Sweet Georgia Peach

by Amelia C. Adams

  She was nearly to the elevators when one of the staff members hurried up to her. “Miss Russell! I have a note for you.”

  She took it, thanked the young man, and didn’t open it until she was alone on the elevator. It was a hastily scribbled message on a torn piece of lined paper.

  London, can I see you tomorrow morning? Busy here until late tonight. Text my cell. Kade

  She almost couldn’t make out the last digit of his cell number, but by the time the elevator reached her floor, she decided it was a three. Now the question was, should she see him or not? And why did he want to spend time with her?

  By the time she’d taken off her dress and hung it back up, she’d decided not to go. All he did was annoy her, and it was silly to take time out of her busy schedule to go be annoyed on purpose. But by the time she’d changed into a T-shirt and sweats and flopped down on her bed, she’d decided that she would go. She didn’t have anything going on tomorrow until five o’clock when the judges would announce the final twelve contestants, and the only way to find out what he wanted was to ask him, and that was a conversation better held face-to-face anyway.

  Before she could change her mind yet again, she grabbed her cell phone and the note and sent a text.

  When and where?

  She knew he was busy judging talents, so she didn’t expect him to reply for a bit, but he did almost immediately. Lobby at nine?

  Okay.

  She stared at that single word for a long time before she hit send. She didn’t really think he was setting her up to squirt her with a fire extinguisher or pour Kool-Aid over her head or anything like that, did she? No, he was an adult now—and that meant his pranks would be more adult too. Hmm. What if he’d talked about her all during his date with Chelsea so she’d report back to London that he was interested, and then what if he used that somehow to humiliate her? Oh, he was sneaky. He was very sneaky.

  Well, she could play his game. She clicked the send button, a grin on her face. She didn’t know what he was up to, but she’d be on her toes, and that was half the battle right there.

  ***

  This day was never going to end.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick had forgotten to tell Kade that he was signing up for hour after hour of the most exquisite torture he had ever endured. Girls who thought they could dance—and couldn’t. Girls who thought they could play an instrument—and couldn’t. Girls who thought they could sing—and sounded like sick cats in the alley. Through it all, he kept a polite smile on his face. That was his job.

  He did need to give credit where it was due, though. A few of the girls had stood out from the others, and he’d circled their names on his list. And then there was London.

  Holy cow.

  He’d known she sang—she’d performed in different school things and whatnot, but he’d never paid attention to what she was actually doing. He was having too much fun goofing around with his friends at the back of the auditorium or other dumb stuff like that. Today, she’d blown him absolutely out of the water. He wasn’t an opera expert by any means, but he could appreciate art, and she was a true artist. He’d circled her name and put three stars by it.

  Finally, when he was just about to die from both hunger and a headache, the last contestant finished her baton-twirling routine—he didn’t know anyone still did that—and it was time for them to close up shop for the night.

  “Don’t forget, we meet here at two o’clock tomorrow to discuss our choices for elimination,” Elaine said, studying the judges’ schedule. “Will you be able to be here on time for that, Kade?”

  “Hey, I’ve been trying,” he said, but then he caught the smirk on her face and chuckled. “Yes, I’ll be here. And I was thinking, why don’t we each come with our thoughts prepared so we can compare notes and be on our way? I can’t think of anything worse than sitting here for three hours hashing everything out.”

  “I can. It’s sitting here all afternoon and evening listening to people plunk away on a piano,” Mayor Morgan said, and Kade clapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re a good man, Mayor. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  The hotel catering staff had brought in sandwiches midway through the afternoon, but Kade was starving again. He’d been cooped up inside all day and wanted to get out for a while, so he stepped through the doors, pulled up a list of restaurants on his GPS, and started walking. The night air, although a little muggy, felt good after the stale atmosphere of the hotel.

  He grinned when he looked at London’s text again. Tomorrow morning at nine. It would be a little hard to sleep that night—he’d been that way as a kid waiting for Christmas morning, too.

  “Hey!”

  He ignored the shout and kept walking. Probably best at this time of night on the city streets.

  “Hey! Are you Kade Smith?”

  Oh—a football fan and not a mugger. Unless it was a mugger who liked football. He paused and turned. “Yeah.”

  The man who approached him didn’t look like a mugger, if there was a certain way a mugger was supposed to look. This guy was wearing a plaid button-down shirt which barely covered his beer belly before descending into the straining belt of his khaki pants. “I can’t believe you’re Kade Smith. It’s an honor, a real honor.” He stuck out his hand, and Kade shook it.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. What’s your name?”

  “Martin. Martin Lebowitz. Do … do you mind . . .?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Just a selfie with me, if that’s okay?”

  Kade really hated this kind of thing, but it was important for him to create good relationships with his fans. “Sure.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome. That’s super awesome.” Martin stepped closer to Kade and held the camera out at arm’s length. “That’ll be one of my prized possessions.”

  “I can take a picture, if you like.” A young man had stopped on the sidewalk to watch them.

  “That would be great.” Martin handed over his phone. As soon as he did, though, the young man took off, sprinting down the sidewalk as fast as he could go.

