Chapter Five Callum
Three weeks later
Is this the man of the hour?” Graham says, dropping onto the sofa next to Lena with such gusto that she nearly bounces off it. I look at the small rectangle in the corner of our video call, and begin tugging at my hair once again. “How’s he doing?” he whispers to Lena, loud enough for me to hear.
“He won’t quit messing with his hair,” Lena answers.
“Lucky, you look great,” Graham says reassuringly. “But let’s leave the hair alone now, yeah?”
I drop my hand into my lap with a clipped sigh, looking at the bouquet of flowers on the bench next to me. Are the flowers too much? Perhaps not enough?
“What time did you say her train gets in?” Lena asks, moving the phone momentarily closer to her face as she adjusts her sitting position.
“Half past.” I check my watch, then swallow.
In a few short minutes, Georgia Anderson will step onto the platform at Nottingham station.
I wasn’t nervous until this morning, but now nervousness is all I seem to consist of.
If I pricked my finger on one of these roses’ thorns, I doubt I’d even bleed.
I think a million and one thoughts would flow out of me instead.
Up until she left for England last weekend, Georgia and I have spent every night on the phone together. And every night without fail, we’ve broken the curfew she insisted we set.
If a mate had come to me, a few months back, and said they’ve fallen in love with someone they’ve never met in real life, I’d have insisted on checking them for signs of a concussion.
And yet, here I am, heart in hand, waiting for the woman who’s consumed my every thought for the past month to get off her train.
“Why do you look as if you’re going to shit yourself?” Lena asks, laughing. “This is Georgia! Your Georgia. Relax!”
“Okay, easy for you to say,” Graham speaks up on my behalf as I watch a train leave from the next platform over. “But, tell me, Lucky, what exactly are you feeling at this moment? What do you think Martha would say to you right now, if she could? And, lastly, could you describe your outfit for me?”
I look at my phone, watching as my brother looks expectantly at the screen, pen and paper in hand. “This isn’t going in your article, Graham.”
“Are you kidding me, man?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “This is the article now. This is pure gold.”
“He’s wearing a knitted green jumper and dark-blue jeans,” Lena whispers, tapping his notebook. “I picked it out for him.”
“Hey!” I say, glaring at her. “Don’t put that part in,” I tell Graham, turning my gaze.
“I won’t, if you answer my other questions.”
I sigh, checking my watch again. She’ll be here any minute now. “I, uh, I feel nervous . . .”
“Elaborate, please? Use that big brain of yours.”
“I . . . I don’t know. I guess, well, I’m scared that what we have won’t work in person. That the chemistry won’t be there. Or, I won’t feel as comfortable. I’m worried that she won’t be attracted to me or that I’ll make a bad first impression.”
“Good, that’s all really good,” Graham says, not looking up from his page.
I stare at the phone blankly, raising one brow. “I’m glad you think so . . .”
“Keep going.” He gestures with the pencil, moving it in a circular motion.
“I’m excited, too, obviously . . . It feels like a lot longer than a month since we started talking, and I honestly can’t believe we haven’t actually met yet.” I run my hands down my trousers. “I don’t know, man. I just hope it goes well. I really, really want it to go well.”
“It will,” Lena says definitively, just as the overhead speaker announces an incoming train from Bristol. I look up to see the train approaching, still a long way off.
“She’s here.”
“Good luck!” my siblings reply at the same time.
I reach into my pocket, flash them both my lucky coin, then hang up the call.
I rise to stand, tuck my phone and coin into my back pocket, then pick up the flowers from the bench next to me.
A woman standing with her teenage daughter looks over at me with kind eyes, then nods once in encouragement.
I nod back at her as the train comes to a stop at the platform.
I hold my breath as the dozen sets of doors open, and wait to spot a trio of women getting off with, as Georgia phrased it in one of her texts over the past week, an embarrassing amount of luggage.
I scan the crowd until I spot a redheaded woman stepping off at the far end of the platform.
She immediately turns around to take a large grey suitcase from someone else still aboard, out of view.
I assume the redhead is Madison, Georgia’s cousin, and my heart picks up speed.
I don’t move closer, waiting to be sure.
Once three exceptionally large bags are passed over and placed onto the platform, the other two women step off the train with several carry-on bags as the train doors chime and begin to close one by one.
When Georgia turns around, time seems to slow. She’s wearing a pair of loose-fitting green gingham trousers with a plain white T-shirt underneath an unbuttoned pink cardigan. She’s got a lilac tote bag on her shoulder that matches the scrunchie in her hair, and bright-white trainers on her feet.
She looks exactly . . . right. Perfectly her.
Wrapped head to toe in pastel colours that amplify her shining spirit.
I allow my eyes to travel over her soft curves, blonde hair, and winning smile.
