‘Don’t be embarrassed. Please,’ he said. ‘I didn’t handle that well. At all.’ He blew out a breath.
‘I think that’s up there with the most embarrassing moment of my life,’ I said in disbelief.
‘Which was?’ he asked, pressing his hand to his forehead.
I groaned because this was fantastically painful. ‘Book launch party. I went up to speak, slipped on the polished floor and exposed my boob to a room of…oh, only around two hundred and fifty people.’
‘I’m sure they didn’t notice,’ he mumbled.
‘Carl from graphics did.’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
‘I went to ask him a question about my cover and found my boob was the screensaver on his Mac.’ Drew hid his laughter behind his hand and I gave him a, not-at-all-funny resting bitch face. ‘I think you should take me back to the cottage now.’
I slipped into the seat of his car, a damp curl stuck to my forehead. I blew up and it wafted heavily only to fall back down again, but this time across my eye. I covered my mouth to stop myself from giggling hysterically because if this wasn’t so bloody embarrassing, it would be comical. I was a grown woman for God’s sake, but all this pushing and pulling, the secret glances, the electricity, the rejection, all made me feel like a teenager again.
I still wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Drew got in and pressed various buttons on the dashboard. Windscreen wipers starting wiping frantically. Lights lit up the wall in front of us. The radio started blaring Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You.’
‘Fuck me,’ he said in a panic as he tried to get the car back into some order.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A giggling snort turned into a doubled-over, ribs-aching sound wave of laughter. Drew couldn’t stop himself from slowly joining in, his lips quirking up, his gaze wary. His smile grew bigger until he was adorably wiping his finger across his lips as he tried to fathom what was so funny. ‘I feel like I’ve been left in the dark about an in-joke,’ he said, scrunching his forehead. ‘Care to enlighten me?’
I calmed myself down by repeating in my head, You’re going to be dropped by your publisher, you’re going to be dropped by your publisher. That helped tremendously. I pushed my hair behind my ears and settled back in my seat, unable to look at Drew because I knew he required an answer. What could I say? I was laughing at the oops-nearly-kissed-him moment and the ton of slow-burn love ideas I was getting for my book. It was going to be an angsty marvel at this rate. No doubt, no doubt at all. I took a breath. ‘I’m getting lots of ideas for my book. It’s art imitating life. The jacket covering me in the rainstorm, the breakfast baskets, the hand-rolled chocolates.’
‘The rejection?’
‘Urgh. Can we forget about that?’ I said, trying to orchestrate some damage control. ‘I obviously read the situation wrong and I’m completely embarrassed. We’ll never speak of it again.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For the palm.’ He held it up and I weighed up what I wanted to do more—die or laugh.
‘I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.’
He bit his thumb nail. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.’ He coughed. ‘I don’t…I’m not…looking for a relationship.’
‘Oh, kill me now,’ I said as I covered my face with my hands.
‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘I’ll stop talking. No need for us ever to talk again. Ever.’
‘Drew!’ I held out my hands. ‘You were my muse! Sexy pilot. Shirtless woodcutter. What am I going to do now?’ I said, brushing it off with humour like it was no big deal when really it was. It was huge. I liked him, but he didn’t feel the same. Crushed by the palm of his hand. Literally.
He glanced at me and shook his head, disbelief bouncing across his face. Embarrassment followed. ‘You really need to change your muse, Cal. I’m not a hopeless romantic. I’m hopeless at romance.’ He reversed the car and started driving, tapping an anxious tune with his hand on the gearstick.
‘What happened with your ex?’ I couldn’t help it. The question slipped from my mouth before I had the chance to pull it back. He made a strange garbled noise from the back of his throat. I think it shocked us both.
‘I thought we’d already covered this. She left me.’
‘Important stories have more than one chapter, Drew.’
‘Let’s just say this story is the size an encyclopedia.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said as he turned into the entrance of Karensa and clicked the thingy he used to open the gates.