  “Hey!” Martin yelled after him, but of course, the thief wasn’t going to stop just because he was asked to.

  Kade took off after him. The guy was fast—really fast. He had almost reached the intersection, and Kade knew he couldn’t catch up. So he yanked off his shoe and threw it, still running.

  It spiraled the remaining distance and clipped the guy on the back of his head. It wasn’t a very effective weapon—it was a shoe, after all—but it gave Kade the break he needed. The thief paused and felt the back of his head, and that slight reprieve was enough for Kade to close the gap and tackle the guy.

  “Get off me!”

  “I don’t think so.” Kade looked around to see that a crowd of people had gathered, some taking pictures on their cells. “Do any of you want to use your phones to call the police?”

  “Oh! I will,” one man called out, and Kade shook his head. He had no doubt this would be all over social media within the hour, but he’d sure appreciate it if the guy was in police custody by then and not sitting pinned under Kade’s knee. And that’s kind of what cell phones were for, anyway.

  When the police came, they asked for a statement, and then they asked for autographs—for their kids, of course—and finally Kade was allowed to leave. Martin stepped into his path before he could make his escape and shook his hand again.

  “Thanks, man,” he said. “I mean, it wasn’t an expensive phone, but I’ve got pictures and stuff on there, and plus, it’s the principle of the thing, you know?”

  “I do know,” Kade said. He patted Martin on the shoulder and then walked away, hoping to leave the camera-toting crowd behind him.

  He made it to the restaurant without incident, but as soon as he was seated, people at the surrounding tables began to nudge each other and whisper. He tried to keep his head down, but it didn’t really work, and before he’d even had a chance to decide what to eat, he’d signed four m
ore autographs.

  He just wanted his dinner.

  A few minutes later, his cell phone buzzed with a text. He grinned, thinking it was from London, but then he saw that it was Dillon. Oh, great—not something else with the house, he hoped.

  You’re making quite a splash tonight. Just saw you on the news.

  What? He texted back. Don’t know what you’re talking about.

  They’re interviewing the guy whose phone you saved. He’s calling you Superman.

  Kade shook his head. Save me.

  Ha ha ha  You staying at the hotel or at home?

  Home.

  You might want to get a room for the night. The reporter just showed a shot of the outside of your apartment building. Said they want to interview you.

  Argh.

  Kade’s fixer-upper wouldn’t be ready for a long time, so he’d taken a small apartment close to the stadium. How did the media know where he lived? He thought he’d kept a pretty low profile coming and going, but then again, he couldn’t even walk down the street to get dinner without causing an uproar.

  Thanks for the warning.

  No prob.

  He slipped his phone back into his pocket, ordered a steak done medium rare, and ate it quickly, trying to avoid even more stares. He almost wished he’d taken it to go, but he liked his food hot, and by the time he got back to the hotel, it would be a congealed slab of flesh instead of a nicely cooked Porterhouse, so he just put up with the attention for as long as it took.

  When he got back to the hotel, he asked for a room, then stretched out on the bed and flicked on the TV. Sure enough, the local news channel was replaying the whole story, complete with cameras on his apartment building and a statement from Martin that Kade Smith was America’s next superhero.

  All because he threw a shoe.

  Crazy.

  Chapter Eight

  Evelyn was still asleep when London got out of the shower the next morning. She was happy to see that—her mother pushed herself to the point of exhaustion and needed her rest. She had promised to come to the elimination that evening, and London was glad. While she had tried not to show too much emotion about this whole thing, she cared about the outcome an awful lot, and she wanted someone to be there, either to celebrate with her or to take her out for condolence chocolate cake.

  Her phone rang while she was putting on her makeup. “Hey, Amber,” she said when she answered. “What’s up out there in the boondocks?”

  “I don’t live in the boondocks. It’s Idaho—there’s a difference.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been there, remember? Short trip Mom and I made to size up your man? There’s not a decent shopping mall for miles. That means the boondocks to me.”

  “Whatever. So, I wanted to call and wish you luck. First elimination is tonight, right?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Mom emailed me your schedule. Glad she did—now I can be crossing my fingers for you at all the right times.”

  “Do you want to cross them for me in about half an hour?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  London paused and set down her powder brush. “Do you remember me telling you about Kade Smith?”

  “The quarterback?”

  “Yeah. And my high school bully.”

  “I didn’t realize it was the same guy. Isn’t he also one of the judges there this weekend? That’s what Mom was telling me in her email. Need me to come down there and pummel him for you?”

  “No, I can do my own pummeling. I just don’t know if I need to or not. He’s asked me to spend some time with him today, and I don’t know why. Chelsea’s here, and she says he has the hots for me. But I keep remembering all the horrible stuff he did to me in high school, and I don’t know . . . I think he’s up to something.”

  “So why aren’t you staying far, far away from him?”

  “Because I want to beat him at his own game.”

  Amber was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Are you sure you aren’t flirting with him?”

  London almost dropped her phone. “Flirting with him? Why on earth would I be flirting with Kade Smith?”

