Chapter 58
Bea
The reading was going well. Bea hadn’t expected the bookstore to be so packed, and it was both a pleasant surprise and somewhat intimidating to see so many expectant faces waiting for her to stimulate and illuminate.
But she needed to try to enjoy it; this was what she had waited and worked for all these years.
She started with a reading from her novel, which even garnered a few laughs in some places.
Would she ever get used to this after working alone for so long and never knowing which parts evoked which reactions from her readers.
It was fulfilling. What if she got used to it and took it for granted?
No, that would never happen. Not after all this time.
As she read, Bea realised her heart was pounding, and it wasn’t the adrenaline from reading in front of an audience.
It was what she was reading. Every word Gil Painter spoke, every loving gaze he gave her heroine, every embrace and every kiss was a weapon through Bea’s heart.
She had read and re-read her work so many times now that she was sure any impact the words could have on her would have worn off, but it was not so.
The legacy of Cal Butler lived on and on.
He simply wouldn’t leave the residence he had taken up in her being.
Bea choked a little on the words as she read them.
She should have chosen a different passage.
But this was one of the best, it was one of the readers’ favourites; it showcased her writing well and somehow – she knew in her heart of hearts – it brought her closer to Cal.
And that was why she chose to read it, even though it made her well up with emotion.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Bea hardly dared to lift her head as she spoke to the crowd.
‘This bit always chokes me up a little.’ She met the eye of some of her readers, a few of whom were weepy themselves.
Others watched on with admiration. One of them – a woman in the second back row – raised her hand.
Bea nodded at her as if to say, please ask your question.
‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked.
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. I think maybe I haven’t detached myself well enough from my subject material.’
‘This is based on your own experiences?’
Bea nodded. ‘Well, some of it is. Inspired by, shall we say? With all the names changed.’
Another woman cut in. ‘Are you still with him? With Gil?’
Bea steeled herself. ‘Um, no, no I’m not.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. He sounds perfect.’
‘He kind of was. But he is a long way away now, somewhere in Scotland.’
‘I might go there and see if I can hunt him down,’ one woman joked.
Bea chuckled. ‘He stands out from all the rest. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.’
‘Certainly not, considering he’s right here.’
Bea’s gaze shot to where this deep, resonating voice had come from.
It was so different from the others in the room.
Scottish. Male. As she hit the location of the sound, the back of the room, her jaw lost its battle with gravity.
Standing in the doorway, as devastatingly handsome as the first time she laid eyes on him, green eyes reaching out to her like daytime stars, was Cal Butler.
Live in the flesh in New York City. In the exact same bookstore in which she was conducting a book reading.
With an expression of such intense adoration on his face that Bea’s whole body quaked.
‘Cal?’ Bea couldn’t get out any more words.
‘Bea.’ Cal stood still like a Scottish mountain, just looking her, his ardent gaze holding such depth, so many questions, torrents of unspoken emotion.
‘What? What are you doing here, Cal?’
‘Is that him?’ Bea could hear voices in the audience whispering and rising up, wondering if what they thought was happening was really happening. Were they seeing their author’s inspiration live in the flesh?
‘I came to find you.’
‘You did? But why?’
Cal strode down the corridor between the two columns of seating. ‘Because I wanted to tell you something.’
‘Oh, Cal.’ Bea didn’t know what he was about to say, but she knew that she had to say something first. She owed him that.
‘Cal, please. You don’t have to––.’
‘Bea, I came all this way. I’ve eaten some dreadful airline food and slept about three hours. Please let me tell you what I came to say.’
‘No, I insist!’ There were gasps from the audience at Bea’s tenacity.
‘I don’t know what you’ve come here to say, and I’m sorry about the airline food, but I’ve been doing some thinking and, although I never thought in a million years that you would end up here in this bookstore, now you are here, I have to tell you. ’
Cal frowned. ‘What? What is it?’
Bea glanced at the audience, ready to apologise, but it was unnecessary. They were clearly rapt. She turned back to Cal.
