Chapter 37
Bea
Cal and Bea surfed for another hour or so, until they came to an unspoken agreement that they were starving and needed to grab an early lunch.
‘Hungry work, eh?’ Cal was making sandwiches at the kitchen table, his wetsuit pulled down to reveal his perfectly sculpted abdominals and surfer’s arms. Bea was sitting on the other side of the table with a big bath towel wrapped around her.
‘Mmm,’ she said, making no efforts to hide what she was humming in appreciation of.
Cal laughed, recognising her thoughts. ‘You’re insatiable, woman. Can’t a man make some sandwiches without being ogled at?’
‘I’m afraid if you will make sandwiches dressed like that and looking like you do, then you’re going to get ogled.’ Bea took a bite of the large salad bloomer Cal had passed to her.
‘Well, maybe I need to put my t-shirt on then.’ Cal spoke in his usual deadpan style, but laced with irony. ‘So I can concentrate on sandwich making without feeling objectified.’ Bea could see he was trying and failing to keep a straight face.
‘I don’t think there’s any need to go that far,’ she countered. ‘In fact, I think a large part of how good this sandwich tastes is because you made it with your top off.’
‘You do? Hmm, maybe there is something in that. Maybe I should serve drinks like this too.’
‘Hmm, no.’ Bea shook her head. ‘This view is only for me.’
Cal tensed. He stared at Bea for moments that felt like hours, whilst holding a knife in mid-air, and seemingly forgetting to blink.
Dammit. That sounded so possessive and wrong.
He would remind her now that this was a casual thing and they could see whomever else they wanted and that she had no right to claim his body as her own.
‘You want this view to only be for you?’ Cal asked finally, the air loaded with his words.
‘Um…’ Is this a trick question? Bea wasn’t sure how to answer.
Oh, why had she made that silly comment and got backed into a corner like this?
Whatever she said now could be wrong. If she said yes, she wanted the view of his body to be only for her, then she risked coming across as possessive and having sunk in deeper than he had.
If she said that she didn’t then he would wonder why she had made the remark in the first place.
‘Because that’s fine with me,’ said Cal.
‘On one condition.’ He put down the knife and moved round to Bea’s side of the table where soon his breath was warm on her skin.
‘That this’ – he untied the top of Bea’s towel, scooped both her breasts into his palms and softly kissed her neck – ‘is only for my view.’
Bea gasped but managed to squeeze out some words. ‘Oh… Mmm… Deal.’
‘Good. That was an easy agreement.’ Cal kissed her neck again, lingering for a moment before tying her towel back together and going back to his side of the table.
He sat down and recommenced eating his sandwich, but not without giving her a playful glance that said, that was fun. Bea’s insides turned to mush.
So, they were both on the same page, in the respect that they wanted one another’s bodies to be exclusive.
That was fine. It relieved Bea that Cal wouldn’t be seeing any other women while she was in town.
But something about it didn’t set her at ease at all.
The arrangement was purely physical. Cal grabbing her breasts so possessively had shown her that.
It was wonderful, as ever, to have him touch her, but she wished he wanted more than her body.
She only had herself to blame, though. If she hadn’t been so obviously gaping at his chest then he wouldn’t have taken her lustful lead.
She sighed inwardly as she watched Cal across the table.
Sitting together, eating lunch like this was the most natural thing in the world.
She was so comfortable with him. Yet, in that comfort lurked danger, particularly as she’d been here less than twenty-four hours. Maybe she shouldn’t stay any longer.
Oh, come on, you said you could handle a no-strings fling.
You’ve had a hot Scotsman fall into your lap.
If you told any of your readers you’d walked away from that they would tell you that you were nuts.
Be like one of those characters that can do this thing; be like that girl from the coffee shop; she could do it.
But Bea also knew that the characters in her novels could never do no strings without falling for each other. It was a trademark trope of the genre.
‘You’re a million miles away,’ said Cal. ‘Is it the sandwich or my dreamy abs?’
Bea laughed, letting his humour pull her out of her stupor. ‘It’s a bit of both,’ she said. ‘I was dreaming of eating my sandwich off your washboard stomach.’
Now it was Cal’s turn to laugh, his face lighting with generous warmth. ‘Sounds like one of those hipster plating arrangements.’
Bea relaxed somewhat. He was amazing company. She didn’t want to walk away and spend her evenings in her gloomy tenement flat when the vibrant colours of Cal were being revealed to her.
There was a knock at the door of the cottage.
‘I should cover up.’ Bea rushed to grab the sweatpants and t-shirt still on the chair from earlier. Cal searched for the first thing he could find to cover his top half and went for the door in a bizarre wetsuit/apron combination.