  “Well, I’ve seen his picture, and unless all this fresh Idaho air has addled my brain somehow—which I don’t think it could, because it’s supposed to have the opposite effect—the man is gorgeous.”

  “There’s more to a person than just looks,” London retorted.

  “Of course. But looks do count for something.” Amber paused again. “Listen, sis. I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? If you really think he’s up to something, why not cancel? Is it worth a few laughs to risk getting yourself enmeshed in this guy’s craziness again? I mean, you’ve got a lot to be thinking about right now, like winning that scholarship.”

  “You’re right.” Amber was right a lot. It was one of those things that just annoyed London to pieces. But then again, it was one of the perks of having an older sister, someone who could navigate the rough waters before she sailed on them and give her a map.

  “Well, I’ve got to go. My first case as a lawyer here in Idaho, and I need to meet with my client. Call me tonight and let me know how it went, okay?”

  “Okay. And thanks, Amber.”

  “Any time.”

  London hung up and then studied the phone in her hand. Should she text Kade and tell him she changed her mind? Or should she keep her promise?

  She tapped on her Facebook icon. She needed to update her “fans,” such as they were, about the pageant and how she was enjoying her experience—all the things she had to do for publicity. She was surprised to see Kade Smith mentioned several times in her newsfeed, and she scrolled down until she found a link to an actual news article and not just a bunch of squealing over how awesome he was.

  Wow. He’d apprehended a mugger? Last night? Huh. That was pretty cool. After she got the facts, she went back to reading her friends’ comments—they made a lot more sense now. There were a few marriage proposals thrown his way mixed in with the congratulations and whatnot—hmm. He’d definitely gotten the attention of the female demographic with that little adventure.

  She had to see him if for no other reason than to tease him about this mercilessly.

  Digging around in the closet, she found a knee-length purple dress she thought would be just right for a morning in Atlanta with a famous football player, then grabbed her low-heeled black sandals. A chunky necklace finished things off, and she was ready to go.

  And definitely ready to go make Kade Smith’s life a little miserable.

  ***

  When she stepped off the elevator, she spotted Kade immediately. He was leaning up against a pillar, wearing a T-shirt that read “I love Atlanta”—but the “love” was a giant red heart.

  “Showing some town spirit?” she asked, nodding toward his chest.

  “This was all the gift shop had, and I can’t go home for more clothes right now,” he replied. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am. Are you feeding me?”

  “I am.” He held out his elbow. Intrigued, she took it, and he led her over to the restaurant in the lobby.

  “So, why can’t you go home?” she asked, even though she had a suspicion. All that buzz online was probably messing up his private life.

  “Uh, television cameras,” he said, the tips of his ears growing red. “So, I’ve heard they make great breakfast food here.”

  “Oh? Where did you hear that?”

  “From the registration desk. Why? Is it not true?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet. I just trust some recommendations more than others.” She picked up her menu. “Looks like they have a good variety.”

  He picked up his as well. “You’re right. They do.”

  “And I can’t help but wonder which one you’ll choose out of so many.”

  “I’ll probably go with the Sunrise Breakfast Platter.”

  “That looks good, but I wasn’t talking about food.” She set down her menu and p
inned him with a look. “I was talking about all the marriage proposals you’ve been getting since last night. Are you just loving all the attention?”

  “Actually, I’m not,” he said, his voice lowered. “I really can’t wait until it dies down.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. I remember how you are—catcalling during assemblies, kissing the cheerleaders during games. You love it when everyone’s watching you.”

  He looked down at the table. “That was a long time ago. Almost like a different person.”

  The waitress came by just then, and they each ordered the Sunrise Breakfast Platter with orange juice. “Please make sure her food isn’t touching,” Kade said, giving London a wink.

  Once the girl was out of earshot, London said, “I don’t get it. You’re the guy who ran alongside the team float in the Fourth of July parade giving high fives to everyone on the sidelines. You’re telling me that now, you’re not so crazy about the limelight?”

  “It’s not easy, London. There’s no privacy, no chance to be a regular person. I’m sure you know that—you’ve won some titles and people know who you are.”

  London thought about that for a second. It was true—she’d had a few awkward moments when someone got a little too close or felt like they knew her well enough to come knocking on her front door. But she’d never been trending on social media, and she’d never had television cameras parked outside her house. She’d never been worried about going home.

  “So . . . really? You’re not an attention hog anymore? I’m having a hard time picturing that. I mean, you were so . . . well, how do I put it . . .?”

  “I was a jerk,” he finished for her. “A real jerk. And I’m not proud of it, London. That’s why I’m glad you came out with me this morning—so I could live it down a little.”

  “We’re not out yet,” she said. “We’re still in the hotel.”

  He grinned. “You’re right. Where would you like to go next? I have to be back here at two, but I’m yours until then.”

  Hers, huh? Well now . . . He seemed sincere. The humility, the apology—she might have been willing to believe him if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been so very comfortable with his jerkitude in high school. She didn’t think it was possible to have such a total change of heart in only four years. Things like that usually required heavy medication and some shock therapy.