Charlie: Yes?
The photo he sends through next makes my breath catch and my smile huge.
Payback is a delicious bitch.
“Areyou really chopping wood in that photo?” I set down my ciabatta roll and wait. I’m tempted to open my phone and have another look, but that’d be weird, right?
Pete smirks. “Yes. I’m really chopping wood. Did the axe not give it away?”
“Hmm.” To be fair, he was only wearing a white T-shirt that clung to him in all the right places. I hardly noticed the axe. “Do you do that a lot?”
“Can’t you tell?” He flexes his biceps, the dark blue material of the long-sleeved T-shirt he’s wearing now hugging him lovingly. Then he laughs before I can answer. “I’m kidding, don’t answer that. My ego can’t take it. And no, I don’t do it a lot. Thank fuck, because it’s hard work.”
I bet.
And if he hadn’t interrupted, I was about to tell him thatyes, I can absolutely tell. He must get those muscles from doing other stuff because he doesn’t strike me as someone who goes to a gym. Is there even one around here? “I bet you make it look easy.”
His blush deepens and he shrugs it off, but I catch his smile as he looks away.
We eat in a comfortable silence for a while until Pete sits back in his chair, mug of tea in hand. “So, can I ask about your books yet?”
I take my time chewing and swallowing the last bite of my food, still deciding if I want to go there or not.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me,” he adds quietly, eyes soft.
And maybe that’s what sways me. The fact is, I like talking about my books when I know the person asking is actually interested. And I think Pete is. “I write a mixture of horror and suspense stories. My latest series is also going to have a romantic element, I think.”
His eyes widen. “Are we talking Stephen King and James Herbert levels of horror?”
I shake my head. “I wish. But no, not that bad. Probably more scary suspense. I don’t want to terrify readers, but maybe get them to think twice before sleeping with the light off.”
“Can I read one?”
“Absolutely not.” I can’t imagine anything worse.
He frowns. “Really? Why not?”
Because I’m starting to really like you and I’d fucking hate it if you read my books and didn’t like them. Or worse, thought they were a pile of shit. I can’t say that though. “It’d be weird.”
“How? They’re out there now, aren’t they? For anyone to read.”
“Well yes, but...” He’s right, of course he is. Once I release my stories out into the world, I have no control over who reads them. The whole point of writing them is for people to read them. It’s just always felt strange when it’s people I know.
“Please?” His gaze meets mine and there’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes when he adds, “Even if it turns out not to be for me, I’ll always be respectful about something so personal.”
“I’ll think about it.” It’s the best I can do. Part of me still wants to say no, but there’s another part—getting bigger by the second—that wants to let him.
“What’s your last name?” he asks, pulling out his phone. “I promise not to download them or anything. I just want to have a look.”
“It’s Dunn.” I smirk. “But I don’t write under my own name.”
He huffs out a laugh and sets his phone down. “Of course you don’t.”
“What’s your last name. Since you know mine now.”
“Harbrook.”
Ooh, that’s an interesting name. I could use that in my book. Or maybe not, if I’m ever going to let Pete read them. But then this one’s not due for release until next year. I probably won’t even be in contact with him by then.
