Chapter Three #2
“Bea,” she called back, easy as anything.
“Bea,” the girl repeated, delighted. “Oh my gosh, like—like the bug? That’s so cute. Bea. What a pretty name.”
Her friend was already drifting away on the crowd. “You guys are so cute,” she called again, and hurried after her.
“Like the bug,” Bea agreed. Just what her sister had warned her people would think, all those years ago, when she’d set down the mantle of expectations that came with the full name. Beatrice.
She inhaled sharply and held very, very still when Blane’s large hand came down on her shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly.” And as she let herself relax into the moment, the smile turned genuine. “Come on, darling. You can buy yourself a terrible warm beer and tell me nothing whatsoever about yourself, before you go back to hiding in your corner.” She turned toward the bar. “It’s the least you can do.”
~ ~ ~
Of course there was nowhere to sit and have a quiet get-to-know-you over a warm beer. Instead, they stood in line with dozens of other people and mostly didn’t talk. Bea got the impression that silence was his norm—and that he didn’t find it uncomfortable.
She’d promised him he didn’t have to tell her a thing about himself, and she didn’t for a moment expect him to conduct a post-mortem on the incident with the girls. He plainly wasn’t the kind of man who’d share how he’d felt at being cornered—or, probably, how he felt about anything else.
Once they had their drinks, they walked slowly back toward the doors near her seat.
“Big country fan, then?” he asked eventually.
She let out a short laugh. “Yes. I suppose I am. I grew up on the oldies—Johnny Cash, Dolly, Loretta Lynn.” She stole a glance at his impassive profile. He was only making conversation. She needn’t bore him with the artists she loved.
So she didn’t. “And you? Are you even here for the music?”
He met her gaze, those dark gray eyes sending little shivers racing over her skin. It wasn’t her fault; they really were quite beautiful eyes.
When he took too long to answer, she held up a hand. “Sorry. I already told you—you don’t need to tell me a thing. I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s not prying.” A beat. “And I owe you that much. You rescued me.” He looked out over the crowd. “No, I’m not here for the music. Not saying I dislike it, but…”
She raised her eyebrows, wondering if speaking his language might coax him further open.
He lifted a shoulder. “Work. That’s why I’m here.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she let it go. Of course she was disappointed. But disappointment was nothing new.
When they reached the doors, he held one open for her, and once they were back inside the arena, she raised her glass a little. “I’d better let you get back to it, then. Work, that is.”
He scowled, but he didn’t disagree. He nodded instead. “All right. Thanks again. I owe you one.”
She couldn’t have said why she did it, but she reached out and touched his arm. “You don’t owe me a thing. I helped because I wanted to, that’s all. And I was glad to.”
He looked down at where her hand rested on his arm, and she withdrew it quickly, feeling foolish.
“Well. I’d better go and sit back down, then. Let you do your thing.” She didn’t wait for an answer but scurried back to her seat.
By the time she’d climbed onto her stool, he was gone, not even in his shadowy corner.
Oh dear. She hoped she hadn’t frightened him off completely. She’d guessed he was comfortable there in the shadows; if she’d been too forward, touching his arm like that—well, it was a shame he’d have to go and find another spot.
When the main act came out, she got swept up in it—the music, the atmosphere, singing along with her neighbors and a whole arena full of people. She glanced over her shoulder now and then at the by-now-familiar faces who came to dance behind her row on the upbeat numbers.
She was enjoying herself. And as the lights dimmed, she let herself register it. She was here, quite alone—her old life wrapped up behind her, the new one still ahead, unknown—in a strange kind of limbo. No one to answer to. No one to share it with.
She glanced at the dark corner. Not even a large, still American standing in it now.
Oh well. Perhaps, if fate had anything to do with any of this, it had put her here so she could rescue him in his hour of need.
Though as the lights flared bright neon pink and blue and the whole arena rose to sing a summertime anthem, she couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to be married to a man like that.
She knew all about marriage. Hers had been perfectly…
reasonable. There’d been nothing wrong with it—not from the outside, anyway.
But somehow, she knew marriage to a man like Blane would be an entirely different thing.
