Writing Mr. Right (16 page)

He laughed again. She had a smoky voice and an easy sarcastic air about her, something he found so rare and so endearing. Strange to meet another American woman with the same wit twice in one lifetime, he thought. He leaned forward on the bench, straining to make her out, but his eyes were spotty from the weight of his arm across his face a moment before. Her face remained in shadow.

‘I’ve had one too many pints to do any respectable pouncing.”

She smiled, and the little light the close offered showed across her smile – a smile he’d imagined a thousand times in his mind.

“That’s a shame,” she said.

He shook his head. What he was seeing wasn’t just unlikely, it was ridiculous. Nonetheless, he opened his mouth. “Georgia?”

The smile reappeared on her face. “Hi, Garrett.”

***

He was off the bench in an instant, and she startled, bracing herself against the space between them. She remembered the kind of man he was, how forward and fearless he could be when he wanted something. She half expected him to have her up against a wall in an instant. Half expecting, and she realized, wholly wanting. Yet, he stopped just a few feet from the bench, seemingly stuck there.

“My God, Georgia. I’ been tryin tae find ye all night.”

Her lip curled just so in a strange grief, and she steeled herself. “Really?”

“Aye. And here ye are. God, what are the fuckin odds of that?”

Georgia could hear the same disbelief and elation that she felt in his voice. The cabbie’s words played over and over in her mind as she tried to shush them.

If he’s the one, he’ll turn up.

Her heart swelled. She watched Garrett fidgeting awkwardly, a few yards distance from her, as though frozen to the spot. His brown hair had grown long, well past his ears, and he was wearing a kilt and button down shirt. She fought the urge to comment on the figure he cut in his outfit, searching for small talk instead. The silence began to stretch, and she grew desperate to fill it.

“I got your flowers.”

“Did ye?”

She could see his smile, even in the dark close. “They were pretty well mangled, but I salvaged a few.”

“I’ll have to buy ye new ones.”

The silence returned, but it was Garrett’s turn to fill it. “I tried to get into your event there, this evenin.”

“I heard that.”

“Bastards wouldn’t let me in.”

She smiled and repeated with a teasing smile. “I heard that.”

He took another step toward her. “God, you look amazing.”

Georgia startled at this. She glanced down at her disarray; bed head on top of lumberjack chic. She openly scoffed. “I look like a complete -”

Garrett had moved. Covered the space between them in just a few paces. He was a couple feet away now, and she gasped, bracing for impact.

Finally, she thought.

But he stopped, as though stilled by some unseen thing just a few feet away. “Sorry,” he said.

“Why sorry?”

“I don’t know – I just don’t know how to proceed. Might I - Can I -?”

He approached slowly, his arms out to her, and she obliged, wrapping her arms around his middle to embrace him. He hugged her, politely, then just before letting go, gave a bit of a squeeze, resting his chin on the top of her head. In that split second, she felt that familiar chill up her spine; the strange resonance of her insides that only his touch could summon.

She was thoroughly disappointed when he let go.

He was clearly nervous, behaving more like an avid fan than a former lover. She smiled, but she was growing frustrated, and frustration often turned into word spew on her account. She feared what she might say if the urge took her.

“Were ye headin to the Bat, then? Can I walk ye there?”

“No, no. I have no interest,” she said, shaking her head. The thought of tucking in with a bunch of drunk writers from the festival was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Well then, where were ye headed?”

Georgia smiled up at him, meeting his gaze and forcing herself to hold it despite the butterflies it caused. Those hugs of his triggered something deep. “I wasn’t really headed anywhere. I just needed to…”

“Get out? Same.”

They stood in silence again, both glancing around as though they might find something interesting in the dark.

“Can I walk ye home, then?”

Georgia smiled, glancing around at this quiet pocket of her beloved Edinburgh, the Edinburgh she would be leaving in the morning. She nodded.

The act of walking seemed to stir conversation. Garrett asked about the books, the tours, the public speaking, and the lines for her events. He wanted to know all the same details everyone else wanted to know, but his curiosity seemed to carry something bordering on pride with it. She was surprised by how good it made her feel to think Garrett might be proud of her.

