wearing a pair of tight dark jeans, a wool coat, and a hesitant smile. I have no doubts that I screwed things up earlier this week, but now with this new theft to investigate, I need her to trust me.
I stand to greet her from my spot at the end of the bar, which warms her face a little. Her hesitant smile morphs into a content one, relaxing her tense eyes.
“Hey. Thanks for meeting me.” I lean in to give her a hug, resisting the urge to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Hi. This is some place, huh? They really took the phrase raise the bar seriously.” She pats the unusually tall bar for emphasis. “Have you already ordered?”
“No, I just saved us seats.” I pull out the exceptionally high bar stool for her to climb onto. And she literally does have to climb.
“Seriously, was this bar built for the Chicago Bulls? This can’t be regulation.” She gets settled in her seat, and she looks like a toddler with her legs swinging beneath her.
“Chicago does love its sports teams. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The bartender makes his way over once we’re settled in and takes our orders. Georgia asks for a gin and tonic, and I request a beer.
“You know who else is super tall?” she asks once the bartender turns away.
I shake my head. “Who?”
“Volleyball players. Wow! I went to the professional beach volleyball tournament at Oak Street Beach this summer and I felt how Savannah must feel around us adults. My neck hurt from looking up at everyone.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever watched volleyball before, so I never noticed.”
Her jaw drops. “Never? Oh, man. You’re missing out. Volleyball is a totally underrated sport. Great action. Incredible athleticism. So much fun.”
I stare at her for a moment, trying to differentiate the Georgia who presents herself to me and the potential—likely—criminal I’m supposed to bring down. In the beginning, I was so convinced it had to be her because I was desperate for a lead, but now, even despite all the evidence, I just don’t see how this woman could be a part of this. It’s messing with my head and I’m afraid Nate is right.
“I’ll have to check it out sometime to see for myself.”
“Definitely. Next summer, if the pro tour comes back again, we’ll have to go one day.” She smiles at me in a different way from moments earlier. This one is full of excitement and truth. Her eyes sparkle under the hanging overhead lights, casting a shadow on her face that somehow still looks angelic.
“It’s a date.” I swallow deep after I blurt those words. It scares me when I realize I meant them. That I can see myself taking Georgia out in eight months’ time, for reasons not connected to any investigation.
The bartender arrives with our drinks before we go any further down that train of thought.
I take my first sip, trying to settle my conflicting emotions. “So, what were you up to all day? Anything exciting?” That question also spurs a lot of regret, because I can’t exactly tell her that I spent the better part of the day at my real house, arguing with my nudist neighbor about his refusal to close his curtains.
His exact response was, “If you don’t like, don’t look.” No, Bruce. I don’t like it at all, but it’s a little hard not to look when you keep all of your lights on and walk around after dark in the buff. That imagery requires a good chug of my beer.
All the while I’m trying to scrub Bruce’s naked form from my mind, Georgia is silent. I glance away from my beer to look at her, and she’s also taking a healthy mouthful of her drink.
She sets down the tall glass with a sigh and clears her throat. “Nothing exciting, no. Just trying to find some inspiration for new projects. Trying to build my portfolio and stuff, you know?”
Well, at least she’s opened the door to discuss art. None of our conversations thus far have made my next question a natural thing to ask.
“I don’t really know how the artist life works. How do you find clients or make sales?”
Georgia muddles the slice of lime in her drink, watching it intently. “I’m still figuring that part out, to be honest. If I knew the secret, I might be able to afford an apartment with a bedroom.”
That’s a curious answer. If she was bringing in money from criminal activities, I don’t imagine she’d stay in an apartment just for affordability’s sake. Another hint that she’s not guilty. Still, I need definitive proof either way.
“The big job you had when we went home, how did that come about?” I take a casual sip of my beer, trying not to look too eager for an answer.
She mimics my gesture, creating a long pause. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
I’m not sure how to come back from that. She’s obviously trying to redirect the conversation, and I need to know why she won’t discuss this big job. What’s the reason behind it being so secretive? But if I repeat myself, she’ll realize I’m being intentional in my line of questioning. Not only that, but where I see myself in ten years is being well on my way to a position as deputy director so I can make policy changes that actually lead to criminals being punished.
Since she wants to operate the same way, I supply a vague answer: “Wherever my job takes me.”
“So that’s it? Your job is your goal? You’d move away from Chicago if they sent you somewhere new?” She pushes her empty glass forward, gesturing to the bartender for a refill.
Again, I don’t know how to answer that because I work for a federal agency that could send me anywhere, but she thinks I work for a regional one. “I don’t think the CFD would send me anywhere outside of Chicago, but whatever role they needed me in, I’d do it. It gives me purpose, and I feel like I’m making a difference.”
She studies me as she absentmindedly swipes the condensation on the outside of her empty glass with her thumb. “Your intentions are noble, young Archibald, but you need more to your life than work. Trust me.”
My desired line of questioning is no longer my strongest desire. I inch forward off of my stool, but they’re so obnoxiously large, I’m no longer on the seat by the time my feet touch anything. “What else should I have in my life, Peaches?”