‘I’ve been selfish and silly, Cal. I don’t care if the baby is yours or not. It doesn’t matter one bit. What matters is that I miss you so much that I can’t even sit here and read about Gil Painter without my whole body cracking in pain that I don’t get to see you anymore.’
Cal’s mouth lifted in amusement. ‘Gil Painter? Is he … the new Hal Hunter?’
‘Yes. He’s you. Basically.’ Bea shrugged and managed a small affectionate smile.
‘He sounds kind of hot.’
‘He is.’
‘Sounds like the sort of guy who would fly eight thousand miles to tell you how much he loves and misses you.’
Bea’s heart soared. ‘That’s exactly how he is.’
Cal was right in front of her now. ‘Because he wants so much to be with you. To give his entire heart to you.’
‘He does?’
‘He does. I do.’
Bea’s eyes filled up. ‘Oh, Cal. What about the baby?’
‘The baby… It isn’t mine. Look, Bea, I won’t pretend it hasn’t been an emotional wrench, detaching myself even from the idea of having a child, but I’m determined to focus on the things I already have that matter to me.
And one of those things is you. I can never make that baby be mine, but you and me, Bea, we could be something.
I’m sorry I didn’t understand exactly what you were going through, but your letter helped me to “get it”.
So, I’ve come here today to ask if you’ll give me another chance.
Will you be my girl, my woman? I love you so much, Bea.
This time apart from you has almost killed me.
I don’t care where we live or if you put me into all of your books—’
‘Yes, please,’ called out a voice from the crowd.
Cal smiled. ‘All that matters is that you say yes, you will be with me.’
‘Oh, Cal…’
‘You do love me, don’t you, Bea?’
‘Cal. I kind of have a book reading to do here. Maybe we should have this conversation afterwards.’ Bea’s professional obligations took over. She worried her audience would be getting impatient.
‘Oh, okay. Sorry, everyone.’ Cal addressed the crowd, all of whom shook their heads and called out in various ways that he had nothing to apologise for and that this was even better than the book reading. ‘We can talk after,’ he said. ‘I’ll go up the back and mind my own business.’
‘No!’ a vociferous reader cried out.
‘Well, they don’t seem to mind.’ Cal turned back to Bea. ‘Although, if you’d rather do this in private afterwards, I completely understand. I’m not normally one for public displays of affection, but you do this to me, Bea. Know that.’
‘I don’t think this can wait,’ said another audience member, and some others pitched in and agreed.
‘Well, it appears I’m outnumbered.’ Bea laughed.
Cal scooped her cheeks into his wide palms. ‘I think you might be. You’ve got an audience here who want a happily ever after and you’re depriving them of it.’ He winked softly and gazed at her with such pure love that she could do nothing to resist.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, I love you, Cal. Just as much as you say you love me. I have done from about five minutes into our no-strings affair. So yes, I’ll be your girl. Your woman. And, no, I don’t care either where we live, as long as we can be together.’
‘Oh, Bea.’ Cal pulled her to him, placed his lips on hers and indulged her in the softest, yet most passionate, kiss she’d come to know as trademark Cal Butler.
‘You’ve made me the happiest guy alive, you know that?
I am so glad you jumped in front of me in the queue that day.
So happy you came to work in my bar, and over the moon that you feel the same way I do.
I love you, Bea Gracie. More than anything. ’
The audience let out a collective ‘Aah’. There were some sniffles, suggesting the scene had moved some to tears, then a collective chanting began, which soon became clear was the audience demanding Cal read from Bea’s novel. ‘Gil Painter, read! Gil Painter, read!’
‘Really?’ Still with Bea in his arms, Cal turned to face the audience. ‘You want this guy to read?’
They did. So, a little reluctantly but glowing from the fact that his precious Bea was his at last, Cal sat down in a chair next to the love of his life, in front of her adoring audience, and read them the story that had brought them together, looking very much as if he was finding it hard to keep the smile off his face as he did.
THE END