While she had been struggling with these questions, her gaze had fallen on Graham’s book. Her fingers were flipping through the pages without her being fully aware of it. And then her eyes fell on the scene where Mags sent a “quantum crypt” to Jorg, the hero in Graham’s story. Margaret had decided, translated to the twenty-first century, it meant she’d sent him something equivalent to an email or message.
Of course. It was so simple, really. She’d send him a letter, an email. Writing letters was a tactic authors had used throughout the ages. It was a way to get information, which was difficult to convey in any other way, across to the reader. Hopefully, it would work in this case as well.
She was better with words when she wrote them down, anyway. She could think about what she’d say, how she’d say it, delete parts of it or the whole thing, which she couldn’t do when she was talking. And this time she had to get it right.
“Thank you, Mags.” She laughed and marched purposefully to her laptop. The sooner she did this, the better for her nerves. She stopped on her way. His email address? Where? For a minute she panicked, but then she remembered Jen would have it. She and Peter had corresponded about the book launch. Margaret dialed her number. It rang and rang.
“This had better be an emergency,” said Jen very groggily.
Margaret glanced at the clock. It was barely six. But she didn’t really care. She gripped the phone with both hands.
“Jen, I love him.”
There was silence on the other side.
“Him? What him?” Jen’s voice was still scratchy, but it was clear she was waking up quickly.
“Graham, of course. I love him.”
A loud shriek followed. Margaret laughed and held the phone farther away from her ear. “Thought it would wake you up. Listen, I need a favor.”
A few minutes later, when she sat down in front of her laptop, she was still smiling. She was so happy and it felt wonderful to say out loud what she was feeling.
She took a deep breath and stared out of the window. It was early morning, the sea still grey. The waves in front of her house broke rhythmically against the rocks. Her hands were clammy and she rubbed them against her jeans. What she was about to do would change the direction of her life. She was going to tell Graham she loved him. She had never said it to any man. And she knew, deep within herself, she knew what she felt for him was the kind of love her parents had had, the forever kind of love. It wasn’t going to fizzle out: it went way too deep.
Somehow she had to convince him. Now, to find the right words. Her hands were shaking as she began typing.
***
It was still very early when Graham left his house. He walked between the vineyards, climbing up the hill closest to his house right to the very top. From there he looked out over his farm, his little piece of paradise. The sun was just peeping around Simonsberg and here and there some parts of his farm were illuminated by the early light.
Everything seemed different that morning. The sky was bluer, the trees were greener, the mountains somehow appeared larger than normal. He smiled. He felt light-headed. Part of the feeling was because he’d hardly slept. But the main reason for his light-headedness was the discovery he’d made. He loved Margaret. Somewhere, during the long hours of the night the last pieces of the puzzle had come together. And then it had been so simple, so obvious, he could kick himself.
He loved her. Hell, he had fallen in love with her the minute he’d seen her. It had taken him all this time to figure it out, but he knew now he’d missed her even before he’d met her.
He loved everything about her. He loved her hair, adored her mouth, craved her touch. But much more than that, he loved who she was. The way she unconditionally adored her demanding family, the way she smiled, the way she talked, moved, made love. He wanted her with every single breath he took. But more than the pure physical lust he felt, he just wanted to be with her, he wanted to be able to reach out his hand and touch her, always. He wanted to know she was close by.
It scared the hell out of him. They were so different. She wrote bloody romances. He smiled. He even loved that about her. But what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if he’d messed this up? He shook his head. From what he’d read in her book, she must feel something for him. At least she found him attractive. That was good, wasn’t it? A start, at least.
He’d read her book over and over and at this point he was pretty sure what she would want her hero to do. He was no bloody hero, and he wasn’t sure he could pull off everything she described in her book with a straight face, but he was damn well going to try.
Romance? He was no romantic, but he would give it a go. He could do the...what was the damn word she used? Wooing. He could do wooing, whatever the hell it meant. But he certainly hoped kissing was part of it. He could take her flowers, hell, even the wedding thing didn’t sound all that scary. He grinned. Fact was, even if she wanted him to walk barefoot over hot coals, then that was exactly what he’d do.
He must think this thing through, though. He didn’t want to make another mistake, not with this girl. He loved her.
“Took you long enough to realize it,” Andrew said behind him and Graham turned around.
He smiled. “I was talking out loud again, wasn’t I?” He grinned, but didn’t feel foolish.
Andrew grinned back. “Never thought I’d see the day. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not quite sure, yet, but I think groveling would be part of it. I was such a jerk last night. It took me most of the night to realize whatever she wanted would be fine with me. Now I must convince her what I feel is real. I’ve been so adamant I don’t believe in love, in marriage, I’m not sure whether she’ll believe me.”
“Do you need help?” Andrew asked.
Graham barked out a laugh. “No thanks, I should be able to do this on my own. But I’ll shout if I need help.”
***
Well, hell. Graham sat back in his chair. He breathed steadily to try and regulate his heartbeat. Peter had phoned while he was in the shower and had left a message for him to read an email he’d sent him. But when he opened his emails his eyes zoomed in on an email from M. Parker. Margaret. For a few seconds he was completely stunned. And then he began to read it.
