The barista gave Bea a knowing smile. ’He’s here from time to time.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Bea was disappointed that she couldn’t depend on meeting him here again tomorrow.
‘But his name’s Cal Butler. He owns Butler’s bar on Advocate’s Close. Pretty sure you’ll find him there most days.’
Bea’s face lit up. ‘Oh, thank you.’ She popped a couple of pounds into the tip jar. ’I’m sorry if I was rude before. I was a little preoccupied. The cake was exceptional though.’
‘No problem.’ The barista shook her head. ‘Good luck.’
The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking through the clouds, so Bea headed back to the apartment with her head up, past colourful shop fronts and statues with tales to tell and crowds of tourists snapping photographs and soaking everything in whilst walking in the leisurely way that tourists did. There was a vibrant energy that energised Bea, the caffeine pulsing thorough her veins and the thrill of meeting a gorgeous man no doubt assisting it. She wanderedinto a vintage clothing store and allowed herself to purchase a cute peach cashmere sweater, on account of it being fall soon and the Scottish weather necessitating a warmer wardrobe than she had anticipated.
Back at the apartment, the walls were still dirty and the paintings still hideous, but Bea had a little more buoyancy. She flexed her fingers and read the words below them:Cal Butler, Butler’s bar, Advocate’s Close. A knot of nerves tightened in her stomach at the thought of essentially having to stalk the man if she wanted to see him again. It was not in Bea’s nature to be so brazen.
But she didn’t have to think about that. This afternoon, she could embrace her introverted side and channel the sexy vibes that meeting Cal Butler had generated into wonderful words on the page. She would write as much as she could, then if she could meet him again and learn more, that would be even better. On top of the story their encounter would become, imagine getting to know him and being able to tell him he was her muse. What man wouldn’t love that surprise?
Chapter 8
Cal
At eleven the following day, the bar was cool and silent. In the four years he’d owned Butler’s, Cal had never grown tired of the sanctuary of the morning moments spent alone. Kitty and Zack were busy elsewhere, and it would be an hour before the bar opened for lunch.
Cal tried calling Elisabetta again but, as yesterday, the phone rang to voicemail. It was possible she was avoiding him as an attention seeking strategy. He moved his focus to researching motor neurone disease. There must be something that could be done to help his father – to get them all some control over the situation.
Then, as the search listings loaded, something in the doorway caught his attention. Cal glanced up and did a double take. What the hell? Almond-Mocha Redhead from the coffee shop was standing in the door frame. Had he left the door unlocked?
‘Oh, hello.’ A strange breezy energy blew through the woman’s voice and she was wearing an over-the-top smile that didn’t quite suit her. It was almost as if she was fakingit. Cal’s mind flashed back to the words he’d heard from her phone call: ‘I’ve found him’. He spoke without missing a beat, ‘We don’t do almond milk.’
‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m following you,’ the woman said.
‘Are you?’
‘Oh, no, of course not. But, um… this is a coincidence.’
‘It’s a small city,’ Cal said flatly. He couldn’t turn away a potential customer, but he was cautious about this woman. It would take a big coincidence for her to have just stumbled upon his bar down this narrow close, even if it was in the busiest part of town. ‘Did you want a drink? Is that why you’re here?’
‘Well, now that you suggest it, that would be lovely.’ The woman stepped over the threshold. She was stunningly beautiful; Cal could admit that to himself: curvaceous hips, ample breasts, red hair spiralling tantalisingly around her face. But it wasn’t enough to cancel out her irritating nature. Or the weirdness of her presence here.
‘Now that I suggest it?’ Cal’s gaze narrowed. ‘You walk into a bar but only think to have a drink when the bartender suggests it?’
‘Yes, um … why not?’ The woman’s voice was as bright as sunshine. ‘What would you recommend?’ She moved to the bar and scanned the bottles on the back wall. Cal examined her from behind. Her curves were even more pronounced from this angle; she had a perfect hourglass figure. Then he shook his thoughts from those that caused complications to whisky.
‘TheBruichladdich.’Cal put his phone in his pocket and got up to serve the woman. He’d get her a drink, then get rid of her as quickly as possible.
‘Okay, I’ll have one of those. Or two?’ She noddedtowards him as if to ask whether he would join her for a whisky.
‘I never drink before twelve. Or when I’m on duty.’ This was true.
‘A man who likes to be in control of his faculties. I admire it.’ Almond Mocha Redhead arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow over a glittering sapphire blue. She was right. Cal liked to be in control of things. But he didn’t like the way she flirtatiously tried to compliment him. It was too clichéd. Too obvious. He poured a measure of the whisky and placed the drink on the bar in front of the woman, watched as she raised the glass to her lips, took a generous sip of the Scotch, then made a face as if she’d had liquid honey licked from her breasts.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘I have no idea who Broo Claddy, or whoever, is, but his whisky is divine.’
Cal’s insides stirred at this lustful appreciation of Scotch. He folded his arms in defence.
‘Brui-CH-laddy,’ he said, placing a forceful emphasis on the ‘ch’ sound she’d missed. ‘Can I get you anything else or will that be all?’
‘Broo-ICK-laddy. Ick … ick. I can’t get it like you can.’
Cal shook his head. What was this nonsense?
