Writing Mr. Right (13 page)

“Yes, sir.”

He hustled to snatch up her carry on before Georgia could protest. She’d grown accustomed to that name - Victoria Mason. Pen name or no, it was the moniker much of the world referred to her as, and responding to it had become compulsive. Georgia was beginning to relish that quiet power – the notion that she’d told the world to call her something new, and they’d agreed without question. Samantha often asked why she hadn’t picked something legendary, like Helvetica or Medusa. Georgia would always respond by taking Sam’s wine glass away.

The driver led her to his black sedan and opened the door for her. She was weary from the five hour ride from Inverness, but she was enjoying this side of her recent life – the side where men in clean suits carried her things and opened doors for her. She climbed into the car and leaned back in her seat, taking a deep breath.

“How was the ride, then?”

Georgia glanced up at the back of the man’s head as they pulled away from Waverly Station. “It was fine. Long.”

It was terrible, she thought. I’m fucking heartbroken.

“I bet. Where were you coming from again?”

“Inverness.”

“Oh, aye! Very long one. How’d ye like it? Inverness.”

Georgia stared out the window. “I like Inverness a lot, but it wasn’t what I had hoped.”

He turned, glancing up into the rear view mirror at her. “Why’s that?”

“The person I went to visit wasn’t there.”

Moved away, they’d said. Sold the shop at the end of February and moved away. Georgia had been half ready to go knock on the door of his apartment, however brazen and forward – and American – that might have been.

She’d asked three different people in the travel agency before the owner spoke of the man who sold him the shop nearly six months earlier.

As Cass reminded her before she boarded her train to Inverness the day before, and as Georgia often reminded herself when thoughts of Garrett came to mind – he’d never called. He’d promised he would, and he didn’t. It wasn’t the first time a man had left her disappointed, but even after Walter’s crimes, somehow this one felt more tragic. This one felt as though the Gods were to blame. Georgia took the news of his relocation poorly, questioning the man at length. She was gutted. Even if she was going to have her heart broken when Garrett glared at her in disdain and disinterest when she showed up at his shop or on his door, at least she’d see him. At least she’d know.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the driver said, hitting the brakes at a traffic light with a little too much gusto. She swallowed, searching for something solid to stare at out the window.

“Perhaps ye can try again this weekend, ae? Might have better luck. Supposed to have nice weather for it.”

“Naw. I leave tomorrow morning. And he’s apparently moved away, anyway.”

The driver glanced at her again, waiting for traffic to break. “Don’t fret then, lass. If he’s the one, he’ll turn up. God knows you’re not a hard creature to track down.”

She smiled and for a moment, heard his words in her grandmother’s voice. She took a deep breath, catching a flash of her reflection in the window as they pulled up outside her hotel.

You don’t have to make anything happen, Georgia. What’s meant to be will always be.

Whatever you say, Nan, she thought.

Then she heard Cass’ excited voice following up with her favorite mantra. “You marry your Douglas MacCready. And if he were it, he’d have shown up.”

However much the words pained her to hear, she knew them to be true.

The driver hustled her things into the lobby and bid his farewell. Cassie appeared, like a jaguar waiting to pounce.

“Good trip?” Cassie asked. She’d given her blonde bob a pin curl at her temple. She looked adorable. She watched Georgia’s face, beaming in wait of good news. Cass quickly sensed otherwise. “Not so good trip? That dick.”

Georgia shook her head. “It’s all right. It was lovely. He just wasn’t there.”

It wasn’t lovely, actually. She hadn’t even left her hotel room for dinner while in Inverness. She simply sulked, staring out the third story window.

“Well, the talk is going to be brilliant tonight. Tons of intellectuals, book lovers - other writers! Maybe you’ll meet some tall, dark, and handsome Highlander and fall madly in love.”

Georgia laughed, letting Cassie lead her into the elevator. “Honestly, I’m not worried about it. I’ve been single long enough not to care. He just -”

She stopped, trying to find a way to explain his impact; the way his touch made the marrow in her bones sing, or how his smile made her chest feel like it might crack open. They’d spent one night together, but he’d settled into her like the roots of a tree.

“He just what?”

Georgia shrugged. “He felt right. He felt worth going after.”

