The land was destined to connect the lonely and the lost, push together the love-struck and infatuated. The hills could be their guide, sweeping over the peninsula, the charming cottages framed in stone and dotted with greens and purples, the contrast of the mainland, man-made, before sweeping into the natural beauty of the rolling sea. Fall in love here. How could you not?
‘Hey,’ I looked up to find Drew. Clasping my chest, I gasped in shock. How much time had passed? I looked at my watch and twenty minutes had gone by. ‘Thought I’d join you, I haven’t been up here in ages.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ I said, suddenly lost for breath again.
‘I was fixing the roof and heard a loud whooping noise.’
I started giggling before covering my mouth with my hand. ‘I was so happy I made it to the top I did my Rocky moves.’
‘That’s what it was,’ he said, sitting beside me. ‘I wasn’t sure—thought I’d better check. I am a first-aider.’ He smirked.
‘Of course you are.’
‘On-hand to give mouth-to-mouth at any time,’ he replied as I slowly opened my mouth in shock. He took a quick glance, flashing a grin when he realised I was laughing. He shook his head. ‘I have no idea why I said that.’
‘It’s good that you know the technique. Handy. For a first-aider,’ I said, enjoying Drew’s blushes.
‘One of my many talents.’
‘You have quite a list,’ I replied. ‘I’ve only been here a day. Imagine how many more I can find out about before I leave?’
He nodded towards the notebook in my hand, completely ignoring my attempt at flirting. ‘I thought typewriters were old fashioned. If you’re writing the book freehand it’s going to take you more than a month.’
‘I’m doing an outline. Plotting and planning,’ I replied, slightly bashful.
‘Want to talk through some ideas with me?’ he asked.
I scoffed, turning to him with wide eyes. ‘Do you have a lot of reading experience in the contemporary romance genre?’
‘Not exactly, but how hard can it be? Couple meets, gets naughty. The end.’
Drew saying the word naughty stirred something inside me, I couldn’t hide my giddiness, so I clamped my teeth into my lip.
‘I can write sex scenes till the cows come home. It’s getting them there. All the bits in between and what happens after is what I’m finding hard.’
‘Oh,’ he said, grinning.
‘Stitching it together, Drew. I need help.’
‘What are your other books about?’ he asked, wrapping his arms around himself as the chill in the wind turned up a notch.
‘My first book was about a twenty-three-year-old virgin.’
‘Not a lot of scope for naughty shenanigans,’ he replied.
‘Plenty of scope. She soon found her sexual stride,’ I said, dropping my shoulders and huddling up to him. He didn’t move away and that was fabulous. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but she’s based on me.’ I put my finger to my lips in a shhh motion and when I glanced up and saw him licking his, I almost gasped.
‘I…should read it,’ he replied.
‘I’ll make sure I get a copy sent to you.’
‘Paperback. So I can make notes,’ he smirked.
‘Ha! You’ll want to take notes. I’ve always said men should read contemporary romance.’
‘You could gift a copy on first dates,’ he said. ‘If you’re single that is?’
‘I am and you’re a genius,’ I replied, writing in capital letters, GIFT A BOOK ON FIRST DATES. THEN YOU MIGHT MAKE IT TO A SECOND. He laughed and took the pencil from my hand, underlining it twice.
‘Are all your books about you?’ His voice was low and sexy, and I swear he shifted closer. I wanted him to drape his arm across my shoulders and pull me in tightly against him, but that was weird, right? I’d only known him for twenty-four hours.
Ping! I had my trope. Insta-love. Insta-fucking-love.
‘No. Not all about me…because that would be weird. The second book is about second-chance love,’ I said, doodling. ‘A mouthy spit-fire who meets her soulmate, but circumstances pull them apart.’
‘Ah, plot twist,’ he replied.
‘Huge plot twist.’ There was a pause, like he wanted to say something but was spending some time thinking it all through. I broke the silence. ‘To be honest, the first book was written on a whim. I hated the job I was in, wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next, but I was a huge reader and the more indie books I read, the more I started to think I could do it. I self-published the first book, got signed up with Jackson’s by the third, and the books took off.’
