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)
Summer is a spring flower come early.
The more her hair dries by the fire, the more it looks like fire itself.
“What?” she asks, batting at her face.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Jam.”
“Here?” she asks, pointing to the side of her mouth.
It’s perfectly clean, but I let her wipe it and nod as if she got something.
She sets her empty plate on the side table beside The Sound and the Fury. “So, it seems a little silly not to speak to you now, while I have your undivided attention…”
And like that, my somewhat pleasant evening goes up in smoke.
I down the rest of my wine then stand up to get more. “You should save your breath. It’s not worth trying to go down this road with me.”
Her brows furrow before I turn away completely. “I don’t think I understand. InkWell sent me here to do a job, and I’m eager to get started. If my late arrival tonight offended you, I really do apologize. That wasn’t my plan at all—”
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to swallow as much annoyance as I can. I don’t want to unintentionally offload everything onto Summer and then regret it in the morning.
“It has nothing to do with your arrival and nothing to do with you at all.” I bite the words out then turn around to face her. “Did InkWell tell you about the people they sent here before you?”
She frowns. “Noel? Yes…”
“And Kent? Suzanne?”
She blinks quickly as if trying to think fast. “I’m sure. Yes.” Then her voice falters. “Do we even have a Suzanne?”
I ignore her question and trudge on as I pour more wine, needing to get this out. “Three editors have arrived here on my doorstep with various grand plans to get me back on track to cross the finish line, but I refused to work with them and you’ll be no different.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you so against the creative process?”
“I’m not.” I say the words through clenched teeth.
She doesn’t falter. She still doesn’t get it. “It’s obvious you might need some help—”
“NOT from you!” The words burst out of me like a clap of thunder, and I immediately regret them, even more so when she flinches and drops her eyes as if I’ve scared her.
Christ.
I dump my untouched second glass of wine down the sink, set the glass on the counter, and head for the stairs. I’ll put the fire out later. Right now, I want to be done with this conversation and done with her.
“There’s a spare blanket there if you need to take it to bed. It gets cold at night. I’ll get you to the train in the morning.”
“But—”
“Good night, Summer.”
I’m almost to the top of the stairs before she replies sullenly. “Good night.”
CHAPTER 3
SUMMER
Nathaniel wasn’t kidding about the cold. A cottage like this doesn’t come equipped with central heat. It’s the dead of night and I’m lying on the daybed in the guest bedroom upstairs, still wearing Nathaniel’s sweatshirt and socks. I have three blankets wrapped around me and Cat at my feet, acting like a tiny furnace.
I can’t sleep, but it’s not from the chill. I have no idea what time it is. My phone’s charging across the room, and I don’t want to leave my cocoon of warmth to check it. It has to be late though. I stayed awake downstairs a while after Nathaniel went up. Part of me wanted to finish my wine; it was delicious and I would have gladly accepted the glass Nathaniel poured down the drain in his rush to get away from me—a pity. But I also lingered down there because I appreciated the peace and quiet in front of the roaring fire. I love this cottage. If I had money to spare, I would gladly take a vacation somewhere just like this. I can picture it perfectly. I’d do nothing but read for days on end. My only worry would be running low on the cheese Nathaniel fed me or on firewood.
It would be a far cry from the vacations I’m used to, the ones I went on as a kid with my family. To call them vacations is laughable. They were excursions, treks, life-changing experiences for which it was absolutely required to come equipped with bug repellant, bear spray, hydration tablets, blister cushions, and ankle wraps. It was not about fun. My parents and my siblings would have laughed if I’d argued that vacations are meant to be relaxing.
The worst ones—the ones that make me wince just thinking about them—include a five-day hike through Big Bend National Park in the heat of summer, a primitive elk hunt in Montana where we had to forage for our own food and mostly lived off of berries and nuts, and a never-ending sailing trip where I was expected to push through my intense bout of sea sickness to help the crew, I don’t know, cast lines and whatnot.