Cassie frowned, hustling down the hotel hallway toward Georgia’s room. She was four inches shorter than Georgia, but she moved with the speed of a gazelle. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I am, but sadly you have exactly enough time to shower and what have you. The stylist will be here in an hour.”

Georgia took her room key from her spritely assistant and offered a smile. Then she slipped into her room and shut the door behind her.

***

“Well, don’t you clean up nice?”

Garrett spun around to find Jenny standing in the doorway, her hip cocked out to the side. Garrett glanced down at himself and his face flushed.

“Bah, ‘tisn’t that impressive.”

“Oh, ye know there’s nothing so lovely as the sight of a man in a kilt,” Jenny said, slipping into the office to sit on his desk.

He chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”

Garrett turned back to his desk, shuffling papers. This was the universal sign of ‘I’m rather busy, will ye feck off?’ Sadly, Jenny didn’t catch his drift.

“What are ye all dolled up for?”

Garrett glanced down at his kilt, the MacCauley colors of bright red and green. His sporran was sinking between his thighs, horsehair tails bristled from years of wear. “An old friend is in town. Thought I’d try to pop in to see her.”

“Her? Who is this mysterious friend, then?”

Garrett swallowed. Jennifer Gilly was a brunette, with straight hair, long legs, and her front teeth were just slightly crooked. She was seven years younger than Garrett, but she behaved even younger than that, and she made him somewhat uncomfortable. She’d worked in Royal Mile Booksellers before he became the new proprietor, renaming the place and hanging his old sign over the door. Despite revamping the tired shop, he hadn’t thought to hire new staff. Over the course of the first week with Jenny, the heat she threw his way made him feel almost cornered in the cozy shop. In an effort to still her flirtation, he’d lied, telling her he was married. This seemed to only further amplify her attraction. Jennifer Gilly wasn’t unattractive, by any means. She was drop dead gorgeous by most men’s standards. Still, she worked in a book shop, and she didn’t read. That wouldn’t do.

She simply wasn’t his cup of tea. As it turned out, his cup of tea would be standing in front of a room of avid readers, reading pages from her novel less than a mile from his shop that evening. He’d worn the kilt for her.

“Just a friend,” Garrett said.

“Well, why didn’t ye have her in the shop? Had a great turn out, we had!”

It was true. Adding Burns Book Shop to the list of venues for this year’s festival had been one of the best business ventures of his career. He laughed at the thought of Georgia tucked into the corners of the shop in Inverness. She’d been genuinely startled at the thought of people lining up to meet her. Now, she was booked into the biggest venue of the festival, and they still sold out. Garrett mindlessly patted his sporran, relieved in the knowledge that he’d managed to get a ticket.

He smiled. “The shop couldnae hold her.”

“That’s no a nice thing tae say, Garrett!” Jenny scolded him, but she was laughing. “Big girl then, ae?”

Garrett just shook his head, assuring Jenny that he needed to get work done. This was true; the constant stream of writers and readers had brought in a massive surplus, but they still hadn’t received the second shipment for the morning’s reading, and he wasn’t sure they’d have enough copies to meet demand. To top everything off, he was nervous as hell. He hadn’t spoken to Georgia in months; long enough, he feared, to be forgotten.

He’d tried everything to find her – emails, calls to agencies and book shops where she was meant to have a talk. The readings dried up quickly, many shops realizing they didn’t have the venue to cater to the crowds she drew. She’d been booked at a few conventions in the States, but Garrett barely had the money to get settled in Edinburgh, let alone fly off on a whim to go celebrity stalking. This was his last ditch effort, find out one way or another whether she’d forgotten him. Whether she ever thought about him the way he thought about her. Every day. For months.

Jenny gave his shoulder a squeeze, made one last passing remark about his kilt, then slipped out of the shop, leaving him to settle affairs on his own.

The air was thick outside the auditorium, and Charles Street Gardens bustled in the wake of the festival events. Garrett stood in his kilt and button down shirt, a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand. He was running later than he would have liked, the line outside dwindling as the last few people filtered into the venue. He hustled across the way, grateful for the breeze blowing up his boxers in the hot summer evening. Edinburgh was experiencing its week of Summer, and his Scottish blood wasn’t accustomed.

