Love, In Writing Read online

  He barked out a laugh. He hadn’t thought about a woman this long since...well, since Christy, his ex-wife. His ex-wife whom he’d found in bed with his best friend. Such a damn cliché. If he’d read a similar scene in some novel, he probably would’ve laughed. Experiencing it, though, had not been funny at all. She’d been his one mistake. Everyone was entitled to one mistake, right? Something he should remember.

  He had thought he’d found the love of his life, only to realize a mere six months later what he’d thought was love had been pure lust that had run its course. In a way, he was grateful she’d made it so easy for him to walk away. He still felt betrayed, but would never again make the mistake of thinking what he felt for a woman was love. It was merely a euphemism for a basic human drive.

  He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Of course, to add to his frustration—no, probably the core of his irritation and frustration—was the fact he hadn’t been able to write one word since he’d finished his last book. The one he had finished weeks before his mother’s death.

  Writer’s block. He’d always privately scoffed at any author who’d use this as an excuse. To him, it sounded like a reason for not working. But now he understood the devastating feeling of wanting to write and not being able to find anything to write about.

  Yes, he’d spent the last six months promoting his latest book, but usually, he had no problem starting with a new idea even while he was touring. But this time around his brain was a complete blank. He spent hours sitting in front of a white screen. And now, even the simple idea of a basic plot kept evading him.

  His cell phone rang. Probably his agent again. He’d been trying to write all day until he had left for Cape Town, and had ignored all the calls during the drive. He’d better answer it. Peter would want to know if he had done any writing or he’d pester him about a venue for the launch of his latest book in South Africa. The man was driving him nuts.

  “Yes, Peter?”

  “You should try and answer your phone now and again.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Peter’s frustration was palpable over the line. “You don’t make my life easier, you know, I’m...”

  Graham blew out his breath. No need to take his frustrations out on poor Peter. The guy was only doing his job.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve had a bad day. I’m sorry I haven’t returned any of your calls. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  Peter sighed dramatically. “I’m not going to ask about your writing, I don’t want to know. But, as your agent, I have to remind you about the promise you made to Bill six months ago, before you left for your UK book tour. Do you remember you agreed to talk to their creative writing students on Monday? You asked me to remind you. Now, I’m doing my job and doing so. If you’d answered your phone earlier—”

  “Thanks. I remember. I’m in Cape Town for the weekend, so I’ll be there.”

  “You won’t be late? Do you want me to phone you—?”

  “No, I’ll be there.” Graham hoped he was sounding nicer than he was feeling at the moment.

  Another sigh. “Yes, but you’re always late. You won’t go surfing before the time? Because then you will be late and I—”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Another thing. Have you decided which venue you want to use for your book launch? The publishers want to send out invitations, you have to—”

  “I know. I’ll let you know on Monday.”

  Graham switched off his phone. Peter drove him mad, but he knew without his continual phoning and nagging, he wouldn’t remember half the things he was meant to attend. It sometimes got to him, these incessant demands on his time. He wanted to write. And in his free time, he liked to surf. That was all. But Peter insisted he made an appearance now and again to keep his fans happy. It was important, he knew, but hated all these commitments nibbling away at his free time.

  He looked out over the sea. He must find out where the big waves would be over the weekend. He’d lost touch with many of his casual acquaintances over the past six months while he’d been away.

  The woman in the elevator tonight... A wayward thought made him pause. An idea popped into his head. His lips curled into a smile. Plot scenarios, characters, story lines flooded his brain. And she, the woman he’d seen earlier, would be in it. A girl with wide, innocent eyes, a killer body, and no scruples? With a few long strides he was in front of his computer. He sat down, lifted his hands above the keyboard, and his fingers took on a life of their own.

  He was writing.

  Chapter 2

  Margaret stood in front of her bookshop and looked up at the name: Happy Ever After, in bold pink letters. She smiled. It always gave her a warm glow to see the name. In her bookstore you would only find books with happy endings. It was of course, corny, ridiculous, out of touch with reality, all of this and more, but this was what she had always wanted.

  Yes, she looked at life through rose-colored glasses, but she truly believed in happy endings. She only read and wrote books with happy endings. Why not also sell only such books? In spite of all the horrible things the press had to say about it, she always had a steady stream of visitors. Many only browsed, others helped themselves to the coffee they made available, and some spent their days reading in the comfortable chairs. Her regular clients always bought something. Granted, according to her accountant, these clients didn’t spend nearly enough, but it was clear they enjoyed the shop.

  Since Kommetjie was a surfing and kite-surfing hot-spot near Cape Town, she also kept surfing magazines. Jen, her assistant, loved it when the half-dressed surfers poured into the store to browse or buy their magazines. It was the end of October and the arrival of summer would soon have more surfers descending upon the quiet little village again. Although she loved Kommetjie’s normally slow pace, she enjoyed the students and school kids who visited her shop over weekends and she hoped to attract more over the coming summer holiday.

  And hopefully, the holidaymakers would mean more customers, which would mean more sales, which would mean her accountant would be happier. Lately, she’d been getting daily calls from him. Anxiously, she looked up at the name again. She really hoped sales would increase.

