her hand away.
“That’s a good thing. That way I know it’s you.”
“You really can’t see me?”
“You’re a shape, Georgia. I see you moving. If you were closer I’d see more of you but you’d still be blurry.”
“You don’t use a cane?”
“I do, collapsible. I didn’t need it to get here. I worried you, didn’t I?”
Her body shifted, she leaned away. “Trent and I, we’re both embarrassed. We could’ve helped you more.”
“I could’ve asked.” Not that he did often, though that might to need to change. His independence would be that much further compromised. And once he told Taylor, she’d think the idea of moving in was a cry for help. Fuck denial. He should’ve been more ready for this; he’d been too busy being busy and inventing excuses.
“I get the impression you don’t generally ask.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Now he could admit how irritated they were. How hard it’d been to see the script on his tablet. How much he’d had to rely on Taylor to move around the last couple of days. The only good thing was he had time between his bookings to get his act together.
“Damon?”
“Sorry. I was miles away. What did you say?”
Silence. Movement. Maybe she shrugged, then remembered. “Ah, it’s not important.”
“Yeah, it is. Sound, voices, particularly the things people say, how they say them, they’re incredibly important to me.”
“Trent is setting up for us.”
“I’m sure he is. But that’s not what you said.”
“No.”
“Georgia.” Best dad tone, by way of school principal.
She huffed. “I said I didn’t think you often asked for help.”
Interesting. Perceptive. Not the first impression he usually made. “I’ll bet you thought I was drunk.”
“I.” She slapped something, a hand to a thigh most likely.
“Yeah, you did. Reasonable assumption.”
“You’re a terrible tease.”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary ten-gallon hat on his good ole boy head. A little Jason Stackhouse idiot swagger. Georgia Fairweather wasn’t immune to charm after all. Knowing he could make her squirm made this moment less uncomfortable, for him at least. “And don’t you mean flirt?”
“I.” She sighed and slapped again. “I give up.”
He laughed. “You can’t give up. You had the idea of the century. Move in close to me and let’s see how this’ll work.”
She stepped closer, but they could still fit something skinny like Taylor between them. “Georgia, I’m blind, I’m not contagious.”
She edged closer, her breathing sharp. Taylor standing side on would still fit. He reached over and enfolded her far shoulder, shuffling her in to his side, but let go of her quickly, so she’d know it was more a functional touch than a familiar one. “You can outrun me. If you stick a foot out, I will fall over it.”
“You don’t have to…”
“What? Joke about it? I’ve been going blind since I was fifteen. I’m thirty-two. I’ve had plenty of time to get used to it. Would you rather I flirt?”
She made a small sound of discomfort from the back of her throat.
“I guess that’s a no.” He waited, got nothing. “Difficult first day, huh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to…”
He felt her shift, her arm brushing his. “Fly a plane? Heck me neither. But I’m willing to be guided by the screaming if you are?”
She laughed, that soft breathy sound she made, more polite than mirth. He’d like to hear her laugh properly, like she meant it, not like it was the socially acceptable thing to do. If she smelled like clean laundry and fresh fruit, what would she sound like let loose? What would she taste like if he licked her skin?
Trent gave them the okay. They started from the section he’d had trouble with. At first all he felt was her single finger with its one note beat. As the timing for the interactive voice and video sections got more complex she rested all her fingers on his hand, using her index finger
“That’s a good thing. That way I know it’s you.”
“You really can’t see me?”
“You’re a shape, Georgia. I see you moving. If you were closer I’d see more of you but you’d still be blurry.”
“You don’t use a cane?”
“I do, collapsible. I didn’t need it to get here. I worried you, didn’t I?”
Her body shifted, she leaned away. “Trent and I, we’re both embarrassed. We could’ve helped you more.”
“I could’ve asked.” Not that he did often, though that might to need to change. His independence would be that much further compromised. And once he told Taylor, she’d think the idea of moving in was a cry for help. Fuck denial. He should’ve been more ready for this; he’d been too busy being busy and inventing excuses.
“I get the impression you don’t generally ask.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Now he could admit how irritated they were. How hard it’d been to see the script on his tablet. How much he’d had to rely on Taylor to move around the last couple of days. The only good thing was he had time between his bookings to get his act together.
“Damon?”
“Sorry. I was miles away. What did you say?”
Silence. Movement. Maybe she shrugged, then remembered. “Ah, it’s not important.”
“Yeah, it is. Sound, voices, particularly the things people say, how they say them, they’re incredibly important to me.”
“Trent is setting up for us.”
“I’m sure he is. But that’s not what you said.”
“No.”
“Georgia.” Best dad tone, by way of school principal.
She huffed. “I said I didn’t think you often asked for help.”
Interesting. Perceptive. Not the first impression he usually made. “I’ll bet you thought I was drunk.”
“I.” She slapped something, a hand to a thigh most likely.
“Yeah, you did. Reasonable assumption.”
“You’re a terrible tease.”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary ten-gallon hat on his good ole boy head. A little Jason Stackhouse idiot swagger. Georgia Fairweather wasn’t immune to charm after all. Knowing he could make her squirm made this moment less uncomfortable, for him at least. “And don’t you mean flirt?”
“I.” She sighed and slapped again. “I give up.”
He laughed. “You can’t give up. You had the idea of the century. Move in close to me and let’s see how this’ll work.”
She stepped closer, but they could still fit something skinny like Taylor between them. “Georgia, I’m blind, I’m not contagious.”
She edged closer, her breathing sharp. Taylor standing side on would still fit. He reached over and enfolded her far shoulder, shuffling her in to his side, but let go of her quickly, so she’d know it was more a functional touch than a familiar one. “You can outrun me. If you stick a foot out, I will fall over it.”
“You don’t have to…”
“What? Joke about it? I’ve been going blind since I was fifteen. I’m thirty-two. I’ve had plenty of time to get used to it. Would you rather I flirt?”
She made a small sound of discomfort from the back of her throat.
“I guess that’s a no.” He waited, got nothing. “Difficult first day, huh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to…”
He felt her shift, her arm brushing his. “Fly a plane? Heck me neither. But I’m willing to be guided by the screaming if you are?”
She laughed, that soft breathy sound she made, more polite than mirth. He’d like to hear her laugh properly, like she meant it, not like it was the socially acceptable thing to do. If she smelled like clean laundry and fresh fruit, what would she sound like let loose? What would she taste like if he licked her skin?
Trent gave them the okay. They started from the section he’d had trouble with. At first all he felt was her single finger with its one note beat. As the timing for the interactive voice and video sections got more complex she rested all her fingers on his hand, using her index finger
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