She’s even more beautiful than in her photos, emitting a contagious sort of joy that instantly brings a smile to my face.
Georgia is a golden ray of light amidst this dreary train station.
“G, is that him?” Madison’s voice echoes around the platform, her mischievous grin pointed my way.
I take my hand out of my pocket to wave at the three women, who are all now looking towards me.
A laugh escapes me as Georgia’s smile grows only wider, flashing teeth.
She shrugs the tote bag off her shoulder, quickly passes it off to her sister, and takes off running in my direction, the sound of her giggle greeting me before any words are exchanged between us.
I force my feet to move in her direction, meeting her a third of the way.
“Hi!” she exclaims seconds before crashing into me.
I hoist her up with one arm around her lower back, bringing her in close as her momentum sways us side to side.
Her hands grasp on to my shoulders as her feet leave the ground.
“I expected you to be waiting outside,” she says softly against my shoulder. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I bought a ticket so I could wait here instead,” I say, setting her down. “I thought you might need a hand with your luggage.” I smile, looking towards her sister and cousin.
“We do.” Georgia laughs. “Thank you.”
“How was the journey?” I’m already missing the feeling of her in my arms. But I can’t hug her again so soon, surely.
“Lugging all of our stuff on and off three different trains was not fun but . . .” Georgia looks up at me, and her eyes crease on the sides as her smile blooms once more.
“We’re here now.” The tip of her nose and cheeks turn the softest shade of pink as she reaches out and puts her hand on my biceps.
“Hi,” she says again. “Sorry, I feel like I’m staring at you . . . It’s just . . . You’re real!”
I blow out a breath, laughing nervously. “These are for you,” I say, holding the flowers towards her. “I’m only, what, a month late for Valentine’s Day?”
“I didn’t bring you anything,” she says, pouting playfully as she takes the bouquet. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not true,” I tell her. “You remembered my ketchup chips, right?”
She nods, giggling. “Right, of course, how could I forget. You only reminded me seventy times.”
I reach out, cradling her face in my palm.
“I’d have settled for that hug, honestly,” I say, swallowing.
I lose myself in Georgia’s eyes, their various shades of blue guarded by a ring of grey.
They remind me of lazy afternoons spent lying in my parents’ garden, turning clouds into woodland animals with the use of my imagination.
Everything about Georgia feels familiar somehow, as if each of her features is plucked from memories long since stored away.
The crinkle of her nose belongs to an old schoolmate who always wound up in trouble for making the class laugh.
The way her fringe is gently being tossed by the wind is reminiscent of my nan’s favourite golden quilt, hanging out to dry on the clothesline.
Her freckles are in the shapes of constellations my father taught me to find during a camping trip over a decade ago.
Georgia’s smile, however, is entirely hers.
I’m certain there’s never been anything else quite like it.
“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me, Callum.”
I chuckle, my thumb tucks itself against the corner of her mouth. “Am I?”
“You are.” Her tongue darts out the tiniest bit, wetting her lips.
“Maybe, yes.”
She blinks up at me, long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. “Would you?”
“Would I?”
“Kiss me.”
“May I?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “It might help us get past two-word senten—”
I cut her off when I slide my hand to the back of her neck and crash my mouth into hers. I don’t allow myself to get carried away, but I very easily could. Her lips are soft and welcoming, and fit against mine as if they were designed to.
Georgia hums from the back of her throat as she winds her fingers through my hair.
I change the angle of our kiss, anxious to hear more of her little sounds.
When she runs her nails down my neck, I force myself to pull away, straightening to my full height as her hands glide down my shoulders to rest on my chest.
“Thank god,” she says, pressing her forehead into my front as I wrap my arms around her back. “I’m glad we got that out of the way,” she mumbles against me.
I squeeze her closer. “Me too,” I agree, lightly resting my chin on top of her head.
“At least we know now that we should just be friends, right?”
I freeze, my body stiffening around hers for a few seconds before Georgia breaks into a fit of laughter, tilting her face up towards me. “I’m joking, Callum!” She shoves my shoulder. “Relax!”
“I’m going to get you for that,” I say, my tongue pressing against my cheek as I fight back a smirk.
“Good,” she says, licking slowly across her smile as her eyes heat. “I’m hoping you will.”
I fire out a warning glance, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, you,” I say, walking her back to her sister and cousin and their mountain of luggage. “I need your help to make a good first impression.”
She reaches up and takes the bouquet from me before bringing it to her nose to sniff. “Oh, don’t worry, they’re already trying to ship me off.”
I can’t help the obnoxiously wide grin that overtakes my face. “Is that so?”
She rubs her lips together, as if she’s said too much. I squeeze her closer to my side, so she knows that’s not the case. “I like it here,” she whispers, her cheeks reddening again. “A lot.”
“Good,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Because I like you here too.”