Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
And Ellie’s…not distracting, exactly, because the writing is all-consuming, but being with her in this small space, no bigger than my office and waiting room combined, is intense. Back in London, for the first hour or so in the mornings I’m in the office, I’m very aware of her, just the other side of the wall.
If Mrs. Fletcher manages to sell my book, everything changes. That’s what I need to keep focused on. Yes, I’ll have my family and their ideas about what kind of career I should have, but if I went to them with the news that a publisher had actually bought my book, they might not be quite so upset about me wanting to leave medicine. Dad might still feel proud.
I open the bedroom door and the gentle scent of lilac winds around me like I’m walking among wildflowers. It’s the same in the office. The smell is summery and pretty and it announces Ellie’s presence instantly. I try and bite back a grin. Maybe it will be nice to have some company—someone to pull me out of the fictional world that I live in during the day. Maybe it will make me fresher tomorrow.
“Hey,” I say, leaning on the kitchen doorframe as Ellie washes something in the sink. “You okay?” She was so upset earlier and I’m not quite sure why. I get that she wanted to get home, but I’m surprised she took being stranded here overnight so badly.
She turns and smiles and it’s like someone’s turned up the dimmer switch on my day. “Hey. Can I get you a snack?”
I laugh. She’s forever offering me something to eat. “I just came to grab a coffee.”
“Let me do that. Is there a cafetiere?” She turns and starts to open cupboards and I try not to notice the way her hair falls to about halfway down her back, just above the waist that sharply curves in and then out again, like a fifties movie star wearing a corset.
“I’m all about the instant,” I say, nodding towards the jar by the kettle.
She turns, her eyebrows pulled together. “Really?”
“Hard to believe because I’m a man of such great taste?”
She blushes and I can feel the heat of her cheeks in my chest. She’s beautiful. “I assumed that…” She shakes her head. “Ignore me. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Ignore her? I’m not sure that’s possible.
There’s not loads of room in the kitchen and so I let her fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Better that than I accidently knock her. Every time I’ve laid a hand on her, I’ve felt a buzz of electricity. I can’t quite make up my mind why.
“How’s work going?” she asks.
I nod. “Good. The stuff you brought up has been really helpful.”
The love story element has been more difficult to write than I expected without the notes. When I discussed it with Mrs. Fletcher on the phone, it seemed straightforward enough. I’m not used to thinking so deeply about what women are thinking or how they’re likely to react to something a guy says. But like Mrs. Fletcher says, I’m just laying down touch paper. It doesn’t need to be lit. At least she’s given me clear signposts where I should write, so I just have to figure out the what and not the where.
“That’s good,” she says. “I’m sorry if me being here has disrupted things.”
“The very opposite,” I say. Without her, I would have been stumbling around in the fog, not quite knowing what to do.
Her blush deepens and desire presses against my chest.
Maybe it’s Madeline’s blush that Benjamin first notices about her. Or the slightly worried look that underpins her smile, just like Ellie has. Maybe he wants to know what has her so concerned.
“You want a snack?” Ellie asks again as she pours the freshly boiled water into the mug she’s set out.
Instinctively my hand goes to my stomach and Ellie’s gaze flickers to my hand and then sharply back to the kettle as if she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I bite back a grin. “I’m good with coffee,” I say.
She picks up the mug and, instead of handing it to me, slides it onto the counter next to me. I can’t help but wonder if she’s trying to avoid touching me. Has she felt what I did each time we’ve touched?
I take the mug. “I should get back to it.”
“Let me know if you need anything to eat,” she says. “You know I love to cook.”
I can’t help but wonder if she spends all her free time in the kitchen and why, if she loves to cook so much, she’s not doing it for a living.
I raise my mug and head back to the bedroom and Benjamin Butler.
The way I see my hero is, he’s content to be by himself until Madeline crosses his path and something inside him is awoken. Slowly. And I can see him fighting to put it back to sleep—to not like her. But I think he can’t help being first of all intrigued by her and then impressed by her. Yes, that’s the way a hero like Benjamin would fall in love. His head would have to be won over first. They need to have a mental connection before they have a physical one. Maybe they think similarly. Or they work in the same methodical way. Perhaps he thinks she’s too focused on technology and new methods, yet they both like to carry notebook and pens rather than keeping notes electronically. Maybe she pushes him a little more than most people do. A bit like Ellie did with the insurer recognition. Yes, Benjamin tries to resist Madeline, but even if he doesn’t know it, she’s what he needs. Fate has them in her crosshairs.