‘Oh, afternoon, Dorothy.’ At the door was a grey-haired older lady dressed in beige slacks, a loose floral top and comfortable shoes.
‘Hello, Callum, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a dripping tap and it’s awfully irritating and I wonder if you wouldn’t mind…’
‘Coming to fix it? Absolutely no bother at all.’ Cal shot the woman a winning smile. ‘I’ll come over when I’ve cleared away lunch.’
‘That’d be lovely, Son, thank you. Oh…’ Dorothy was about to turn away when, keen-eyed, she spotted Bea sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.’
‘Sorry, Dorothy,’ Cal began. ‘This is—’
‘Elisabetta, is it?’ Dorothy asked, with not such spectacular vision after all. ‘How are you, dear?’
Cal tensed. ‘Um, no. This is Bea. I’m not with Elisabetta anymore.’
‘Congratulations, dear,’ said Dorothy, either not hearing or not listening to Cal. ‘I heard from Callum’s sister that you’re expecting his baby. I’m so happy for you. I always thought you were a lovely couple.’
Bea reeled. It was like someone had doused her in icy water then punched her round the head.
How could a little old lady say something that hurt so much?
Bea had to suppress every instinct in her body telling her to run upstairs, throw her belongings into her bags and get as far away from here as possible.
This woman had mistaken her for Cal’s ex and unwittingly smacked her in the face with a huge reminder that another woman was likely expecting his baby.
And a huge reminder that her ex left her for a woman expecting his baby.
Cal would be a father soon and it had nothing to do with her.
She wasn’t part of Cal’s future, and she wasn’t part of his future as a parent.
What on earth had she done?
The answer to that was that she’d come to Scotland to write, to focus on her novel and make something of herself, to prove that she could be successful all on her own.
She’d let herself get involved with Cal because it was no strings, convincing herself she was a cool modern woman who could have fun with a guy and use him as inspiration for her writing without falling for him.
But she’d ended up getting way more inspired than she ever should have done.
This reminder of his life without her, of how things would go on once she had left the country was a cold, sharp blast of reality.
As a writer with an imagination, should never have needed Cal to feel inspired.
Finding a muse and going to bed with him was fanciful nonsense to try to distract from the breakup with Josh.
All she needed was to get on with the business of writing her book.
Bea didn’t hear the rest of the conversation Cal was having with Dorothy because she was thinking all these thoughts and the action on around her was like a fuzzy dream sequence. But she jumped out of her daze when she heard Cal shut the cottage door.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he said. ‘She’s blind as a coot.’
‘It’s fine.’ Bea gripped the side of the chair.
‘She didn’t know you weren’t Elisabetta. And I feel bad because that was no way for you to find out about the um… “maybe baby” situation.’
‘The maybe baby?’ Bea had to pretend she didn’t know because Cal didn’t know that she did.
‘My ex is pregnant,’ Cal said. ‘But she won’t confirm or deny whether it’s mine. She’s a little bit difficult. Hey, are you okay?’ He touched Bea’s shoulder and examined her with concern. ‘You’ve gone pale.’
‘I’m… um… fine,’ Bea stammered. ‘I just… I’m sorry, Cal. You know what. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.’ Dealing with the raw reminder of Cal’s impending fatherhood was bothering her. Way more than she realised it might, but she couldn’t admit this because she would come across as jealous.
‘Oh! I thought we were having a great time. We were having a great time. It’s not the baby, is it? Believe me, Betta is a piece of work. I’ve told her I’ll support her all the way if she can say it’s mine. I’m not that other kind of a guy.’
‘I know you’re not. I’ve worked that out already.’
‘Ah, okay. So, you’re jealous cause Dorothy wants to spend some time with me?’ Cal was joking but Bea didn’t laugh, and he appeared to realise he’d overstepped the mark. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘My comic timing is woeful.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bea said. ‘Look, I think I might go for a walk on the beach. I’m a bit drowsy after lunch.’
Cal furrowed his brow. ‘Okay, well, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll get showered and come with you.’
‘No, please don’t. I’d rather be alone.’
Bea went upstairs, grabbed her purse and changed back into her own clothes.
She was getting out of here. There was bound to be a bus or something.
There was no way she could have this out with Cal, admit to him that she was falling for him and was insecure of his baby with another woman – it sounded ridiculous – so she would have to do the cowardly thing and walk away.
She’d leave her overnight bag. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was getting away from the intensity of her feelings for Cal and the fact that he was on a different chapter, never mind page. Oh, how na?ve she’d been.