Writing Mr. Right (5 page)

Georgia yawned again, pressing the back of her hand to her lips to cover it.

“Latte not doin its job? Should I have bought three then, ae?”

Georgia shot him a shy smile, lifting one of the two coffee cups he brought her upon returning from Costas. “No, I promise it’ll stop soon. I’m just not drinking so much as scribbling over here.”

“Well, stay up, woman. I’ve got money on ye.”

She laughed into her book, bringing one of her lattes to her lips for a long swig of the now cooled beverage. The large cardboard cup slipped in her hand, slammed into the table surface and tipped, splashing beige liquid across the newly signed pages of
The Seafarer
.

“Oh shit!”

“Saw that,” he said, appearing before her like some Scottish ninja, with napkin and steady hand. He took the coffee from her, righting it after wiping it down, then collected the soiled book. He winked down at her. “I’ll keep this one for myself then, shall I?”

“I’m so sorry! I’m so fu -”

“Nae bother, love. Needn’t worry yourself. Can’t begin tae tell ye how much I love a good romance novel.”

Georgia frowned up at him. “I’ll pay for it.”

He shook his head. “Nae, I’ll sell it on eBay. Make a fortune.”

She laughed and he walked away, taking the wet book with him to the register. Georgia made a point to collect her cup with two hands this time, finally getting to take a sip of one of her two lattes – this was the caramel one. It was divine.

She had another twenty minutes to finish the signing and brace herself for the droves of people who would soon be lining the outer wall of the shop. Most of the attendees would be women, mid to late twenties all the way up to late sixties. Despite her book being on the bestseller list for several months now, this was new. The lines gathering and the interviews lining up was only a month or so old, and she still felt almost confused when the book stores opened their doors and the crowds filtered in. This was doubly so when the droves of attendees were all British. She questioned whether she even spoke their language properly as she scribbled her name in the front covers of books in Glasgow and Edinburgh. Georgia scribbled her pen name in book number thirty something, and glanced toward the front of the store. She watched Garrett maneuver a sign announcing her presence toward the still locked front doors. The ladies outside tittered excitedly to see him readying the shop. Georgia smiled.

It’s amazing how many people will happily admit to loving smutty romance these days, she thought.

Victoria Mason
, she signed again. Victoria Mason was a confident and savvy woman. Georgia felt as though people expected her to be as brash and witty as she was in text, describing ravishing sex scenes with poetry and flourish. She didn’t quite know how to do it. Victoria Mason would have winked at Garrett when he waved back to let her know they were ten minutes from opening the doors. Georgia Kilduff just blushed and ducked her head down into another copy of
Woman in White
, letting her dark hair fall over her eyes.

She signed the last four books and dropped the clunky pen onto the table, slumping back into her chair. Surprisingly, her hand was feeling better.

“Brace yourself, dear,” Garrett called from the front of the shop. She chuckled and the door chimes clanged in pleasant song as a herd of excited women hustled in and her day began.

“Can ye believe I brought my mother?”

“I swear, Douglas MacCready is the perfect man. Where can I find one?”

“Wasnae Douglas born in Inverness, ae?”

“How do ye come up with all of it? Your husband must be one lucky man!”

Georgia cracked her knuckles and sighed. She’d heard every one of these questions before; hell, she’d heard far worse, but she simply smiled and treated every time as though it was the first.

“Did the Captain really throw her overboard, or did she jump?”

Georgia smiled up at number 113, a lovely red-headed woman with deep lines at the corners of her grey eyes. “I can’t tell you that. You have to read it like everyone else.”

The woman gave a feigned shaken fist of outrage and came around the table to pose for a picture. Then she and her friend were gone.

Garrett snuck around the table before the next reader could approach, squatting down beside her seat and setting a hand on her knee. The sudden touch startled her, but she fought to hide her reaction to his close proximity. He offered her lunch and a break, but she barreled through, happy to continue until the line was spent.

Garrett and an older woman Georgia knew as Fionnula refreshed the pile of books on the table several times throughout the day, Garrett replenishing her lattes once or twice as well. Georgia took only one break around three in the afternoon, and that was only to avoid peeing her pants.

