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’m not surprised. “I figured someone would have told you all about it before you came here to work with me.” My tone hardens as I emphasize the next point. “I should have told you before we slept together.”
“Oh…” She sits up straighter, color flooding her cheeks as she looks anywhere but at my face. “Yes, maybe you should have. But does it really matter now?” She takes our empty glasses off the table and scoots her chair back. She’s heading to the sink to rinse them and focusing hard on the task as she continues. “That was probably bound to happen to any man and woman stuck in this cottage day in and day out like we’ve been. We don’t need to overanalyze it, just the same way we didn’t overanalyze that other thing.” She accidentally drops a glass and it clatters in the sink but doesn’t break. She holds it up to show me. “Sorry. But anyway, yes, it’s done, and we won’t do it again.” She continues hand-washing them. “I mean, no offense, but I’m not going to be that cliché. Hooking up with one developmental editor was bad enough—maybe we shouldn’t make it a habit.”
She’s wanting me to smile or laugh. She’s making our last few days together sound light as air.
It was bound to happen.
We won’t make it a habit.
No need to overanalyze it.
She doesn’t understand the significance. I’ve just explained to her everything that happened with Elaine, and in doing so, I’ve trivialized what Summer and I have. Like it’s as simple as me having a thing for my editors, like I tumble into bed with every one of them. Ridiculous. But it’s hard to argue against that notion without potentially opening a chasm between us. If I explain my feelings to her—if I’m honest—she’ll have no choice but to face my words. And then what? At best, she’d welcome them. At worst…she’d rebuff them, and then we’d be stuck in this cottage together, working on my book, unable to even meet each other’s eyes. Or, she’d leave. She certainly has the right to, and not only would I have lost her, but I would rob Summer of the chance to go back to the States as a success story. She’s new at InkWell, and this project could be a major stepping stone for her and her career.
She finishes up at the sink and uses a tea towel to dry the glasses. Once they’re set down on the counter, she turns back to me with a neutral expression. “So? Is that it? All your deep, dark secrets? I have to say, compared to murder, that was all very tame.”
She smiles, and the light above her head casts her hair into golden light. She’s silhouetted like an angel, and even after reconciling that it would be better to stay quiet for the time being, the words lodged in my throat want to spring free. My lips part as our eyes lock. She recognizes my expression and I can see it scares her because her forehead wrinkles and her green eyes look away fast.
“Think I’ll head up and read. It’s been a long day. I’m tired, or what do the Brits say again…? Knackered!”
She forces a chuckle and strolls past me, and I swear her pace picks up once she’s in my periphery.
“Night!” she calls as she hurries up the stairs and rushes into her room. The door gets closed with a solid slam. If there were a lock, she would turn it. If there were a key, she would swallow it. She’s still naive enough to think the magic between us can be snuffed out if only we put it on a shelf.
She’s wrong.
CHAPTER 25
SUMMER
Sunday morning, I sleep in as long as I can manage, but there’s a tipping point where it no longer feels indulgent. Now I’m just Grandpa Joe, pretending I can’t use my legs. Besides, it’s silly. I’m hiding up here for no good reason. I can face Nate. The worst of it is behind me.
I wanted to have sex with him, and I did. I wanted to know if it would be earth-shattering, and it was. I didn’t think I’d manage to survive last night, lying awake, replaying every single agonizing moment of what we did together on that couch—and look at me! I’m alive! If there are dark circles under my eyes, well Nate’s too much of a gentleman to mention them.
With Andrew gone, Cat’s reclaimed his rightful spot in my room. I give him a few good morning scratches, behind the ears and under the chin, on his head and down his back. He purrs and stretches, and now that I’m officially out of excuses, I stand up to dress for the day. The bathroom is empty, so I wash my face and brush my teeth, and by the time I head downstairs, I have a perfectly believable smile plastered on my face and at least five different talking points prepared in the event that there’s an awkward lull in conversation and it’s obvious both Nate and I are vividly remembering what the other person looks like naked.