‘Not today, Cal.’
‘Consider it therapy,’ I smiled.
‘You ask too many questions.’
‘It’s a bad habit.’
He broke out into a smile, small and barely there before he whispered softly, ‘Stop.’
We sat in the car in front of the cottages for twenty minutes. The rain had fallen harder, in fact, it had pelted down and Drew had suggested we wait for it to calm before we made a dash for it with four paper bags of food under our arms. We talked about everything but his ex. He had made it clear that we weren’t going there, and that was fine. As interested (nosy) as I was about other people’s lives (especially his), I decided not to press the subject too hard. Instead, he apologised for the seventy-eighth time for holding up his palm, and I almost died of mortification for the same amount.
In order to make myself feel like less of a loser, I invited him in for my specialty on a rainy day—cheesy beans on toast.
I could see him running through a million excuses in his head not to accept my offer and as I uttered the immortal words, no die-hard romantic should ever say out loud, ‘Come on! Friends only.’ He reluctantly agreed.
‘You have to eat it like this!’ I said, putting the plate down in front of him, crossing my legs and pulling the coffee table towards me. Drew held out his hands in disbelief as he scooched closer to the table that I’d pulled away from him. ‘It’s tradition on a rainy day. Comfort food, blankets, cushions and cheesy beans on toast.’
‘With a side order of pins and needles,’ he said, trying to get comfy on the floor.
‘Look at us,’ I said. ‘Living a scene from a romance novel. The hero and heroine enjoying a cosy winter’s afternoon together.’
‘You’re getting inspiration from this?’
‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I? This is perfect,’ I replied, pointing at him with my fork.
Drew smirked, dropping his eyes before gathering himself. ‘What happens next?’ he asked. ‘I mean…in the book.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, a smile playing on my lips. ‘The fire goes out and the temperature drops. Mr Pilot takes her hand and pulls her towards him, blanketing her in his warm embrace. He pulls the comforter over them, reaches for her beautiful face, unable to stop himself from touching her bare skin and then…they bang on the couch.’
Drew sniggered into his fist. ‘Wow. He’s a charmer. Banging on the couch. Highly romantic. I should be taking tips.’
‘Wait until you read my books. Tip central. I’ve had women thanking me for how much their sex lives have improved. One woman stopped me after a signing. I was having coffee with my mum and this lady said she’d experienced her first orgasm at the age of fifty after recreating a scene from my third book. They’re life-changing,’ I said, clutching my chest.
‘There’s so much I want to say,’ he replied, looking baffled. ‘Firstly, fifty? Jesus, what’s taken her so long? And secondly, what did your mum say?’
I giggled remembering her face. Stunned and bashful covered it. ‘She turned to her, slightly red, and said she was pleased that her daughter was helping her plight.’
‘Haha! Brilliant!’ he said. ‘She sounds amazing. Tell me more about her.’
‘Well, Mum was a primary school teacher. She’s retired now.’
‘And your dad?’
‘He was a sales rep for a stationary company. We never ran out of pens apart from when we needed them the m
ost,’ I said, smiling.
‘What do they think about your career?’
‘Mum loves it. Dad doesn’t really talk about it. He’s proud, of course, he is, but I think he’d rather not directly acknowledge that his daughter writes sexytimes for a living.’
‘I’m guessing that as your father, he doesn’t need those kinds of images in his head,’ he replied, grimacing slightly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Surely you draw on your own experiences when you write…those scenes.’
‘I don’t write anything I haven’t done myself, wouldn’t be willing to try or wouldn’t fantasise about,’ I replied, twirling my finger around the rim of my glass. I smiled as I watched his eyes following the trail.
‘Right,’ he said, swallowing. ‘OK.’ He cleared his throat and glanced at me before continuing. ‘I guess he doesn’t take in a few chapters before bed or offer you a critique on your sexytimes writing style.’ I choked on my water, lurching forward, my hands braced on the table. ‘Jesus, are you OK?’
