Too Good to Be True(88)

About an hour later, Callahan pulled off the highway. A sign announced that we’d arrived in Easting, New York, population 7512. We drove down a street lined with a pizzeria, hair salon, package store and a restaurant called Vito’s. “So, Mr. O’ Shea, why have you brought me to Easting, New York?” I asked.

“You’ll see it in about a block if these directions are right,” he said, pulling into a parking space on the street.

Then he hopped out and opened my door. I made a mental note to thank Mr. Lawrence the next time I read to him. Callahan O’ Shea had beautiful manners. He took my hand and grinned.

“You look very confident,” I said.

“I am,” he answered, kissing my hand. All the qualms I’d felt about his past and my chances at the chairman job vanished, replaced with a tight band of happiness squeezing my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so light. Maybe, in fact, I’d never felt this good.

Then I saw where Cal was taking me, lurched to a halt and burst into tears.

“Surprise,” he said, sliding his arms around me in a hug.

“Oh, Cal,” I snuffled into his shoulder.

A small movie theater stood just down the block, brick entrance, wide windows, the smell of popcorn already seducing the senses. But it was the marquee that got me. Framed in lightbulbs, black letters against a white background were the following words: Special Anniversary Showing! See It As It Was Meant To Be Seen! And below that, in huge letters…Gone With the Wind.

“Oh, Cal,” I said again, my throat so tight I squeaked.

The teenager behind the counter stared wonderingly at me as I wept, while Cal bought us tickets, popcorn and root beer. The place was mobbed—I wasn’t the only one, apparently, who yearned to see the greatest love story of all time on the big screen.

“How did you find this?” I asked, wiping my eyes once we were seated.

“I Googled it a few weeks ago,” he answered. “You said you’d never seen it before, and it made me wonder if it ever got shown anymore. I was just going to tell you, but then you finally jumped me, so I figured I’d make it a date.”

A few weeks ago. He’d been thinking about me weeks ago. Wow.

“Thank you, Callahan O’ Shea,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. His mouth was soft and hot, and his hand slid behind my neck, and he tasted like popcorn and butter. Warm ripples danced through my stomach until the whitehaired lady sitting behind us accidentally (or purposefully) kicked our seats. Then the lights dimmed, and I found that my heart was racing. Cal grinned, gave my hand a squeeze.

For the next few hours, I fell in love with Scarlett and Rhett all over again, my emotions as tender and raw as when I was fourteen and first read the book. I winced when Scarlett declared her love to Ashley, beamed when Rhett bid for her at the dance, cringed when Melly had her baby, bit a nail as Atlanta burned. By the last line, when Katie Scarlett O’ Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler raised her head, once again determined to get what she wanted, unbowed, unbroken, I was out and out sobbing.

“I guess I should’ve brought some Valium,” Callahan murmured as the credits rolled, handing me a napkin, since I’d run out of tissues when Rhett joined the Confederate troops outside of Atlanta.

“Thank you,” I squeaked. The white-haired lady behind us patted my shoulder as she left.

“You’re welcome,” Cal said with that grin that I was coming to love.

“Did you like it?” I managed to ask.

He turned to me, his face gentle. “I loved it, Grace,” he said.

IT WAS ALMOST NINE WHEN WE got back to Peterston. “You hungry?” Callahan asked as we passed Blackie’s.

“I’m starving,” I said.

“Great.” He pulled into the parking lot, got out and took my hand. Holding hands had to be one of the most wonderful things God ever invented, I thought as we went into the restaurant. A small but undeniable claim on someone, holding hands. And holding hands with Callahan O’ Shea was thrilling and comforting at the same time, his big hand smooth and callused and warm.

We found a booth, and Cal sat next to me, rather than across. He slid his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close, and I breathed in the clean, soapy smell of him. Damn. I was in deep.

“Want some wings?” he asked, scanning the menu.

“You are definitely getting shagged tonight,” I said. “First Gone With the Wind, now buffalo wings. I can’t resist you.”

“Then my dastardly plan is working.” He turned and kissed me, that hungry, hot, soft kiss that was like caramel sauce, and I thought to myself that for the rest of my life, I would remember this as the most perfect, most romantic date I or any other woman had ever had. When I opened my eyes, Callahan O’ Shea was grinning. He pinched my chin and turned back to the menu.

I looked around the restaurant, smiling, feeling that the world was a beautiful place. A good-looking guy caught my eye and raised his beer glass. He looked familiar. Oh, yes. Eric, the window washer from Manning who loved his wife. And wasn’t she cute. They were holding hands. Another happy couple. Aw! I waved back.

“Hello there, Grace,” came a soft voice. I looked up and tried to suppress a grimace.

“Hi, Ava,” I said. “How are you?” My voice was chilly. She had, after all, gone on a date with Stuart.