She swallows hard. I trace the movement of her throat as she does. My eyes keep lowering until I see the rise and fall of her chest; lower still and see her legs separate to allow me to come closer. I shouldn’t. I told myself I’d keep my composure and not put a conviction at risk, but I’m a mere mortal and Georgia is looking at me like I’m her source of life. When she peers down at me and licks her lip, I don’t want her to do that herself.
Just as I’m about to tug her forward and take over that job for myself, the bartender slams her drink on the counter, drawing her attention. I glare at the smug guy with half a mind to arrest him for obstruction of life-saving acts. But I should probably thank him.
Georgia looks back at me, but the moment has passed. She clears her throat and takes a sip of her new drink. If her body temperature rose as much as mine did, no doubt she needs it to cool off. “Why Peaches?”
I hop onto my stool and slide as far back as possible. “Georgia peach. Peaches.”
“How original.” She rolls her eyes, but her wide smile tells me she’s not the least bit annoyed.
Truth is, it just came out. I didn’t put any thought into it, but she looked tempting, like a perfect, ripe peach and I’m disappointed I didn’t get to take a bite. “Noted. Georgia doesn’t like Archie’s choice of nickname.” I turn forward and tilt my head back to take a gulp of my beer.
“No, Georgia thinks it’s… She likes it just fine,” she replies, playing along with my third-person narrative.
I’m suddenly so tired of this ginormous bar and extra tall stools. It’s like someone picked this place up out of the middle of Texas and dropped it in Illinois. It’s all presenting problems tonight that I should be grateful for because it forces me to keep my distance, but I’m resenting each oversized item.
“I want to take you somewhere.”
The left side of her mouth lifts into a half-smile and she snort-laughs. “I thought this was you taking me somewhere.”
“No. Yes. It is, but I want to take you somewhere else.” I chug the last of my beer, which prompts Georgia to follow suit. I jump down from my stool and help her from hers, toss some cash on the bar to cover the tab and a tip the bartender is lucky to be getting, and we’re on our way.
Like previous experiences have gone, she trusts me. She doesn’t ask any questions or offer any resistance. She’s willing to go for the ride, wherever that may be. If she trusts me this way, wouldn’t she trust me enough to offer some insight into her criminal activities? Wouldn’t something have clicked by now that was more than circumstantial if she really was part of this?
Maybe I was wrong all along and Georgia isn’t the link to the heist crew.
But it’s hard to ignore the puzzle pieces that have been collected, and all seem to create a picture with her face on it. It’s also hard to ignore how her hand fits in mine as I drive through the downtown core. It’s even harder to ignore the way my heart races in my chest when she looks at me as she does when I pull into a parking spot at Navy Pier.
“Are we playing tourist?” she asks, her face lit up with a smile so wide, it reaches her eyes.
“You’ll see.” I hop out of the Jeep and walk around to her door, where she’s already waiting. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’ll be fine as long as we’re not going swimming.”
I chuckle at her deadpan expression. “No swimming. I promise.”
“Okay. Lead the way. I trust you.”
Those three words feel like a gut punch. I could let it fuel my guilty conscience and ruin the evening, or I can trudge forward, carrying the weight of the hatred I feel for myself for deceiving her. I choose the latter. “Come on.”
We walk along the pier until we arrive at the ticket booth for the Centennial Wheel. Georgia stays silent as I purchase a gondola for us that is scheduled to lift off in fifteen minutes.
“I can’t believe you’re taking me on a giant Ferris wheel. You fell into a tourist trap.” Her words lack any harshness. She’s smiling, and I hope that means she’s excited.
“Sometimes we have to live a little.”
We waste ten minutes browsing the other attractions. It’s cold and nearing the end of the day, so it’s not busy. I’ve wanted to check out the Centennial Wheel since it opened, but never had a good enough reason to splurge on it. Tonight is the perfect opportunity.
We navigate the sparse crowd to get back to where we climb into our private gondola. The doors slide closed and our smooth ride into the dark sky begins. It’s a slow ascent while other passengers load, so it takes several minutes to reach halfway up. We’re already a hundred feet in the air, which is plenty high enough to see the lit up skyline.
“I love this city. The sights, the sounds, the people. There’s so much beauty in it.”
An artist’s eye is more discerning when it comes to finding beauty in everyday things, but that’s not the only reason I see things differently. The only beauty I see is a blue-eyed blonde sitting close enough I can wrap my arm around her. So I do. I drape my right arm over her shoulders and pull her close. I should stop there, but I can’t. She’s too tempting. I kiss the soft skin in front of her ear, just under the arm of her glasses.
She turns toward me, and I finally get the uninterrupted moments I’ve been craving since the bar. And it’s worth the wait. I kiss her while we rotate through the sky, and the view I was excited to see has no appeal. Georgia’s lips against mine make me forget about everything. Supervisors, policies, goals, fears. They all disappear until the only fear remaining is if she’ll ever forgive me when she finds out who I really am.