She pulled herself together. She knew nothing of the kind; she was imagining, that was all. And she certainly didn’t need to let her imagination run away with her.
For the next hour she sang along, smiled at her neighbors, danced in her seat.
There was a moment she slid down from the edge of the stool, about to join the ladies dancing behind her, but then she spotted him again.
Blane, back in his dark corner, his pale hat turned in her direction.
It bobbed, once. She nodded back, though she couldn’t be sure he’d meant it for her—and slid back onto her seat.
She took the last sip of her wine and leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the words of a slow, melancholy love song carry her away.
She froze when she sensed someone behind her.
Not one of her dancing friends. This was different.
She peeked toward the dark corner—no sign of him there.
Every little hair on her arms stood up when she felt a weight settle on the back of the stool.
And then the warmth, and the—she couldn’t think of another word for it—the gravity of him.
He was like his own entire planet. He leaned in, and that deep, gravelly American voice sounded close to her ear.
“You riding the tube back?”
She turned her head slightly, and a ridiculous little fizz of something buzzed through her chest when she found herself almost nose to nose with him. His pupils dilated a fraction, and he straightened.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. But I figured we’re both going back to the same place.” He shot a glance at the coat on Meg’s chair beside her. “Didn’t ask, but I figured you’re here alone.”
She smiled at that. “I am.”
“Then if you like, I can hang around back here till you’re ready to go. Not a problem if you don’t want.”
His eyebrows were knitted together, the muscle in his jaw working. For a moment she took it for irritation—that he felt obliged to see to her safety, as though the pull toward duty were overriding his own instinct to stay the hell away from her.
But then it landed. He wasn’t angry. He was uncomfortable.
She couldn’t help it. She rested her hand on his arm again. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
He nodded curtly and straightened. “Be right here whenever you’re ready.”
And with that he stepped back into the shadows—lurking, now, somewhere near her little bar.
~ ~ ~
The walk back to the tube was, in many respects, much like the night before.
The crowd moved like a tide, and she was carried along in it.
But this time Blane moved at her side, and her earlier assessment of him held: he was his own planet.
No one jostled them. People moved around them.
The crowd parted, somehow, wherever he went.
Last night she’d stood on the platform at North Greenwich and let three trains leave, having decided it was easier to hang back than fight her way on. Tonight, she stepped onto the very first train inside the little pocket of space Blane somehow created around himself.
She grabbed a pole, and in the crush found herself wedged between it and Blane’s very large, very solid chest. She tipped her head back to look up at him—but he was scanning the packed carriage, a faint scowl on his face.
She couldn’t help it. It made her laugh.
He looked down at her. “Did I miss something?”
“Oh, I doubt it. I doubt you’ve ever missed a thing.” The words came before she could stop them. “Surveillance and disapproval. Is that your specialty?” The instant they were out, she held her breath. Why on earth had she said that?
Then he let out a short laugh, and just before the train pulled away, he reached past her and wrapped one big hand around the pole beside hers.
The carriage lurched. Bea clung on tightly but still managed to stumble into him, and his other arm came around her, catching her and holding her firmly against his side.
Oh my goodness!
Her whole body seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, taking a rapid inventory. Large man. Solid chest. Warm arm. The feeling of safety. The feeling of being—she swallowed—protected.
And it seemed that every cell in her body reached the same conclusion at exactly the same moment. The appropriate reaction was not fear, or embarrassment, or even gratitude.
Oh no. Every cell in her body settled, unanimously, on celebration.
She felt like a bottle of champagne uncorked after fifty-eight years—all the fizz and sparkle and bubbles wanting to overflow at once.
She took a deep breath and almost had herself pulled back together. Almost. Then his deep, gravelly voice undid her again.
“You okay?”
She had to force herself to look up into those gray eyes. No force at all was needed for the smile.
“Wonderful,” she told him honestly. “How about you?”
~ ~ ~
“Wonderful.”
The word took him by surprise as he heard it come out. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even used it before, but he couldn’t deny that it was true in this moment. He was doing his best to ignore the awareness of her warm, soft body pressed against him, and how good she felt there.