He rushed up to join the crowd, the sound system inside echoing with the early introductions of the speaker.

“Garrett?!”

He stopped dead, spinning around to meet Jenny’s wide eyed expression.

She was beaming. “Tell me yer no meetin yer friend here!”

Garrett’s face burned, painfully aware of the flowers, of his outfit, and how absolutely ridiculous he felt.

“Nae, I ehm, she’s inside.”

Jenny snuck a peek at the card tucked into the leaves of the flowers before he could snatch them away.

She started laughing. “Ye know Victoria Mason, then? Ye don’t!”

Garrett nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the clearing doors. “I do. I have tae get in there, though. I’m late.”

“If ye know her, can ye get me in? I tried today, but there isnae tickets left,” Jenny said, tucking the card deeper into the bouquet.

“I don’t think I can. I’m lucky I managed one, myself.”

“You had tae buy a ticket? If you’re her friend an’ all -?

There was a loud, almost thunderous sound, and Garrett turned just in time to see the second door slam shut. “Fuck!”

He ran for the auditorium, ignoring Jennifer’s calls, and hurled himself toward the door, searching in his sporran for his ticket. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the doors were closing.”

The woman turned to him, her brow set sternly beneath her wire rimmed glasses. Behind her a doorman stood, arms crossed.

“Sorry, no admittance after doors are closed.”

“What? No! Ye can’t be serious. They just shut the bloody things!”

The woman raised an eyebrow and the doorman took a warning step forward.

Garrett shot the doorman a glare. “You’re no serious. It’s the
book festival
for fuck’s sake, stand down man.”

“Can’t open the door, sir. Should have come earlier.”

Garrett clenched his fists, the thorns of the roses in his bouquet digging into his palm. He made his way down the steps and looked up at the building, half plotting some Spiderman worthy move of scaling the beast and swinging in from the rafters.

Garrett turned to find Jenny’s reddening face and then stormed off around the building. The stage door was open, guarded by another similar doorman clad in black clothing. This seemed rather high stakes for a reading event at the Edinburgh Book Festival. He couldn’t imagine droves of middle aged women getting rowdy enough to constitute bouncers, but who was he to question.

“Aye, I’ve been locked out front. I have a ticket, and I actually know Victoria - Georgia. Might I sneak in this way? I won’t be a bother.”

“You got a pass?” The man asked.

Garrett retrieved his ticket again, but the man shook his head. “No, lad. A pass.”

“I haven’t, but I do know her.”

A young woman with a light blonde bob appeared in the doorway. “What’s that?”

Garrett met the young woman’s gaze and smiled, turning on whatever Scottish charm he might possess. “Hello, ehm. I’m tryin tae get into the event. I have a ticket, and I know Georgia.”

She eyed him, glancing at his flowers, suspiciously. “How do you know her?”

“We met a few months back. I think she’ll know exactly who I am if ye ask her. From Inverness? Name’s Garr -”

The woman shook her head. “Not possible, sir. She’s already on stage.”

Garrett clenched his fists again. “Ah, fuck. Can I just slip in then? I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Nae bother. I swear – I have a ticket!”

He quickly brandished it as the young blonde touched her finger to her ear, listening in to something. She gave him a nod and disappeared inside, rushing off. Garrett sighed in relief, ready to follow suit.

The man in black planted a hand against Garrett’s chest. “Sorry, lad. Ticketed entrance at the front.”

“She just nodded at me to come in, ae?”

“I saw no nod.”

“Ah, fer fuck’s sake, ye prick.”

The man stepped forward and Garrett squared his shoulders. Perhaps a fist fight with a massive black guy would relieve some of this frustration.

The man pointed over Garrett’s shoulder. “Have a good night, sir.”

Garrett threw the bouquet at the brick façade of the building and stormed back along the walk, fuming. He wanted to break something, but he knew the only chance he had was to wait here, perhaps catch a glimpse of her as she left - catch her attention then. He thought of that scene for a moment, of him waving to the well-to-do writer as she is rushed off to some glamorous thing or another, standing there in his best kilt like a complete fucking idiot.
Hey, remember that time I bent ye over a table and spanked ye?