  “Why the frown on such a beautiful day?” Jen asked from inside.

  Margaret tried to smile as she stepped into the store. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re worried about business,” Jen stated calmly. “But you shouldn’t be. You’ve only been open for what? Six months. These things take time.”

  “I know. But I’ve poured every penny I had into this and if sales don’t pick up soon, I don’t know.”

  “Failing is not an option. Just picture Louise’s gloating face because you didn’t listen to her.” Dramatically, Jen rolled her eyes.

  Margaret frowned. “My grandmother left her house to me. She knew how I loved the place. I’ll never sell it, despite what Louise says. I have such happy memories from my childhood. After our parents died, Josh and I moved in with Grandma and this is where we spent our holidays. Those times were magical.”

  She bit her lip. “But maybe I should have waited before I opened the bookshop, maybe I should have made sure another manuscript or two had been accepted. I should have made sure my bank account looked better.”

  “Haven’t you finished the story you’re working on at the moment?”

  Margaret smiled. “Not yet, but I’m getting there. In fact, I found him. Last night, in an elevator, of all places.”

  “Him, what him?” Jen frowned and then suddenly her face cleared. She stared in awe at Margaret. “You mean, the one true love you’ve been waiting for? Oh, I’m so happy for you! We must celebrate...”

  Margaret laughed. “No, silly, I found the face for my latest hero. The reason why I’ve been struggling was because I couldn’t picture him. And then last night, there he was.”

  Jen’s face fell. “Oh, a character.” She threw her hands up despairingly. “When are you going to star
t looking for a real, one-you-can-actually-touch hero for yourself? This isn’t healthy. You’re always falling in love with your make-believe heroes. Even worse, you compare every man you meet to this hero. And no real-life man can ever measure up to your fictitious heroes.”

  Jen peered into Margaret’s eyes. “You always say you are waiting for the fairy tale and you will know when you find your own hero. You do know fairy tales aren’t real, don’t you? And you do know real men are nothing like the heroes in your romances? I want you to really think about this.”

  Margaret brushed past Jen and walked toward the counter. It was still early and there was no one else about. “Oh, nonsense, Jen. Yes, I fall in love with my heroes, what girl wouldn’t? They’re perfect, exactly what we would all want in real life, too. But I know what is real and what isn’t. And yes, I want the fairy tale, I believe in the fairy tale. I believe—”

  “There is someone out there for you,” Jen finished, exasperated. “You’re not going to find him in the pages of a book, Margaret.”

  But Margaret wasn’t listening. “I will recognize him immediately. There will be the first look, a connection when our eyes meet. And I will know, I will simply know.” She twirled around dreamily. “He will be my soul mate, The One, Jen!”

  Jen laughed and shook her head. “Just because your grandmother told you that was what happened between your mom and dad, it doesn’t mean it works the same for everyone else.”

  “But that’s what I want,” Margaret cried out. “Although they died when I was in primary school, I still have clear memories of them. They were always holding hands and every so often I found them kissing or staring into each other’s eyes. She had this special smile for him, you know? And he would always find a reason to touch her.”

  “Probably the reason why you write romances. Each time, you can tell a different version of the same story.”

  Margaret smiled. “You are exactly right. And I’m waiting. For the look, for the special connection. I will know immediately if he’s the one I’ve been waiting for. We’d fall in love, he would court me, take me out to dinner, bring me flowers.” She stopped.

  Jen laid a hand on her arm. “But you do know if you want to meet someone, you’ll actually have to go out there and meet men, talk to them, go out with them, touch them, kiss them.”

  Margaret turned her back on Jen. “I go out. I’ve kissed men—”

  “Yeah, right. You go out with all the loser guys because you feel sorry for them. And you haven’t been on a date since...I can’t even remember when last you actually had a date. And sisterly hugs and kisses don’t count.”

  Margaret airily dismissed Jen’s comments. “I’ve been busy, as you should know. Now, concentrate. I want to tell you about this guy. He has the most amazing eyes.” She closed her own and could immediately picture the face she’d been describing and writing about most of the night.

  “I’ve never seen eyes like his before. They are the palest of blue. And he has these bushy eyebrows, so his eyes seem sunken deeper and they kind of glow. Well, they did glow because I think he was irritated with me, but I can picture them—”

  “What did you do? Why was he irritated?”

  Margaret frowned. “I’m not quite sure. It sounded as if he thought I was stalking him. I...um...I wasn’t wearing much at the time. Anyway...” Her voice trailed off.

  Jen grabbed Margaret’s arm. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of this one so quickly. Back up a bit. What happened? When you left here yesterday, the only thing not covered was your face. So how come you weren’t wearing very much?”

  Margaret sighed. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. Now she would have to tell Jen the whole silly story. Well, most of it anyway. A vivid picture of the two of them so close their breaths mingled popped into her head. His eyes had darkened; she could almost taste him before he stepped back. She inhaled shakily. That part of the story she would simply omit. “I’ll get us coffee, then I’ll tell you what happened.”