‘Fantastic,’ he said.
‘It was at first, but then they started wanting more and at a much faster pace than I’m used to. I couldn’t keep up with the demand.’ I blew out a breath. Admitting the truth was hard.
‘And now you’re here,’ he said.
I scanned the view, my breath getting caught in my throat. ‘Yeah. With no ideas. No muse and no words.’
‘Where would you normally start?’ he asked.
I thought about it for a second. I wasn’t sure. Ideas always seemed to just come and I’d build them from something that could be tiny, a line on a notebook or a few paragraphs in my notes app.
‘I usually just get an idea,’ I said. ‘Ping.’
‘But not this time?’ I shook my head and shrugged at the hopelessness of it all. ‘It will.’
‘Something always comes, but will it be original enough? Or received well?’
‘So, what’s popular in the contemporary romance world?’ he asked.
‘I wish I knew.’
‘Can’t you just write another virgin book?’
‘Virgins have been done to death. Pardon the pun.’ I could feel his shoulders shaking lightly against mine. ‘I need to find a niche market, something that hasn’t been done. E. L. James got the timing just right.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘She!’ I turned to him, my mouth open. He pulled in his lips as he shrugged. ‘Fifty Shades of Grey.’
‘Oh! Bondage and that uncomfortable Irish guy.’
‘He was great.’
‘Forgive me, but he had a look of anxiety that didn’t fit with a dominant. After flogging his sub he shouldn’t be throwing apologetic stares,’ he said.
‘Do you know a lot about the kink scene?’ I raised an eyebrow.
‘My ex made me watch it. She had a thing for Ana’s step-dad. Loved Due South, apparently.’
‘Oh,’ I replied, not understanding the reference and wanting to take this conversation further. ‘Quite a few women credit Fifty Shades for improving their sex life.’
‘Really.’
‘Mmm hmm. So…did you get inspired by Mr Grey? Are you hiding a secret rope fetish?’ I asked, pushing him.
‘No. Nope. No. My ex didn’t like to feel…confined,’ he replied with a look of mischief like if she’d suggested using the dressing gown cord to hold her wrists in place, he would have gone for it.
‘I tried once. Research purposes.’
‘What else,’ he deadpanned.
‘He wasn’t great with knots,’ I said crossing my wrists. ‘They kept coming undone.’
‘What a disappointment,’ he said. ‘Research ruined. You’ll never be the next E. L. James, Queen of Bondage.’
‘No one can be the next E. L. James. She paved the way for indie authors. Even if you don’t care for her books she’s still given tremendous respect for what she’s achieved. She’s a hero in my tribe.’
He made the sign of the cross and an uncontrolled burst of noise left my chest. His smile broadened and I felt his leg press against mine. ‘So, you need to find that niche market then,’ he said once the laughter died down. ‘Surely that’s easy.’
‘If only it were.’ I was disappointed with myself. Drew had given me the perfect opportunity to press him about his relationship status. He’d mentioned his ex and I’d thrown away the moment with jokes ab
out bondage. I pressed my finger to my chin and glanced at him. When he smiled, I went for it. ‘You mentioned your ex. Where is she now?’
‘Bloody hell,’ he spluttered. ‘Going right in there, Cal.’
‘Sorry. It’s a habit. I’ll stop.’
He scratched his forehead with his finger and blew out a frustrated breath. ‘She’s in America.’
I nodded my head, trying to blanket the awkwardness and not knowing what to say next as that frustrated breath told me he wasn’t sure he wanted the conversation to go any further. ‘So…back to nipple clamps and spanking.’ He laughed and we were back on course with easy and light until he threw in a curveball.
‘I’m sorry, did it come across that I’m not comfortable talking about her? I was going for an easy vibe but took a detour to something different.’
‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’
He sighed and leant into me, knocking my arm with his. ‘I haven’t talked about her for a while.’
