Writing Mr. Right (19 page)

I don’t have a translator with me anymore! What does it mean?

“Are you freaking out? God, he’s such a good actor, he’s going to do so good as Douglas MacCready. I can’t freakin wait. God, how are you this calm?”

Georgia smiled at her and shrugged. “He’s just a man.”

“Yeah, the dreamiest man to ever walk the face of the -”

Georgia’s phone chimed in her hand, the familiar ringtone she set for Garrett alone.

I’ll let you guess. ;)

Georgia groaned, but she was still grinning like an idiot as she began typing her response. The phone burst to life in her hand – an unfamiliar UK number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Victoria – ehm, Georgia? This is Germaine.”

“You got me,” she said, settling into her seat by the window.

He wasted no time, drilling her for info about his character. His questions were deeper than she expected –

I know his father was absent from his life. Do you know who his father was?

What draws him to Deirdre in the beginning?

Has Douglas ever been in love before Deirdre?

Surprisingly, despite being thrown off by the depth of these questions, she knew the answers.

His father was a captain of one of His Majesty’s ships. He may come into play in the third book.

Her courage. He considers her braver than most men. And she’s not afraid of him.

He has been in relationships before Deirdre, but has never been truly in love before her, no.

Germaine’s accent was as soothing as a warm bath, reminding her of another fellow whose text she desperately wanted to respond to. Her phone buzzed halfway through their phone call, alerting her to another of his texts.

Cassie hovered nearby throughout the conversation, giddy and giggly as she listened to every word. Georgia just smiled. She was on the phone with one of the British Television’s leading men, and felt no different than if she were talking to Mr. Stevens, head of catering.

“Is there anything that ye feel I should know before we start going forward?”

Georgia took a deep breath. “There is, but I need your word that you won’t repeat it to anyone. It can’t come out until the third book.”

A book that she’d suddenly found herself unable to stop writing, pouring words out in every free moment she had, like some dam had been blown free from the bend in a river.

“Aye, of course. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good. She jumped. Willingly.”

“What?!”

Both Germaine and Cassie spoke simultaneously. Georgia glared at Cassie as her expression changed in a strange betrayed and excited glee.

“Christ, she did?”

Georgia smiled. “Yes. And he already knows. It comes out in the third book, but if you’re going to play him, I think you need to know what he knows.”

“Wait, he’s known the whole time?”

Both Germaine and Cassie sputtered their surprised response at this spoiler. They were the only two people in the world to know.

“How does he know?”

“He was on the ship when she jumped.”

Cassie was out of her seat. “You’re kidding! He already knew her?! Oh my god, Georgia, people are going to freak out.”

Georgia hushed Cassie, but Germaine was mirroring her response on the other end of the line, albeit in a calmer way.

“My God, I’m honored, Georgia. Can’t even express how honored I am to have ye tell me.”

She smiled and finished up her phone call, still laughing at Cassie’s reaction as she stormed around the suite, glaring at her and coming to conclusions one by one. Georgia couldn’t pretend that she didn’t relish this response. She’d seen the fervor in the faces of hundreds – thousands of readers, but this – one of her closest friends and one of the most beloved actors in the UK both reacting with equal fervor; it made her feel bright and shiny for a moment.

And yet even in the bliss of that moment, Georgia wanted nothing more than to text Garrett back, demanding a translation of
Mein Schatz
– and just to hear his ringtone again. Because his ringtone meant he still liked her, and still wanted her to know.

It felt nicer than she could express.

Georgia hung up the phone and waved Cassie off, turning her attention to her text messages.

Her phone burst to life again instantly, vibrating in her hand as it sang Garrett’s ringtone. Georgia’s stomach shot into her throat. He was calling.

She jumped up from her seat, searching around the room as though she were naked and he was pounding at the door.

“Are you serious? You just got off the phone with Germaine fucking Ross, and
this
makes you act like a fangirl?”

Georgia flipped Cassie the bird as she rushed through the suite and into her room, hearing Cassie call after her, “You owe me some answers, woman! I need to know about the book!”

“Hello?” Georgia said, nervously.