‘Fine,’ I replied, wafting my hand in front of my face and wiping my tears with the other. My cheeks were aching, my laughter still on the edge of spilling. ‘Fine. Honestly. But Drew?’ He nodded, his smile widening. ‘Please stop talking about my dad reading my sex scenes. It’s more than disturbing.’
Chapter 9
Cal
‘Hold it like this,’ Drew said as he stood behind me and guided my hands farther up the axe. ‘Great. You’re a natural.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I’m considering asking you if you want a job,’ he said.
‘If I don’t get this novel finished, it could be a viable option.’ He smirked as I stuck out my tongue in mock concentration.
‘Hold on.’ He moved the log slightly to the left. ‘It’s all in the precision.’
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled. ‘That extra inch makes all the difference.’ I heard him chuckling as I raised the axe.
‘Keep your eye on the log and try to get a clean cut.’
I brought it down in one swift move and cut it in two. Amazing, considering I had my eyes squeezed shut the entire time.
‘Ha! Look at that! Perfect!’
‘Whoa! I’ll get your contract of employment ready,’ he said.
It was hard to believe that I had been at Karensa for a few days now. I was starting to establish a new routine for my writing in the hope that it would encourage more words to flow. To break up the days, I started following Drew around the complex, watching as he fixed roofs, standing back as he cleaned windows, talking about books as he pottered around in the fields. Days were long in Karensa without a distraction and spending time with Drew was the best kind. Most of the time, I entertained Archie, but I was becoming a bit of an expert at filling holes and changing light bulbs in awkward positions. Secretly, I think Drew enjoyed the company. The island was a lonely place. Great for writing without interruptions when a deadline loomed, but not ideal when you didn’t need extra thinking time to miss your family and prepare for the first Christmas without the traditions of home.
After the second morning of writing followed by an afternoon helping Drew, I invited him for something to eat. The next day I made sandwiches, and we ate them together on the little bench on the hill overlooking Karensa. I was enjoying spending time with him, trying not to force any uncomfortable topics of conversation, steering away from ex-girlfriends, embarrassing kiss near misses and luxury weddings that appeared to have ground to a halt.
‘I don’t know about you, but chopping firewood has helped me build up an appetite,’ I said, resting my foot on the axe. Drew choked on the coffee I’d made earlier, putting it in a baby-pink flask that said writer juice.
‘Remove your foot. Please. For me. You’re making me nervous,’ he said as I leant it against the outhouse.
‘The pen is mightier than the axe.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s the sword, not the axe,’ he chuckled.
‘I’m a writer. I can make a quote fit.’
‘Never doubted it,’ he replied as he picked up the firewood. ‘Shall I cook tonight?’
‘No. It’s all in hand.’ I was proud of myself. ‘I’ve made soup with some leftover veg and Brian dropped off some homemade bread this morning.’
‘Did he now?’
‘Yes.’ I arched an eyebrow as he smirked. ‘What’s that for?’
‘I didn’t know he ran a bread delivery service too,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to get my name on the list.’
‘You do that,’ I smirked as he shook his head.
‘I think Brian has a crush on the writer lady.’
‘Stop it!’ I scoffed. ‘I’m sure if you asked him to bring you some homemade bread he would.’
‘I’ve asked,’ he said. ‘He said he only delivers to beautiful women named Cal.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ I tried to ignore the leap in my stomach after he said the word beautiful. ‘As lovely as Brian is, he’s old enough to be my father.’ I kicked against the door of the cottage to open it. It seemed to work and saved my shoulder all at the same time.
‘Isn’t Brian your type?’ he asked as he followed me in to the cottage.
‘If he was forty years younger, I’d be in. No messing,’ I replied, smiling as Drew chuckled. He dropped the firewood into the basket and rubbed his hands together in front of the burner. I sat down in the chair I’d adopted as my reading spot, draping my legs across the arm and knocking a book to the floor as I did. Drew reached for it.