It wasn’t a very long email, but his eyes immediately found the most important phrase. I love you. And his glance seemed unable to move away from those few words. He read the words over and over again. She loved him. He knew he had a stupid grin on his face and reached for the phone. He had to talk to her. But before he dialed her number, he read the rest of her email. Hell. He jumped up and began pacing. She apologized for thinking he’d moved on, was sorry she had immediately thought the worst, would he forgive her? And then she said she wanted him to come down to the beach in two days’ time. She’d be waiting there for him. The whole thing sounded so familiar. He stopped. Wait a minute, there was a scene in her book where the hero met the heroine on the beach and... He grinned. So that was what she wanted.
He resumed his pacing. Okay, so she got to say “I love you” first. It didn’t mean she should always run the show. He also had ideas, damn it. Come to think of it, why had she sent him an email? That wasn’t in her story, it was... He stopped and laughed out loud. Mags. Of course. She must have figured out what a quantum crypt was and used Mags’s plan. Surely it had to mean his ideas weren’t all that bad, either.
He paced for another few minutes. Then his face cleared. He knew exactly what should happen. But extra hands were needed. He grabbed his phone.
***
“Okay, that could work. Will talk to you later, I’ve got to go,” said Jen and put the phone down.
Margaret entered the bookshop while looking through the post. She heard Jen’s last words. “Who was on the phone?” she asked absentmindedly.
“Nobody,” Jen said quickly and walked away.
Margaret looked up. Something odd was going on. “It seems to me you’ve been spending quite a lot
of time on the phone over the last two days.”
“I’ll pay for my phone calls, I always do,” Jen said, but didn’t look at Margaret.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. You always seem to be whispering and when I come in, you hang up quickly. What’s going on?”
Jen began dusting some shelves. “Nothing is going on. Relax. Have you heard from Graham yet?”
Margaret sighed. “No, I haven’t. Maybe he didn’t get my email, maybe I should just drop the whole idea. What do I know about men, about real men? I can handle the ones I make up, but I’ve never really understood the ones in the real world. I don’t know what Graham feels. He’s probably just not interested. I mean, it’s been two days since I sent it. Surely he’d have reacted in some way by now if he’d read it? What do I do if I don’t hear from him? Do I continue with my plan to meet him on the beach tomorrow night? Do I send another email? Do I phone him? I don’t know what to do.”
Jen shrugged her shoulders. “Men. I’ll never understand them.”
Margaret began pacing. “Maybe I should just go ahead with the plan, anyway. Will you help me tomorrow? If he shows up, fine, if he doesn’t, well, at least I’d know I tried. But you will have to help me carry everything down. I’ll get everything I need this afternoon.”
Jen laughed. “Tomorrow morning will give you more than enough time. I have a plan for today. Let’s go out and paint the town red tonight.” Jen rubbed her hands together. “We’ve worked very hard over the holiday season. I think we need a break. We’ll close early, go out and buy ourselves ridiculously slutty outfits and have a ball tonight. What do you say?”
Margaret opened her mouth to decline, but the thought of another lonely night at home, staring at the computer, willing it to deliver her an email, had her nodding instead. “That sounds perfect. Why don’t we close up right now and throw in a mani and pedi in the process? I might as well look good while I’m feeling miserable,” she tried to joke, ignoring the pain just below her heart.
***
“I don’t know about this dress, Jen,” Margaret said worriedly, squinting down at herself. She was still not quite sure how she’d ended up buying the little deep-green gossamer number. It was very short, dipped dangerously low in front and left her back completely bare. She couldn’t even wear a bra. It was much sexier than anything she owned and it was also way too expensive. But she’d bought it and she was wearing it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You look wonderful.”
“You don’t think it’s just a tad too short?” Margaret asked.
“Of course. But remember, slutty was what we were aiming for,” Jen joked.
Margaret looked up. It was early evening and still light. Although it was nearing the end of March, the days were still wonderfully warm. She realized for the first time where they were. “Why are we in Sea Point? I thought we were going into town?”
Jen ignored her and indicated they were going to turn off. Margaret frowned and looked at Jen.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Be patient, you’ll see.” Jen smiled.
“Jen, what is going on?” They were near the beach opposite the block of apartments where Graham and Josh lived. Her heart began a loud hammering. What...?
Jen stopped and turned to her. “Margaret, relax. Things don’t always work out like you want them to, but they work out. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
Margaret could only nod. She wasn’t sure why, but somewhere inside of her, she could feel a bubble of excitement. Before she could say anything else, the door on her side was opened. Yvonne stood there, smiling.
“Hi, Margaret. You look beautiful. We have a surprise for you. Hope you’re ready for it? Come with me,” she said, and held out her hand.
As if in a trance, Margaret took Yvonne’s hand and got out of the car. Jen joined them.
“Where am I going?” Margaret asked, her throat suddenly very dry.
“You’ll see. This part of the beach is quite private,” Yvonne said.
“Graham?” she asked and both women nodded.
Margaret’s brain slowly processed what she was seeing and hearing. “But, I was going to...I had this plan. Tomorrow night, the beach—I’ve sent him an email.”