“It means ‘my treasure.’”

The sound of his voice, the familiar cadence and rhythm of the way he spoke; it ran through her like an electric current.

She stood there in her quiet hotel room, her stomach in warm knots, listening to the subtle sounds of Garrett’s world on the other end of the phone. She wanted to be a part of that world – a part of the background noise of his life. She wanted it so bad, it left her shaking.

She took a deep breath. “I’ll have Cassie buy my ticket tonight. I’ll be in Edinburgh in a few days.”

He went silent a moment. She waited for a response, fear creeping in. Did he not want her to come anymore?

When he spoke, she could hear the smile in the tone of his voice. “Christ, I can’t fuckin wait.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The movement of people within the train waxed and waned as they drew closer to Edinburgh. Cassie booked her flight back as soon as the signing in Berlin was done. The only nonstop flight landed in Glasgow. The train between the two was a little over an hour. It felt like an eternity.

Unlike last time, this separation was peppered with phone calls and kissy face emoticons, many of them from him. She stared out the train window, her stomach in thunderous knots. She wanted to see him, smell him, feel his touch, but despite all his sweet texts and attentive, timely phone calls, Georgia was waiting for the other shoe to drop. What if this time, he saw her and suddenly didn’t want her anymore? What if the five pounds she gained gorging herself on French and Bavarian pastries the past two weeks made her no longer attractive? Her jeans were digging into her belly even as she sat in that train, starving, unable to eat due to nerves.

She wanted to see him, get to touch him again instead of having to make due with inappropriate Facetime sessions while tucked into her German, French, Austrian hotel room. She felt her face burn hot at the thought of those conversations. She’d seen Garrett do very inappropriate things to himself in the days since she’d last seen him.

He’d seen her do pretty inappropriate things as well. Still, the thought of seeing him in person again made her so nervous, she contemplated locking herself in a hotel room and becoming a strange hermit, throwing copies of her manifesto out the window at unsuspecting pedestrians.

Georgia couldn’t pretend anymore. She’d fallen madly for the bastard, and she was scared shitless. She’d known heartbreak before, and from something that felt almost as promising. She wasn’t sure her heart could take another heartbreak, and despite all her pretense, she knew with complete certainty that Garrett – if he wanted to - could break her heart. He could shatter it.

The mere thought of that made her stomach turn, again.

“Drink, miss?”

Georgia smiled up to the woman with the snack cart. “No. Thank you.”

She hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours, she wasn’t about to start now.

The Indian woman gave her a nod and a smile, then went on her way. Georgia clasped her hands together at her waist and waited.

Ten minutes left.

Her legs were bare due to the blue and yellow sundress she was wearing, and her tired old cowboy boots were clinking against the wall of the train with each fidgeting shake. By all accounts, she looked damn good in that sundress. Still, as the train pulled into the next station, she began to feel almost embarrassed by her attire. Did she look like she was trying too hard?

The familiar chime of the speakers coming on startled her. She craned to listen over the cacophony of moving travelers – they were at Waverly. They were early.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god
.

Georgia rose from her seat, willing the other travelers to shield her from view as she slunk off the train and stood on the platform. The slow trickle of people toward the landing doors began to surge. Dozens of heads, all focused on the floor before their feet, all hustling through, heading for the city outside. She watched the crowd around her, moving with them, terrified to spot him up ahead. The smile caught her first as his dark hair appeared over almost everyone else - the only face not trained on the floor. He stood taller than many, scanning the incoming crowd from the station doorway. Her face burned at the sight of him. She instantly began searching the floor for something to inspect, anything to give reason to her sudden need to avert her eyes. She marched forward, heading toward him, but unable to look at him. Finally, she stopped in the middle of the station, a smile aching on her cheeks. Two dark sneakers appeared walking across the floor before her. They stopped just a couple steps in front of her.

“Hey you.”

She beamed, still unable to look at him. His hand appeared before her, reaching for hers. She let him take it, and he pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. Were she made of steel, she’d have melted. He squeezed her, then released her just enough to look at her. She kept her eyes down.

