Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I hoped that by coming up here, I’d calm down and maybe come to terms with this abrupt change. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m only working myself up more, getting angry in ways I can’t totally explain or put my finger on.
From the upstairs window, I see Nate outside, near the back of the property, repairing a small section of the stone perimeter wall. Those rocks he was sorting in the shed the other day are stacked beside him. He’s hard at work, his movements diligent and methodical.
He’s not the least bit bothered by our morning. He’s totally fine!
Before I know it, I’m flying down the stairs. I don’t bother with a coat. I don’t even have shoes on!
I’m marching across the yard behind Nate’s cottage, melted snow seeping into my wool socks, numbing my toes. I’m almost to him when I shout his name.
He turns, his expression hardening with annoyance once he sees how I’m dressed.
“Go back inside.”
I completely ignore this, coming right up to him until I’m panting with anger against his chest. “What’s her reaction when he kisses her? Does she slap him?”
“Summer—”
“I have to know! You just dropped a bomb on me! I mean, this whole time, for years, I’ve been happy with Marcus and Amelia, but now suddenly, I want her to break his heart and go after Julian. Why?! I really liked Marcus.”
God, I’m angry. Inexplicably so.
He stares down at me, sweeping his gaze over my features. He’s still calm when he replies, “Marcus is a likable guy. You were supposed to feel that way.”
“Julian is not for her!” I suddenly shout, angry for some reason. I’m a hair’s breadth away from stomping my foot like a child.
“He is.” His bold tone sends a shiver down my spine.
“Amelia is too sensible to fall for him! Too smart to let a man like Julian seduce her!”
Nate scowls. “Go back inside, Summer. Your socks are soaked.”
I release a guttural groan, born from the depths of my soul. “Don’t tell me what to do! God, I’m so mad at you!”
“Good. This is what I want readers to feel.”
“This?”
“All of it.”
“You drive me insane!” I erupt.
He steps forward and hauls me up off the ground, lifting me and carrying me back inside. Apparently since I wasn’t going to follow directions, he’s taking matters into his own hands.
“Put me down, you jerk. I can get frostbite on my toes if I want to! It’s my own damn body!”
“Stop being immature.”
“Stop pissing me off!”
“God, you’re insufferable!”
Then he drops me down on the kitchen floor, walks to the back door, and slams it shut behind him. A minute later, he’s back at the wall, laying rocks, repairing it with careful attention to detail. Inside, I rage.
CHAPTER 14
SUMMER
After our fight outside, I spend the afternoon in my room, lounging on my daybed beside Cat, rereading The Last Exodus and Echo of Hope, looking for every scene Amelia shares with Julian. I feast on their interactions, hungry for more, rereading dialogue again and again, seeing things differently now that I know what’s to come for them and their relationship.
Nate’s absolutely right. It was there, hidden. It’s funny the way characters can do that in a book, take on a new life, become entirely separate from the person who created them.
It doesn’t mean I’m not still angry about the change. While I read about Amelia and Julian, I’m also reminded of everything Amelia and Marcus have been building. His love for her still exists. I read a particularly tough scene, a tender moment they share, just before I come down to make dinner. It was a mistake; I’ve worked myself up again.
When Nate pads down the stairs, I can’t even turn to look at him. I know he’s showered; I don’t need to confirm it by glancing back at his damp, tousled hair. I can smell his soap, a familiar scent now, a favorite comfort.
He doesn’t give me space in the kitchen the way I want him to. I’m clearly making dinner, but he puts away dishes, fiddles with a bottle of wine, accidentally brushes against me once, then twice, so that I can’t help but let out a little sound of frustration.
He isn’t the least bit bothered by it. If I were acting this way in New York, Andrew would scurry up the stairs and leave me be. If anything, Nate only burrows in deeper.
“What are you making?” he asks.
To be honest, I don’t even know. I’ve just thrown some things together. “Pasta with chicken and buttered bread.”
“It smells delicious.”
I aim my wooden spoon at him. “Be glad you’re even getting some after what you did earlier.”
“Carrying you inside?”
At the sound of amusement in his voice, I glare at him, eyes narrowed and harsh. He’s smiling, and god, unfortunately, he’s so good-looking. Black t-shirt, jeans, bare feet, muscled forearms, dimpled cheeks—the details of a man who seems to control my every nerve.