By 6:02 PM, the last of her loyal readers waved from the front of the shop and Georgia shot her a smile.

Georgia ran her hands over her face and rubbing her fingers against the corners of her eyes. She was exhausted, still jet lagged, and her voice hoarse from all the banter of the day. Yet, the shop was now silent as Garrett locked the chiming door behind the last group to leave.

She took a deep breath and glanced at her watch. “Holy shit! We’re done early.”

Garrett laughed. “Aye, only had to stay open an extra hour.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so busy this far North.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Nae apology needed, dear. And I think some of them came from quite a ways away.”

She’d witnessed much bigger crowds in Glasgow and Edinburgh, yet they’d still been full all day. Her agent’s warnings were true; her little book was taking off at a speed she couldn’t fathom. She rubbed her hands through her hair and gave the pen a tap on the table.

“You are a marvel, woman.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to find Garrett sneaking in from the back room with a brown paper bundle that smelled like heaven. Her stomach growled, loudly. He beamed that breathtaking smile of his and apologized for startling her. “Had Fionnula grab us some munch before she left.”

Garrett pulled a chair over to the signing table, sat down beside her, and retrieved two Styrofoam containers filled with cuisine from the local Kebab shop. He handed her a fork and dug into his dinner. Despite the desperate howls of her stomach, she was almost too nervous to eat in front of him. She watched him, trying to decide if he looked any less handsome while filling his face. Then she thought, ‘what will he think of me when I have a lump of chicken stuck between my teeth?’

“Thank you,” she said.

He grumbled through closed lips, finishing his bite before he would speak. “Ye deserve it. Were a miracle we didn’t run out of copies. I think I have three left in the whole shop.”

“Are you serious?”

He smiled at her and she had to look away.

“Never had a writer of your caliber before, and certainly nae one that ever drew a crowd like that. Ye here this late, I’d have thought unheard of.”

Georgia shrugged. “I’ve had to stay far later. I feel bad for the shop owners - especially these past few weeks. Just always figured if someone wants to wait in line for me, I can wait, too.”

“It’s nae bother tae me. You’ve paid my bills for a month, at least. Pretty soon, ye won’t be able to do signings at little shops like mine.”

“God forbid! I require little shops like yours!”

He flashed her a grin. “You’re a rare creature, then.”

Her face flushed, and they settled in to eat their dinners. Georgia took her first bite of her chicken kebab with chili and garlic sauce and moaned in ecstasy. She’d been oblivious to how hungry she was. Now she could barely get it down quick enough, covering her mouth with her napkin between each bite.

When they were done, he cleaned up their trash and patted his pockets. “I’m sure you’re itching to leave, but might I pester you to sign one more copy?”

“Of course!” She said and watched him disappear into the back room.

She wasn’t itching to leave. Georgia was on her own. Cassie wasn’t even there to help her build up the courage to go to a local pub and drink whisky until inebriated sleep beat her stubborn internal clock. Once she left Garrett to lock up his store, she would sulk off to her quiet room at the Premier Inn, lay awake in her cozy double bed, and most likely smile at the memory of this handsome book store owner’s face. It would be nice to have something sweet to think about for a change, rather than fume in sleepless contemplation over Walter Timlin and what she hoped was his sham of a marriage.

She waited, listening to him in the back room, and silently began pep-talking herself to ask him for a drink. Despite the rather randy subject matter she was often found writing about, she hadn’t had sex in almost three years. Asking a ‘boy’ on a date was not her expertise.

Garrett reappeared in the doorway and Georgia began to laugh. Garrett smiled at her reaction, letting her take the coffee stained book from him.

He handed her the bulbous pen, waggling it at her as she took it.

“Who do you want me to sign this one to?”

Georgia waited for a name, then glanced up at him when he didn’t answer.

He raised his brow. “Me. ‘Garrett’ will be fine.”

Georgia stared at him. He shot her a mischievous glare. “Actually, here.”

He snatched a copy of
Woman in
White
from the table and placed it before her as well. “Ye don’t have to spill coffee on this one, just a signature will do.”