‘The Notebook,’ he said, reading the title. ‘I think I’ve seen the film.’
‘Ah. It’s a lovely film, but it doesn’t stay true to the book,’ I replied.
‘I hate it when that happens,’ he said flicking through the pages. ‘So disappointing. Did you read it before you saw the film?’
‘I did. That copy is well loved,’ I laughed. ‘Can’t you see the tell-tale crinkled pages? Years of re-reading will do that to a paperback.’
‘I like old favourites. You can always trust them to give you a great story,’ he said.
‘Old favourites make great palette cleansers.’
‘Explain yourself,’ he said, crossing his arms.
‘When you’re between books. You could be in a slump or recovering from an amazing read. You need something to reset the brain,’ I said, half-shrugging. ‘I’ve only just started reading again. Before I came here I hadn’t read in a while. Normally, I’d devour a book to help get some clarity for a tricky scene or to be inspired by great words. I stopped because I was scared that those words would subconsciously come out in my writing and I’d end up with a story that’s already been told.’
‘Haven’t all stories already been told?’ he asked. ‘It’s how you tell them that makes the difference.’
I was finding it difficult not to like him, especially when he said things like that.
‘I’ll use that as my defence when I’m accused of plagiarism.’
‘Copyright Drew Carolla,’ he laughed.
I got up and stepped over Archie, being careful not to wake him as I went to the kitchen to warm up the soup.
‘What’s the best film ever made that was originally based on a novel?’ Drew asked as he appeared at the doorway. ‘Most accurate, stayed true to the storyline, better than the book.’
‘Ooh. That’s hard,’ I replied. ‘Are films ever better than the book?’
‘Good point,’ he said, dragging his hand across his scruff.
I started slicing the bread. ‘The Shining.’
‘Stephen King hated it, apparently.’
‘Schindler’s List,’ I offered.
‘Amazing film.’
‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ I said dramatically, pointing the knife at him. He held up his hands.
‘I agree! Bloody hell, put down the knife.’
I laughed hard. He seemed to make me do that quite a lot.
‘What about you? What’s hands-down the best film base
d on a book,’ I asked as he ran his finger across his lips.
‘You’ve seen my bookshelves,’ he replied. ‘Guess.’
I watched his smile as I held his stare. My hand instinctively reached for my chest and I flattened my palm against it, feeling the thrum of my heartbeat thud thudding against my fingers. He took a breath, dropped his eyes to my hand before finding me again, our mutual gaze like a tiny thread pulling us back together. I’d missed the heady first flirtations of when a relationship is still young, yet to be developed into something more. It had been a while since I dated. Had I ever felt them this strong before? I couldn’t think. Didn’t know.
‘Hmm,’ I said, tapping my finger on my bottom lip. His eyes landed there. A blush appeared on his cheeks. ‘Have you enjoyed an evening watching Pride and Prejudice, the Keira Knightly version because she’s so beautiful and prim?’ His lips lifted into a smile and I stepped closer, leaning in, watching his pupils dilate. In and out. ‘Or perhaps a thriller is more your kind of movie?’ I thought back to the book spines packed neatly together in a row. ‘I know,’ I whispered, close to his mouth. ‘Silence of the Lambs.’
‘You’ve got me all figured out,’ he replied, his voice low, the blush a bit deeper.
‘I wish,’ I said, pulling back and throwing a tea towel over my shoulder.
Drew shook his head lightly and laughed.
Chapter 10
Cal
‘Am I officially a member of Karensa staff now?’ I asked as I pushed the screwdriver into my pocket. Drew was moving my laptop that I’d left on one of the stone walls. I’d decided to leave the cottage and write outside on the bench for the morning. On the way up, I’d seen him fixing some signs outside the barns and decided to write as he worked. I didn’t get much done as I asked if I could help—leave my mark on Karensa in some small way. He handed me a screwdriver, some shiny silver screws, and I was in my element.
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