“Are ye ever gonnae look at me?”

She shook her head, pinching her lips between her teeth. He chuckled, his chest shuddering under her cheek.

He smelled so good. He was warm and solid, smelling of laundry detergent and deodorant, and a hint of some cologne. She wanted to look at him, but she feared doing so would cause her face to crack from the ferocity of her smile. She was almost embarrassed to think of him seeing how happy she was to finally be near him.

Georgia glanced down at his ensemble; hooded zip-up sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, a tattered copy of
Cat’s Cradle
in his hand. She’d spent no less than forty minutes perfecting her damn eyeliner, but he’d clearly tossed on any old thing. She cringed. Did she look desperate? Did he think she was trying too hard?

Garrett took her hand and pulled her, and she followed, letting him lead her out of the station. The air outside was crisp with the evening, despite it still being summer. It was the kind of Scottish cold that settles into your bones as the sun goes down. Garrett stopped long enough to unzip his hooded sweatshirt and hold it out for her. In the split second she glanced up to meet his gaze, the butterflies in her stomach suddenly morphed into angry badgers. Her only answer to the sensation was to oblige and slip her arms into the waiting sweatshirt.

He wrapped it around her bare shoulders, rubbing his hand along her upper arm before grabbing up her bag. “So ye can look at me, I notice?”

She blushed, her hand coming up to her face to shield her from being seen. He took her hand and led her up to the main street, glancing in each direction in search of a cab. He led her to the taxi line, and they climbed in, both still silent.

Garrett gave his address and the taxi burst into motion, heading down the cobblestone streets of Old Town. Georgia watched the world going by outside, trying to pretend the air between them wasn’t bristling. Garret squeezed her hand.

“How far are we?” She finally asked as they passed the Library.

Georgia glanced toward him, willing herself stone as she met his gaze. His eyes were light like hers, but the dark brows gave his gaze a strange intensity and she could hold it for only an instant.

“Five minutes, maybe. Dependin on traffic.”

She could see him smiling out of the corner of her eye.

She nodded. “Perfect.”

Garrett’s row house apartment was settled in along a quaint and quiet street, a couple Bed and Breakfasts boasting free Wi-Fi across the way. Garrett hopped out of the cab and paid the driver before she could react, then he opened her door and offered his hand.

Georgia marched across his gravel driveway, and through the front door, taking in the sight of his new home. “It’s bigger than the last place. You’ve got walls, now,” she said, trying to make a joke.

Garrett dropped her bag just inside the door, kicked the front door shut, and grabbed the hem of the hooded sweatshirt she wore, yanking her to him. She slammed into his chest, gasping in surprise as he stepped into her, pushing her back against the front door, taking hold of her face in one gentle hand to force her to meet his eyes. He pressed her against the wall, and glanced at her lips. Then, he brought his own close enough for her to feel his breath, and kissed her. Her knees buckled beneath her. He held her there, pinned against the wall.

His kisses were surface, almost pinching her bottom lip between his, then the top, pulling from her lips between each kiss just so. “Christ, I’ve been wanting tae do that.”

She swallowed, smiling up into those green eyes of his.

“Want to see the rest of the house, then?”

Georgia nodded as he grabbed up her bag and marched toward the stairs. “And by the rest of the house, I mean the bedroom.”

She fought a laugh and followed him, yelping in surprise when he slapped her ass by the bottom of the stairs.

“Behave!” She scolded him, her cheeks burning.

He smiled at her. “Ah, ye know I’ve no intention of doing any such thing.”

He led her to his bedroom, setting her bag in the corner as she stood in the doorway, looking around the room. The furniture was familiar, still the same as his apartment in Inverness. It even boasted the same high windows. Yet this was cozier, a smaller space without a view of kitchen appliances. She waited in the doorway, frozen. She wasn’t afraid of Garrett, per se, but here she was in his home, her bag settled in a corner, and no immediate promise of leaving. Unlike every other time they’d seen each other, there was no urgency, he had her for this week long reprieve from book signings and international flights. He had her all to himself if he wanted her. There was no one else in the world who could claim such a thing.