Page 22 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

“Okay, well, before he reappears—and when he does, end this call, all right? Just hang up and I’ll understand.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Beatrice Hartley, do as you’re told. There have been plenty of men hovering around you in the last couple of years, and not one of them has caught your attention. It seems to me that this one has. So if he appears, hang up on me. But until then, tell me more about him.”

Bea smiled as she wondered where on earth she should start.

“Don’t overthink it,” Meg said with a laugh. “Just give me a list of words. We’ll go from there.”

It was a game they’d played in the past—the dim and distant past now, before either of them had ever been married.

“Okay. A list of words for Blane.”

“Blane?” Meg interrupted. “Ooh. I like that. Sorry. Go on. Give me your list.”

“American.”

Meg made a sound. “I’m not interrupting. I promise. Go on.”

Bea laughed. “Enormous. Security.”

Meg stifled a giggle, and Bea rolled her eyes. “I’m carrying on. Grumpy. Former Navy SEAL.”

“Oh my gosh. Bea, stop this minute. You have to tell me more than just words. I’m intrigued.”

“That’s the trouble.” Bea glanced across the arena toward the empty dark corner. “I’m intrigued too, Meg, if I’m honest. We’ve run into each other around the hotel a couple of times. Then here at the concert as well. I rescued him last night, actually. From two beautiful young women determined to get a selfie.”

“You rescued him? How?”

“He claimed me as his wife, and I played along.”

Meg burst out laughing. “Oh my goodness. He likes you too, then.”

Bea didn’t answer.

“If he didn’t like you, he could have claimed you were his boss or his sister and that he had to go. But his wife? That says something, Bea. You have to admit it.”

“I’d like to, but it doesn’t really matter. The most I can hope for is to perhaps run into him again this evening, and that’ll be it. He’ll be a lovely memory that I take with me on my way. A few encounters at a concert, one lovely afternoon at a museum.”

“Bea, you cannot let this man leave.”

She laughed out loud. “I’m afraid he’s rather too large for me to attempt to stop him.”

“Okay. That’s rather too large and enormous. How large is he exactly?”

“I’d guess six foot three or four. Incredibly tall.” She stared out across the crowd. “And rather muscular too.”

“Beatrice Hartley, stop it. You’re making me jealous. I want one too.”

“I take it David’s not around?”

“Out in the shed, doing whatever he does out there. And you know I love that man—but he’s perfectly normal-sized. Terribly British. Far too cheerful. Right now, I’m very much liking the sound of American, enormous, and grumpy.” A beat. “Though—if he’s grumpy, how does he put up with you?”

Bea had to laugh. “I’m really not sure. I just chatter away as usual. He seems to find it quite amusing.” She glanced toward his dark corner again. Still no sign of him.

“I wish I could come up there for the day tomorrow,” Meg said. “I tried to make it work, but I really can’t. I’d love to spend the day with you before you take off on your new adventure. And hearing about this Blane character only makes it worse. I want to be there with you on your last day in the country. And I want to hear all about this man.”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I’ll spend the day pottering. Perhaps buy a few things I’m not sure I’ll get in Crete. Oh, and I’ll repack my suitcase.”