When he allowed a lull in his curious interview, she turned the tables. She asked after the new shop, of leaving Inverness, and even the lovely Jennifer, employee of the month.

“Oh, she seemed quite lovely. Told me I should steer well clear of you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m grateful ye don’t listen to reason.”

“Surely not.”

“Surely not? You’re beginning to sound Scottish.”

Georgia grinned. “Surely not.”

She turned to face him. They’d reached the Thistle, the gilded doors mocking her with their presence. Part of her wanted to ask him up. Truly, all of her wanted to ask him up, but the strange energy between them left her wary. Would he say yes, she wondered. Would it be like before?

“Well, here ye are. You’re leaving tomorrow, then?”

Georgia nodded.

“Any idea if you’ll be back?” He asked.

“I don’t know where I’m heading. I have an assistant now who tells me when and where to be. At all times.”

“Sounds horrific.”

She shrugged. “It’s kinda nice, actually. I think I might be the kind of woman who needs a handler.”

Garrett grinned, but he didn’t look at her. Georgia glanced toward the hotel doors again.

“Well, alright then. I won’t keep ye up any longer,” he said.

Garrett leaned in nervously and kissed her on the cheek, making an exaggerated ‘smooch’ sound. Then he turned back toward Princes Street and began to walk away.

Frustration barreled over caution like a Great Dane over a Shitzu.

“Wait, that’s it?” She asked.

Garrett stopped, turning back to face her. “What?”

“That’s all. You’re just gonna leave?”

His hands went up, apologetically, but Georgia didn’t let him speak. “After all this time, you’re just gonna leave?”

“Not if -”

“Jesus Christ. Tell me you believe in fate.”

He paused. “I don’t know -”

“Well, I do. I really do.”

He met her gaze. “Alright -”

“And we just magically ended up in the same little courtyard in the middle of the night after months of not seeing one another, and you’re just going to walk away? You don’t think maybe you should explore this? See if it might mean something?”

“Well, I didn’t know how to -”

“I think about you all the time, you know?”

Garrett’s hands fell at his sides and they both stood silent a moment, Georgia replaying her own words as though they echoed off of everything.

When he spoke, his voice had dropped. “You do?”

“All the fucking time. Never stops.”

Here comes that word spew, she thought.

“I didn’t know that.”

Georgia steeled herself against the emotion that was rising in her chest. “No, you wouldn’t. Because you never called.”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t stop. This was her greatest flaw; honesty – fearless, unwavering, unfiltered honesty. She also didn’t know how to stop it once it started. “I’ve thought about you just about every day since I met you, wondering if I’d ever see you again. If I’d done something wrong to make it so you didn’t call.”

“You didn’t. Will you let me ex -”

“I took my one day of freedom yesterday and hauled my ass all the way to fucking Inverness, just to see you -”

“You didn’t!”

“- and you weren’t there. It’s the stupidest thing, but even after all this time, it broke my heart a little that I wasn’t gonna get to see you. And I sound like a lunatic right now, but I don’t care. If I’m a fucking lunatic, so be -”

He crossed the distance between them and grabbed her face, pulling her toward him. He pressed his nose to hers, as though he meant to kiss her. Her words stilled, instantly.

“Is this the only way I can get a word in?”

Georgia set her brow. “I’m a writer. I have a lot to say.”

He smiled. “Ye certainly do.”

They stood there a moment, Garrett staring down at her, his green eyes bright and warm in the light from the Thistle Hotel. Georgia found herself unable to meet his gaze.

Garrett pulled her chin up to make her look at him. “Ye seemed pretty confident a second ago. What happened?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t confident; I was scared. Big difference.”

“What were ye afraid of?”

Georgia shook her head. “That you would leave and I’d never see you again.”

Garrett took a deep breath. “D’ye want tae invite me up, then?”

Georgia inhaled, sharply. She’d unloaded all her steam in a huff, and now she was deflated in the wake of Garrett’s stern energy. She swallowed and nodded her head.

He took her hand and pulled her toward the doors of the hotel. “Good.”

