don’t know if it’s your shampoo, the soap you use, or perfume, but I don’t think it’s any of those things. I think it’s you.” He paused; she could quite easily walk away and he’d be talking to himself.
    “You never got to have a kitten and I wonder why you missed out. You lost your parents while you were still young. You’re still young. You’ve lived in England long enough to pick up the trace of an accent but not entirely lose your natural one. Your favourite colour is green.” He heard a noisy inhale. Yes, she was still there, still listening.
    “Green is all about the outdoors for me, and about renewal. I don’t know if that’s what you’re doing by moving home, but I’d like to. You have this hesitancy about you. I hear it in your voice. I think you’re sad about something. I wonder why you feel like you have to hide who you are. You’re a good engineer and a nice person, Georgia. I move around a lot for work. The women I don’t scare away mostly want to mother me or take advantage of me. You haven’t tried to do either and I like that. I’m sorry about kissing your hand, I came on too strong. I was trying to get to know you, but if that’s too much for you, then I won’t bother you again.”
    He took a breath. Her shadow grew length as she stood up. “I think that would be best.”
    Fuck . He stood up too, but misjudged the placement of the table, getting his foot caught in its leg. He lurched forwards, his shin hit the glass edge, their lunch stuff bounced, slopping and sliding, and his hands shot out in front. They met hers. She steadied him, one hand under his forearm. “Thank you.”
    “Please don’t thank me.”
    He gripped the hand he still had in his. “Please don’t shut me out.”
    But she was going to. She removed her hand from his grasp and moved away and the only conversation they had the rest of the session might’ve been scripted by machines and