Pride and Popularity

“So, um, do you know why your brother doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

Swish, swish. “Nope. He says he can’t not have one wight now.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. That’s just what he says.”

“Is that why your mom comes and picks you up and not Taylor?”

“I dunno.” Georgia began to jump again. “Can I pass the cookies to ev-we-one? Please, please, please?”

So much for getting more info. I laughed. “Sure.”

Twenty-One My Own Pemberley

It was the end of March when I noticed Georgia had left her dance bag at the studio. After a brief hesitation, I decided to take it over to the Anderson home. I knew Georgia would be really upset if she didn’t have it. At every ballet class, she told us about her practices at home. She would have a hard time practicing without her shoes.

I remembered vaguely where Taylor lived, but it had been years since I had been in his neighborhood, so I took the address with me just in case. After a few wrong turns and a couple of U-turns, I eventually made it to his street. The three-story plantation-style house had seemed big before, but now it was simply breathtaking. I can’t imagine living in a house like that! It’s like a fairy tale.

The rumor was that Taylor’s mom saw a house for sale in a magazine, then took the picture to an architectural firm and commissioned them to make a house for her that looked exactly like the picture. I wondered how much it had cost. Whatever it was, it was worth it. The front yard looked just like a magical garden, lined with rows and rows of flowers and hedged bushes. Wide, gleaming white steps led to a large front porch that was flanked by six sturdy, carved white pillars.

My plan was to quickly hand over the bag to Mrs. Anderson and then hightail it out of there before Taylor saw me. I parked my mom’s Volvo across the street and grabbed the dance bag. After a few breaths to calm my nerves—and a couple of reminders that there was no way Taylor was home and that I was just being chicken—I stepped out of the car and crossed the road.

After passing under the watchful glare of the two fierce lion statues that guarded the home, I hurried up the paved stairs. As I reached the pillars, I paused a moment and looked at the splendor all around me. Never before had I been this close to something so—so, huge. I climbed the last of the steps that led to tall, double French doors adorned with matching floral welcome wreaths.

Another deep shaky breath brought me up to the doorbell. I pushed the white button, then thought, What if Taylor answers the door? Guess I’ll just drop the bag and run.

I was grateful when the door was answered not by Taylor but by a woman dressed like a maid. “Can I help you, miss?” she asked, giving me an odd look.

I realized I was staring at her. “Oh, sorry. I’m Georgia’s ballet teacher, and she left her bag today. Could you give this to her?” I attempted to hand it to the lady, but she had other ideas.

“Oh, Georgia will be so happy to see you.” She smiled. “Please come in.”

What? No way. “Oh, uh, I would rather—” I was about to protest until the woman opened the door wider and I got a peek inside. The house was incredible. “Oh, okay. Thank you.” I smiled as I stepped over the threshold and gawked. Wow. This is like a movie set.

I stood for a moment in the large entryway, mesmerized by the gorgeous crystal chandelier before me. Behind it I could just make out the top of a double-sided staircase that cascaded down either side of the marble- floored foyer.

“This way,” the woman instructed.

She waited for me to follow her further into the house, but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t budge. All of a sudden I was indescribably nervous. No thanks, I wanted to say. I think I need to go now. I actually would’ve dropped the bag and fled the house completely had Taylor not shown up at that precise instant.

“Mrs. Little, was that the doorbell I heard?” his voice came from above me. Dismayed, I froze as I watched his progress down the right set of stairs. First his sock-covered feet, then his jean-clad legs, then his bold-striped chest, then all of him. His steps faltered as he saw me, and our eyes locked.

“Chloe?” he said in obvious disbelief.

He looks so good! I forgot how hot he is, even without shoes. I’m going to melt right here, I thought. Except I couldn’t do anything. Speechless and completely paralyzed, I was sure I couldn’t have looked like a bigger freak if I tried.

Unfortunately, Taylor had no problem moving as he bounded down the last few stairs.

He’s coming. Yikes. In my embarrassment, I looked away from his incredulous stare and saw the ballet bag in my hands. “Oh. Uh, I, this—this is Georgia’s,” I was able to spit out. “She left it at dance class today.” I offered the bag to Taylor as he stopped a few feet away from me, but he wasn’t looking at it. My heart jumped.

“You’re here.” His eyes searched my face. “You’re actually here.”

“Um, yes.” I looked away from him, thinking he probably wished I was anywhere else but in his house. I tried to step back and was amazed at my traitorously stubborn feet, which apparently didn’t want to be anywhere else. Breathe. Take a deep breath and breathe.

“Mrs. Little, I’ll take care of Chloe, don’t worry,” I heard Taylor say near my ear. With a small tug he gently took my hand. My eyes fluttered back to his. He’s holding my hand!

“Thanks,” I heard the woman say as Taylor pulled my hand slowly toward him. I realized then that it was still clamped onto Georgia’s bag, and that it was the small tote and not my hand he was really after. I jerked my palm away and released the bag, which fell at Taylor’s feet. Mortified, I mumbled, “Sorry,” and started to bend over and pick it up.

It was Taylor’s hand on my arm that stopped me. “Wait.” My eyes fluttered up to his and were held captive by their intensity. Slowly his fingers moved down my arm and left a delicious trail of sparks until his hand held mine again. I gulped, unable to look away. “I’ll get the bag,” he said.

Then I watched in amazement as he bent over with our hands still clasped, picked up the bag, and stood, in one fluid motion. Thankfully, that action allowed me the moment I needed to collect my wits. “Thank you, Taylor. If you could give that to Georgia for me, I’d be really grateful. Anyway, well, I better go.” I would’ve stepped back but my feet still refused to move. And my hand! My hand refused to even think of pulling out of Taylor’s warm hold.

Taylor looked down at our hands and ruefully smiled before he brought them up in between us. Slowly, his thumb traced a small circle on top of mine, whereupon I let out a tiny gasp at the currents that raced up my elbow. His eyes met mine again. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded his head as if deciding on something. “Do you really have to go this second? Come on. I’ll take you to see Georgia.”

Another slow, lazy circle was drawn over my thumb, but I heard myself answer, “Uh, yeah, of course. I . . . uh” —I could feel my face turning red— “I would love to see Georgia.”

“Great.” Instantly, Taylor was all smiles. “She’s up this way.”

He pulled me along after him, and soon we climbed the elegant staircase side by side. As I floated up the stairs, I had visions of attending a royal ball. Of course, in those visions I wasn’t wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

“Your house is really big,” I remarked, probably sounding like a complete idiot.

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. “It can get annoying.”

“Really?”

“Well, I guess if you like to run then it’s not so bad.”

“Run?” I couldn’t picture anyone running through a house like this.

“Thank goodness we have Mrs. Little. It used to be pretty bad when we were in the back of the house and the doorbell rang. Can you imagine my mom sprinting in her high heels to catch the door? Sometimes we wouldn’t