‘Well, you are here alone, Drew. If you started talking to yourself, I’d be worried.’ He put his hand underneath his collar and rubbed his finger there. He was uncomfortable but his eyes were honest. They shone as he glanced at me and forced a smile.
‘Her name is Meghan. We met when I was working for American Airlines.’
‘She was an air steward?’
‘No. She was a wedding planner in Manhattan. We met when she was overseeing my friend’s big day.’
‘That was handy,’ I said looking across at the barns and thinking about the match made in heaven of having a partner who could organise the weddings, but as he dropped his head and started fiddling with the zip on his coat, the atmosphere changed again, and a terrible feeling ran through me. He cleared his throat and I wanted to bash my head against the arm of the bench. ‘Please tell me you didn’t move here so she could be the wedding planner.’ He glanced to the sea, avoiding eye contact, and essentially confirmed my suspicions. ‘Oh no. That’s it isn’t it? You came here to run the business together.’
‘You’re good.’
‘Drew. I’m so sorry. No wonder you’ve had to scale back.’
‘Yeah. Not great timing on her part.’
‘What happened?’ His jaw became tense again and I wanted to erase those words. Get back to easy. ‘It’s none of my business,’ I said putting my hands up. ‘Shit, I’m so nosy.’ He started scratching his nail along the arm of the bench. Awkward but equally torn. It was clear he wanted to talk, but it was hard for him.
‘She liked the romance of it all, coming here, me giving up my career. She liked to be the centre of attention, all eyes on her. My grand gesture of coming here was something she got fully on board with, but she couldn’t cope with the isolation. She missed the city too much.’
‘You gave it all up?’ I asked. ‘Your career, your life?’
‘Without hesitation,’ he replied, softening his tone with a smile. ‘That’s what you do when you fall in love.’
Ping! My male lead is selfless and kind, and when he falls, he falls. He would do anything for the love of his life, including starting a new life together. Swoon.
I started jotting down some notes, desperately trying to remember ideas and plot lines.
Drew focused in on my scrawl and narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you writing?’
‘Notes. Things that come mind and I can’t miss.’ I cleared my throat and brought the conversation back. ‘How long was she here?’ I asked, closing my notepad and giving him my full attention.
‘Just over a year,’ he replied, sighing like retelling the story was too much hard work.
‘Has there been a wedding since she left?’ He shook his head. ‘When was the last one?’ He made a small groaning noise and started rubbing his forehead like it was hurting.
‘That’s another story for another time.’ I pulled his hand away from his face and he gave me a false smile, small and uneven.
‘You have stories of your own to tell,’ I said.
‘Thank God I’m not the writer,’ he replied, his false smile full of sadness. ‘What are you doing up here anyway?’ he asked, the subject change as subtle as a hurricane.
‘Watching. Writer’s observe the world.’
‘Really? Isn’t that another way of saying you’re exceptionally nosy?’ he said, smiling.
‘I guess.’ I half-shrugged. ‘But I prefer to call it people-watching.’
‘Not many people to watch here.’
‘I like the stillness. It helps me to think of scenarios I’ve stored and conversations I’ve memorised for future plot ideas.’ I remembered one moment that touched me so much I’d had to write it down. ‘Once, I was watching a guy in a coffee shop. He must have been in his eighties. He ordered two coffees, placed one of the cups in front of him and the other in front of an empty chair. He put in the sugar and milk, stirred it and sat back. The staff seemed to know him and were asking when his wife would be joining him. He told each of them a different story and twenty minutes later he got up and left. I asked the waitress about him. She said his wife had died, and when he lost her, his dementia had taken hold, but he still came in every week. No one knew if it was his way of coping with the loss or if he really believed she was coming to meet him. I based a whole novella on that.’
‘Jesus, no wonder your publisher wants to drop you.’ I tapped him on his arm and he moved away dramatically, holding up his hands in surrender.
‘The theme was everlasting love. It was beautiful. Didn’t sell well though.’
