Chapter 56
It was instantly cooler in the quietly luxurious hotel lobby, scented with the heady old-school opulence of fresh flowers and decades of expensively perfumed clientele.
Kate glanced around and spotted a sign for the Library Bar, her stomach vaulting as she took the winding steps up through a stone arch, following the sound of live piano music.
Books lined the walls, and a few scattered customers sat in deeply upholstered leather chairs clustered around polished wooden tables.
A focal-point bar formed the centerpiece of the room, intricate stained-glass panels backlit to create a soft, inviting ambience, a wall of spirits, mirrored shelves containing endless different liqueurs and cocktail ingredients.
It reminded Kate of a grand old cruise liner, the kind of place you might take a seat at and order a glass of champagne.
She couldn’t see Charlie at first glance, so she perched straight-backed on one of the tall barstools, shaking her head when the uniformed barman glanced across.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she said. She wasn’t concerned Charlie wouldn’t show, and it wasn’t many minutes until someone took the seat next to hers.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Smoky words, fingertips skimmed lightly down her exposed spine.
She turned to look at him, two strangers in a bar.
“Champagne would be lovely.”
The barman popped a bottle and poured them both a tall, chilled glass, leaving the rest in an ice bucket for them to help themselves.
“You look incredible.”
She sipped her champagne. Everything about tonight felt different, as if the world had tilted a degree or two on its axis, an invisible glitter of possibility in the air.
“How was your day?” she said, angling her body toward him, her knees grazing his. Every move felt choreographed, slow-burn sexy, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.
“It started out pretty wild,” he said. “After that it got a bit”—he wavered his palm flat in the air—“rocky. But this part”—he gestured between them—“this part is my favorite bit.”
“Funny thing,” she said. “My day started out pretty wild too.”
He sipped his drink. “Is that so?”
She toyed with the stem of her glass, thinking back over the craziness of the day.
“All kinds of hell broke loose for a while, like a scene from a movie, and then this guy appeared out of nowhere to help me. He’s done it enough times now for it to feel like a habit, as if he has some kind of magic knack for knowing when I need him. ”
“Like Superman?” he said. “I don’t think he’d look good in tights.”
“More Top Gun, ” she said, touching the aviators he’d put down on the bar.
“Only taller,” he said.
“He looks at me sometimes with his beautiful whiskey-cola eyes,” she said, holding his gaze over the rim of her glass. “And I want to ask him what’s really going on behind them, but I don’t.”
She wasn’t certain if she’d moved forward or he had, but her knees were inside his now, his hand on her leg.
“Why not?”
She sighed, bit her lip. “Because we met under really bizarre circumstances which didn’t allow space for us to have feelings for each other.”
He nodded and looked down into his glass. “And now?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I know what I want, but I don’t know how he feels.”
He swallowed. “He’s probably working out how to tell you he’s realized the best way to honor his father’s memory is to follow his gut rather than walk in his footsteps.”
She nodded slowly. “And where is his gut leading him?”
“Here. To tell you he’s decided being a talent agent isn’t what he wants to do with his life.”
He splayed his hand on the side of her leg, his thumb a slow, warm stroke over her kneecap that became all she could focus on.
“He’d also tell you he signed over all rights to the film script in L.A., because he doesn’t belong there anymore. He can write new scripts anywhere.”
Kate watched his eyes, the fullness of his mouth, the movement of his throat as he swallowed. He was standing now, closer again than he’d been before.
“Where does he belong?” she said as he took her glass from her fingers and placed it on the bar beside his own. She slid to her feet too, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip.
“Wherever you are,” he breathed, his palm hot against the small of her back.
She laid her hand along his jaw. “So you’re not my agent anymore?”
He shook his head. “We’re just Kate and Charlie.”
“Two people in a bar,” she said.
“You’re so damn beautiful.” His eyes adored her, a look that told her everything she needed to know.
“I love you,” she said. “With every single beat of my fragile, messy heart.”
“I’ve loved you since the first day you walked into my office,” he said.
“Smelling of baby sick,” she said.
“Your hair fastened back with Hugh’s tie.”
She paused, remembering that morning, the guy leaving Francisco & Fox just as she arrived. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the connection herself. “Oh my God, you’re right, it was Hugh.”
“He’d just been in and had a shouting match with Fiona because he wasn’t prepared to go through with it, then he ran into you downstairs and called up to say he’d changed his mind. Seems you had quite an effect on him too that day.”
“So many random things have happened,” she said. “We could so easily not have been here.”
“I don’t think they’re random,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm.
“It’s all about you. Your bravery in sending the letter, your kindness in holding that baby, your strength in protecting the people around you when things fell apart.
You make things happen, Kate, you’re a beautiful, chaotic magnet holding everything together. ”
“I don’t feel very together most days,” she said.
“You were luminous this morning,” he said. “People turned up because they wanted to be part of your story.” He brushed the back of his fingers along her jaw. “I want to be part of your story.”
“You’re my whole book, Charlie.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, slow and searching.
“You’re sure about L.A.?” she said.
“I knew even as I boarded the flight,” he said. “All I could think about was coming home to you.” His fingers stroked her spine, his other hand in her hair. “I tortured myself with thoughts of you and some husky-eyed guy.”
“I’m so sorry about him,” she laughed softly. “I prefer whiskey cola anyway.”
He kissed her full of champagne-tomorrow promises, and she kissed him back with you-make-me-actually-shiver wonder.
“You’re killing me in this dress,” he murmured, making her laugh and melt against him, because the freedom to finally say the things they wanted to was headier than the champagne in their glasses.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder, feeling as if, for the first time in forever, she was exactly where she should be.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, quiet against her ear.
“Where will we go?” she said, not wanting to move out of his arms.
“Wherever life takes us.”
“Can it be Cornwall?”
“It’s a long way to go for dinner.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a flat, gift-wrapped package. “I got you something.”
She pulled the string and opened the paper, revealing a leather-bound notebook. Opening the cover, she fanned the blank pages.
“For our deleted scenes,” he said, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, his fingertips lingering on her collarbone.
She pressed it against her heart. “We might need more pages.”
“I’ll buy more books,” he said.