  A few minutes later they were sitting in the shop’s coffee area. By the time she had finished relating the censored version of the previous evening’s strange encounter, Jen was giggling hysterically. “I wish I could have seen your face. So, who is this guy? Did Josh tell you anything?”

  “No, he passed out before he remembered his name. Anyway, I’m not interested in who he is, I only want to use his face.” She could still see him so clearly. “His eyes...there was something...” She realized she was still talking about the man and stood up quickly. “We had better get back to work. We have customers.”

  Margaret walked to the back of the shop where her office was. The curtains were open and the view over the ocean beckoned her closer. It still managed to enchant her every day. No one could ever tire of this picture. She even had a glimpse of the Slangkop Lighthouse, the aptly named “snakehead” lighthouse. It was a hundred meters high, making it the highest lighthouse on the South African coast.

  Even with her financial problems never far from her mind, she felt so blessed. When she inherited the beach house here in Kommetjie, her relatives wanted her to sell it. What would a young woman do in such a remote little village, isolated by mountains, kilometers away from the hustle and bustle of the city? But living here had the added bonus of giving her much-needed space between her and her demanding relatives.

  She loved each aunt and uncle, every cousin, but somehow, after her grandmother’s death, everyone turned to her when problems arose. And because she hardly ever refused them anything, they’d just about taken over her life. Here, she could breathe again and because it was so remote, she only saw them when there were serious problems. Kommetjie, or “little bowl,” the name reflecting the circular, bowl-like sea basin, also became her little bowl to which she could escape from reality and where she could weave the fairy-tale romances she so loved.

  A few months ago she had bought this building and she’d turned it into a bookshop. Because Kommetjie was so remote, it didn’t attract as many tourists as other places on the Cape Peninsula, something all the locals were grateful for. She never thought she’d make a fortune, but she’d hoped the royalties from her books and the sales from her shop would be enough. And they probably would be, if she could finish another story.

  Jen’s words from earlier still echoed in her mind. Yes, she would like to find that special someone and she truly believed such a person existed and was waiting solely for her. She believed in love and in forever. Who could write romances if they didn’t?

  She sat down with a sigh. But not with someone like the guy she’d met last night. What a gorgeous specimen. And his eyes were extraordinary. The way he’d looked at her... Merely thinking about it had the heat creeping up her neck again.

  As she pulled her laptop closer, she became aware of voices from inside the shop. One loud voice in particular. What on earth? She quickly made her way to the front of the shop.

  “...most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of,” someone was declaring loudly.

  Margaret stopped short in her tracks. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to throb unevenly. That voice. Was it possible? It sounded like the man she’d seen in the lift the night before. What on earth was he doing here, of all places? Surely he hadn’t followed her? Of course not, what was she thinking?. He’d thought she was stalking him, so there must be another reason.

  Briskly, she walked to the front of the shop.

  “Do we have a problem, Jen?” she asked in her most business-like voice.

  As she came through the door, the man whirled around and for the second time within twenty-four hours, Margaret completely lost her breath. This time he was wearing a wetsuit and the top part was pulled down to reveal rock-hard, rippling muscles and...oh yeah, he had a six-pack all right, exactly like she’d imagined. She sighed appreciatively.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, and reluctantly Margaret moved her eyes up to his face.

  Oh dear, he was irritated again.

  He stared at he
r. She was close enough to see the change in his eyes the minute he recognized her. The incredulous expression on his face was almost funny.

  He drew in a deep breath. “You were in the elevator with me last night, weren’t you? You’re wearing more clothes now. What are you doing here? Did you follow me here? What...?”

  Margaret seldom got angry. She normally found it a useless exercise. No one took her seriously anyway and she always ended up with a terrible headache. But she was angry now. And the beginnings of a whopping headache stretched its tight tentacles across the back of her head.

  “I was unfortunate enough to have to share the elevator with you last night, yes. But this is my shop. I did not follow you here.”

  “Your shop?”

  He seemed to be shocked into silence. For a little while, at least. Then he gestured irritably to the books on the shelves.

  “This is a ridiculous bookshop. You don’t have any science fiction books, no—”

  Margaret lifted her chin. “You are most welcome to leave, sir. No one is forcing you to stay. And we do have science fiction books. There is a whole section behind you. You will also find the latest vampire stories there. The only difference between this bookstore and any other is—”

  “You only have books with happy endings. I’ve never heard of anything so completely bizarre. It is, you know.”

  “Well, now you have. Goodbye, sir. I don’t believe we have anything of interest for you.”

  “You can’t kick me out, I’m a paying customer!” He looked around. “And from what I can see, you need some of those.” He sneered.

  Margaret walked toward the door. “Please leave. As the proprietor, I have the right to kick out anyone I want to.”

  From the corner of her eye she could see Jen vehemently shaking her head and trying to catch her attention. But she now wanted the man out of her shop, out of Kommetjie, out of her life.

  He stared at her for a long moment and then walked past her, muttering.

  “Margaret, do you have any idea who that man is?” Jen asked breathlessly.