‘I’m shocked,’ he replied, completely deadpan as I tried to stop myself from laughing. ‘Have you experienced writer’s block before or is it your first time?’ he asked.
‘Nothing like this. I’ve been stuck with certain scenes or trying to plug a stubborn plot hole,’ I replied.
‘So how did you handle it? What kind of things did you do?’
‘Took a break, went for a walk, listened to some music that matched the mood of the book.’
‘Music to write romance to. Maybe you should try it. What’s the mood so far?’ he asked.
‘Highly romantic. My girl wants to be swept off her feet.’
From his pocket, he handed me his iPhone and earbuds before opening up a music app. ‘I’m going to ask you a question and you have to answer it on three,’ he said as I nodded. ‘What’s the best love song ever written? One. Two. Three.’
‘Your Song by Elton John,’ we both said. ‘Good choice!’ we both repeated. My hand moved to my mouth. He cleared his throat, and I watched him bite his lip, shaking his head as he tapped the screen and encouraged me to put in the earbuds. We sat back on the bench as I listened to the best love song ever written.
He pushed his phone back into his pocket once I’d finished listening to it on repeat, and stood up, raising his arms in the air and flashing his tight stomach as his shirt rode up on the stretch. I fought the urge to lift it higher with my fingers and trace lightly across the bumps and dips that were seriously beginning to intrigue me. I started to wonder how they would feel against me. The hard lines of him against the soft creases of me.
‘Did that help?’ he asked, ending my fantasy as he watched me start to jot down some notes.
‘Yeah. So much. Thank you.’
‘We have the same taste in love songs,’ he said, folding his arms. I lifted up my shoulder lazily in response when all I wanted to say was, It’s a sign! We were made for each other! ‘Did you notice the plaque?’ he said, pointing behind me. I turned to find a weathered brass plaque on the bench that I hadn’t taken notice of before. I ran my finger across the words as I said them out loud.
‘My dearest Gladys, this will always be our inspiration spot. Love always, Kenneth.’
I stared at it in wonder, remembering the questions I had when I was staring at the bench from the comfort of the cottage. ‘How beautiful,’ I gasped. ‘I saw the bench from my window and I was swarmed with questions. Who put it up on the hill? Who loved the spot
so much that they wanted to make it more comfortable? What conversations took place, what stories were told? I had a rush of feeling and I had to come up and just sit. I’ve had so many ideas since I’ve been here.’
‘Well, well, author lady. It may have originally been Gladys and Kenneth’s inspiration spot,’ he replied, ‘but now, it appears that it’s yours.’
Chapter 7
Cal
Drew walked me back to the cottage. It was nudging late afternoon and he seemed overly concerned that I would be left sitting on the bench in the dark with only my Louis Vuitton blanket for shelter. I was just happy that I could watch his bum move and flex as he navigated the chalk path, occasionally holding out his hand to help me. Electricity was a word I’d read countless times in romance novels. I found it overdone and chose to stop using it in my writing, hoping to find another way of describing that fiery connection between two characters in the buildup to the critical first sex scene. But when I held his hand, I couldn’t deny there was a definite buzz. A vibration. A fizz and hiss that grew in intensity every time our fingers brushed. A jolt of lightning through the touch, travelling up our arms, through our bodies. Sparks. Full voltage. I repeated the word all the way down, Electricity, electricity, electricity, until we got back to the cottage and I could jot it down in my notebook. One word underlined three times.
‘You’re quiet,’ Drew said as I handed him the key and he thrust the door open with his upper body.
‘Thinking,’ I replied as I wrote down, Sparks, major sparks.
I followed him through like it was the most natural thing in the world. A picture of domestication, more like two people who had known each other years rather than hours. He started the log burner, turned on the lights and checked that the radiators were warming nicely.
‘I need to take you shopping soon. That lasagna isn’t going to last you much longer.’
I checked my watch. ‘Is there anywhere open now?’ I hadn’t been out of the gates of Karensa since I arrived, but remembered passing a farm shop and convenience store on the way from the airport.
A Novel Christmas Page 5