“He also has a plan,” Yvonne said softly.
And then Margaret smiled. Of course he’d have a plan.
“Do you see the roses?” Jen asked and pointed toward the beach.
Margaret looked in the direction her friend was pointing. Roses were strewn on the beach to form a footpath of sorts. She nodded.
“Well, I think you should take off your shoes and follow the roses.” Jen smiled.
Margaret looked at the two smiling women and put a hand to her heart. It was beating so frantically she was afraid it might just jump right out of her body.
She took in a deep breath, took off her shoes, and handed them to Jen.
“This is the only part of the plan I don’t like. I’m very sorry you have to take off these killer heels, but they won’t work on the beach,” Jen moaned.
Margaret set out and walked over to the sand. She looked back once and waved to her friends. Their eyes were suspiciously bright. Then she turned toward the beach and bent to pick up the first rose. And suddenly she was calm. This was what she’d been waiting for her whole life.
***
Graham stood with his back to the sea, his gaze on the sand dune in front of him. He should feel ridiculous. He was wearing a tux, he was on a beach, he’d thrown dozens of perfectly good roses on the ground to make a footpath for Margaret. Dinner and champagne on ice were ready in his flat. Behind him was a blanket. The sun was setting, but there should be enough light to do what he wanted to do. He should be cringing. But he wasn’t. He was smiling.
He still wasn’t quite sure whether this would work. Perhaps he should have stuck to Margaret’s plan. Maybe he should have done what the hero in her book did. But damn it, he was the hero in his own story.
He looked up and all thoughts fled from his brain. Margaret appeared at the top of the dune and it seemed as if the rays of the setting sun were gently wrapping her in hues of gold. He could just stare. She took his breath away. He couldn’t quite make out what she was wearing, but the sight of her long, bare legs instantly heated his blood. She had the roses in her arms.
And then his feet were moving and she was running and finally he could catch her and fold her in his arms. A feeling of peace settled over him. This was home. With her in his arms, it would always be home.
When at last he felt more settled, he moved back and smiled down at her. Tears were streaming down her face. And she was smiling, brilliantly.
“I made my own plans,” he said, still a bit wary.
But if anything, her smile grew brighter. “I’m so glad you did. I couldn’t have written this scene, even if I’d tried.”
She sniffled, wiped the tears from her eyes with her hand, and looked around them. Then her eyes met his again. “It’s perfect,” she said.
With unsteady fingers, he pushed her hair back from her face, trailed his fingers over soft skin to where he could trace the outline of her lips. And when she sighed, he caught her lips with his.
The kiss seared right through her body and she was on fire for this man. She lifted herself on her toes to get closer to him but the roses were in the way.
She laughed and looked shyly up at him. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being so foolish? I’m sorry...”
He placed a finger on her lips. “I overreacted as usual. There’s nothing to forgive,” he whispered and kissed her again, tenderly.
Then he dragged his mouth away from hers and put his hands on her upper arms. He was breathing heavily. “No, wait, I have to...” he began. He moved on to the blanket and Margaret followed him.
What on earth is he stammering about?
He patted the pockets of his jacket.
With his eyes on hers, he took the roses from her and
put them on one side of the blanket. Stepping back in front of her, he grasped both her hands in his. “Margaret...” He cleared his throat. “Margaret...I...” He swore softly.
Margaret smiled and put her hand on his face. “Yes, Graham, you...”
He looked down at her and then the right words just came tumbling out. “I love you. I don’t deserve you, but I love you. I acted like a complete jerk the other night, and I apologize. Actually, I’ve been acting like a jerk ever since I met you. But,” he swallowed, “I love you. I can’t promise you forever, but I can promise you I’ll love you for the rest of my life. What’s more, I need you.” He smiled. “I can’t write if I’m not with you. My brain refuses to work.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you think you can suspend disbelief and enjoy this? Can you believe me? After all the things I’ve said, could you believe me when I say...and I can’t believe how many times I’m saying this, but will you, can you believe me when I say I love you?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks again, but this time she didn’t even try to wipe them away. Joy exploded inside her and her body was suddenly not big enough to accommodate her feelings.
“I’d hoped you love me. I didn’t dare believe it—you were so adamant about love not being real, but then I read your book and the way you described Mags. That was the first time I dared to hope. Now I can believe it, because...and,” she smiled saucily up at him, interrupting herself, “remember I said it first. As I said in my email, I love you too,” she whispered, “so very much. You see, you’re it for me. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. It just took me a while to realize it.”
He kissed her hand and smiled. “I knew you were trouble the minute I saw you. You invaded my space, my life, my dreams, even my writing.” He took a deep breath. “You take my breath away. I look at you, and I forget what I was going to say. Words... I should know which words to use, but I don’t have the right ones to describe you.”
He cupped her face with his hands, his fingers moving restlessly. “You’re beautiful.” His hands skimmed down her body, trailed up her legs. “You have killer legs, you’re so sexy and you...when I see you...no, even when I don’t see you, I want you, I need you. To be able to breathe, I need you.”
Love, In Writing Page 14