Sweet Caroline(83)

Forgive me?

I smile back. Don’t sweat it.

In the middle of taking in a Wild-Wally story, a hand touches my shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.”

“Mitch, oh my gosh,” I jump out of my seat, giving him a hug.

“When did you get home?”

“Just now. Drove straight here.” He keeps his arm around me as he sits in the empty chair, saying hi to the rest of the group. I glance at Elle. She’s beaming.

Mitch’s presence electrifies Panini’s—no surprise—and awakens the mellow atmosphere with whispers, craning necks, and a dozen autograph seekers.

Finally, his attention is on me. “Missed you.” He slips his hand into mine and kisses my cheek. The invisible fingers of my soul grasp at my evaporating confidence. Maybe I shouldn’t go to Barcelona. “I missed you too.”

His blue eyes search mine. “Want to hang out tonight, after we eat?”

“Absolutely.”

Dinner at elegant Panini’s ends with the gang standing around the table, saying “Good night,” “Let’s do this again soon,” “What a great time,” and doling out tip money. Mitch talks to Ray, standing so close to me we fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Ray, honey, come on. I’ve hit the wall.” Jess tugs on her husband’s sleeve with a sleepy-eyed wave at me. When she gets tired, that’s it; the night’s over. For everyone.

“Night, Jess,” I say, leaning over the table to meet her hug.

“I’ll call you this week.”

Then Mitch and I are alone by the table. “So, first selling, then Barcelona?”

“I wanted to tell you in person. It all happened so fast.” Facing him, I see two women approach from the opposite side of the dining room.

“Mitch.”

He turns as they ask, “Mr. O’Neal, can we have your autograph?”

Fame comes at a price. Public private conversations are a luxury. Two beautiful women hold out pen and paper, batting their eyes while sporting take-me-now smiles. Mitch is irritated, I can tell, yet he bottles it while talking with them.

“How are you two tonight?” His smile is slow, but sincere.

The large-bosomed woman arches her back so her exposed cleavage is right under Mitch’s nose. “I’m wonderful. How are you?”

Ho, boy. If Mitch has this coming at him all the time, no wonder he strayed over the yellow line. But he barely seems to notice this woman and her two “friends.”

“Thank you, ladies. Have a good night.” He takes me by the arm and steers me toward the door.

“I think they wanted more than an autograph, Mitch.”

“Those kind always do.”

I snicker, and he breaks into a soft chuckle, steering us to the river-walk where the wind off the water presses against us in tender, cold gusts. “When do you leave?”

“January, I think.”

He leans against the cement pylon and faces me, tucking his hands into his jeans’ pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to stay in Beaufort? The Café is doing well. You have family and friends. A church.”

“Am I sure? Are you not the one who was singing the ‘amazing opportunity’ song a few days ago? Mitch, the Café will be in much better hands. The staff will have benefits as part of Buzz Boys, Inc. Paid vacations, insurance, even bonuses. I’ve signed papers, accepted Carlos’s offer . . . Yes, done deal.” I shiver in the damp, chilled air. I left my jacket in Elle’s car. “The building inspector came on Friday.”

“Caroline, all that ‘amazing opportunity’ stuff I said? Bull. Don’t sell. Keep the Café. Stay here.” The words come clipped and fast and drizzle me with a sense of desperation.

“Keep the—Why? And what do you mean ‘bull’?” I stand back away from him. “What would you have me do? Grow old and alone like Jones? Be married to that old run-down money pit? Or, hey, here’s an idea. Let’s get married. You and me. You could live in Nashville, and I’ll live here. How’d that be? Hmm?”

“Fine, but I’d prefer to live here. With you.”

Heart: What’d he say?

Head: Live here.

Heart: Ears, is that right?

Ears: 10-4

Heart: Head, have mouth ask him again.

Head: I’ll try, but mouth has a mind of its own.

“Live where? Beaufort?”

He shrugs. “Times have changed. I can commute to Nashville. I’d prefer it.”

I laugh, wagging my finger at him. “Okay, I see what you’re doing. Messing with me, right. You . . . you’re funny. Mitch, I’m joking. Marriage. Ha-ha, good one, Caroline. You’re joking too, right?”

“No.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and pops open a small box. “I’m not kidding.”

I blink. “Is that a ring?” A large, square diamond glimmers in the waterfront’s light. “Mitch . . .”

“Marry me, Caroline.”

The statement electrifies the hairs on the back of my neck. “Marry you?”

“I love you.” His velvety confession suspends all doubts. “Very much.”

“You want to marry me? For sure? No ‘Say it now, forget about it later’?”