They were in her suite a few moments later, a fan Cassie demanded from reception on her behalf was whirring in front of the open window. Garrett whistled at the sight of the place.

Georgia shook her head. “The Hyatt would have been nicer.”

“Tae hell with the bloody Hyatt.”

The two of them stood there in loaded silence, like some unfired gun. She looked around the room, almost double checking for any embarrassing things lying about. Garrett rubbed his hand over the scruff along his jaw, the new beard growth of a couple days without shaving. Georgia stuffed her hands in her pockets, swaying just slightly.

Garrett chuckled to himself. “Christ, you’d think we were teenagers. No one would suspect you write saucy fiction.”

“No one.”

They smiled at each other, then returned to silence. Garrett gestured over toward the desk, where Georgia left her notebook and laptop from an earlier session. “What ye working on?”

He slipped over to the table and began running his fingers over the notebook pages. She hustled over to protect the unwritten secrets of her brain, but in reaching past him, brushed her cheek against his shoulder. He didn’t move aside, letting her press into him as she took the notebook from the table. She flipped it shut and pulled it toward her chest. Garrett’s arm still touched hers, and he turned toward her, keeping contact. He took hold of the notebook now clutched to her, and she let him pull, drawing her closer to him. The warmth of him was intoxicating as she let her grip on the notebook loosen. He grazed his fingertips over her elbow and stepped into her, looming over her, running his fingers up and down her arm.

“Ye didn’t answer me?”

She swallowed. “Just the next novel.”

“Oh aye? So, was she thrown from the boat, or did she jump willingly?”

Georgia’s mouth fell open.

“Is it so surprising that I’ve read yer books?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He bent down and kissed her. It was light, a surface kiss that consisted of his lips barely touching hers, but her cells sang nonetheless. She inhaled sharply, lifting up onto her toes to increase the pressure of his kiss.

Garrett pulled away to set the notebook onto the desk, then took hold of her hips, and kissed her again, this time with intention. Georgia’s body crumpled beneath her. Had he not been holding onto her, she’d have dropped like a stone. She leaned her full weight against his chest and he stood solid. The kiss intensified, like the crescendo in a Mozart symphony, and Georgia wanted to latch onto him like some howler monkey, and just live in his branches. He broke from the kiss, letting them both breathe. He stared down at her, his eyes darting from here to there as he seemed to examine every tiny detail of her face.

“Christ, I feel like a fuckin teenager, right now.”

Georgia’s smile was so intense, it hurt her cheeks. “You said that already.”

“For fuck’s sake, I did much better last time.”

She smiled at him, then Georgia pulled from his arms, crossing to a small table with several glasses atop it. “Do you want a drink? Received a lovely 30 year from Glenfiddich this afternoon.”

Garrett’s eyebrows shot up. He shook his head. “30 Year? Christ, yes. I mean, no. No drink. Just gotta grow a set of baws and toss ye on the bed.”

With that he made a dramatic flourish of tugging his shirt up from his kilt, loosing the buttons with unexpected speed. He pulled it off and tossed it onto the couch, then turned for her. He met her gaze and stopped dead. “What’s wrong?”

Georgia’s mouth had fallen open. She closed it. She’d seen men in kilts many times. She’d seen half a dozen of them shirtless like this as a part of some randy celebration when she first arrived. Yet, none of those shirtless men in kilts were Garrett, and Garrett was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. He stood just a few feet from her, and yet he felt a million miles away, beautiful like some celestial event.

Georgia swallowed. “You cut a fine figure, lad.”

Garrett laughed and went for her, collecting her in his arms as she almost cowered from him. She couldn’t bring herself to touch him, as though he might burn her. He grabbed hold of her hands and pulled her to him, planting them squarely on his pale chest. She shuddered.

“I’m beginning to think ye have someone else write these randy stories of yours.”

She shook her head. “Oh, if you only knew what’s going on in my mind.”

“Pray tell.”

She pinched her lips between her teeth. She couldn’t tell him these thoughts, they were far too intense to share. Sure she wanted to put a hand up his kilt, but she also wanted to make him breakfast in the morning, hear the sound of him snoring beside her, meet his parents - these were not seductive thoughts, at all.