Georgia chuckled as he sat down before her. “Really? You a big fan?”

Garrett smiled. “I am now.”

“Well, you’re not my usual reader.”

“Nae. I’m no the brand of reader that lines up all day with old bitties and asks ye to sign his copy in front of the entire village.”

Georgia shook her head. “I doubt I have many readers like you.”

“I think ye’d be surprised. Sold a good number of those pre-signed copies we had to lads this afternoon.”

Georgia looked at him wide eyed. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m no kidding. Some lads read your books. I promise ye that. I don’t, mind, but I know some do.”

She laughed openly at this. “Well, then why have me sign them if you don’t read them?”

“Well, I will now. Curious tae know what goes on in that brain of yours.”

Georgia looked down at the blank page, her face hot. Her previous signature was warped now, and she was waiting to sign her grand capital V. She stopped.

“I hear it’s quite randy stuff, as well. Ye need help there, love? It’s G-A-R-R -”

“Hush up, you. I’m just trying to decide what I’m going to write.”

Garrett leaned in, touching her elbow. “Ah, yes. Something personal and heartfelt, please. Write me a poem, if ye like.”

She cracked, laughing into the stained book. “You’re not helping.”

He chuckled, leaning in even closer. “Will it help if I stare over your shoulder, judging ye?”

Georgia felt warm with him that close; warm and unspeakably nervous. She nudged him, feeling the solid shape of him hold his ground a moment before letting her push him away. He slumped back in his seat. “I have read a bit of it, if I’m being honest. Christ, just think of all the middle aged hens of Inverness getting randy with their husbands tonight.”

“Well, thank god somebody is!” Georgia stopped short, realizing what she’d said. She was trying to diffuse the tension she felt with him so close. Instead she’d blurted out ‘I’m undersexed!’

If there was one thing that she didn’t want Garrett knowing, it was how unentitled she was to the subject matter of her tales. What right does a celibate woman have writing violent makeup sex between true loves? She wasn’t having sex with anyone, and she’d never known a love that came close to the stories she wrote. Her face burned and she turned her attention back to the stained book. Jesus, what was she going to write?

Georgia stared at the warped pages. She felt him watching her and couldn’t bring herself to write anything at all.

“Did you not like the book, then?”

Garrett had settled back in his seat, hands locked behind his head and legs splayed out. “What’s that? Nae, nothing like that. Just perused a bit one night. I actually bought it for my girlfriend, at the time.”

“Wow, I’m honored.”

“Don’t be. No for that, anyway. We were on the rocks. Hardly spoke to me, but she kept reading these god awful romance novels; leaving them all over the house. I mean, bin liner rubbish.”

Georgia frowned. “So you bought her my book?”

“Nae, nae! Shite, woman! Ye saw that crowd. This is not bin liner rubbish, even from the few pages I’ve read. Nae, this came into the shop one night before I went home and I decided to give it a skim. Read the first few pages and brought it home for the Mrs. Thought it might win me some favor – maybe even get her in the mood.”

“Did it work?”

He chuckled. “Well, we’re not together anymore, so -”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t – I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nae, nae bother. You’re fine.”

“Sorry,” Georgia said, returning her focus to the coffee stained book.

He touched her hand and Georgia took a breath. She held it a moment, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She glanced up at him.

He was watching her, smiling. “That book was actually the final straw, as they say.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “She hated it.”

“Oh, god.”

“Tried tae get her tae read it and she absolutely hated it. Said it did nothing for her, that there was nothing sexy about any of it. Load of rubbish.”

Georgia’s stomach turned a bit at hearing this. “Well, that doesn’t make me feel good.”

“Nae, nae!! I’m sorry! I took a look at it afterward, gave it a bit more of my time. Got to the first sex scene and that was it. She and I were done.”

“Making me feel fantastic here, Garrett.”

“It has nothing to do with ye. It was all her.”

“What do you mean?”

Garrett raised his brows, his hands coming up in wait of some expressive outburst, but he stopped himself. He took a moment, his cheeks turning pink. “It wasn’t your writing that she hated. It was the sex scenes - the lad in your stories.”