“It would probably be better if we start bringing—”
“Yes, we should definitely have the food brought directly into the villa from now on, thank you. And my apologies for not allowing you to make that suggestion last night.”
“Or just now,” I say, raising one eyebrow.
A sheepish look crosses his face. “Right. I did it again, didn’t I? Interrupted you. I apologize, Ms Banks. I’m afraid you’ve met me at what is one of the worst times in my adult life, which is no excuse, I know. Just…an explanation in hopes that you’ll see it in your heart to forgive me. Is there any way we can start over under the provision that I attempt to let you see the non-wanker side of my personality?”
Oh crap. He heard me call him a wanker, didn’t he? Even if it is true, that must not have felt very nice to hear. My face heats up with guilt. “I’d like that. I don’t think I’ve exactly been at my best since we met either.”
“No?” he asks, looking surprised.
“No. I’m normally not so…”
“Feisty?”
I chuckle a little at the description. “That’s a kind way of putting it.”
“It may come as a surprise—understandably so—but I am capable of kindness.” He stares at me, his expression filled with regret and hope.
I’m about to make a very big mistake, aren’t I? Yes, yes, I am.“In that case, I say we wipe the slate clean and start over.”
“Good. Thank you, Ms. Banks.”
We sit and smile at each other for a few seconds, and I find myself feeling a little awkward about having reached a truce with this man—this whip-smart, impossibly handsome man. I look down, needing to avoid the intense sincerity in his gaze, and focus on his hand, which incidentally, is positioned in front of his ripped torso. My cheeks warm even more and I scramble to think of a reason I’m staring in the general direction of his half-naked body. His thumb! I should say something about his thumb. “I just can’t figure out how an iguana didthat.”
Pursing his lips together, he says, “All right, fine. I broke my own thumb.”
“You…?” I start, then clamp my mouth shut before I start laughing.
“Yes. I was aiming for his head but I may have missed.”
“With what?”
“My fist.”
“So you…punched yourself?” I ask, holding my hand over my mouth to hide an involuntary grin.
He narrows his eyes but at the same time looks slightly amused. “I knew I should have kept that to myself.”
I tuck my lips in between my teeth and clamp down hard to force myself not to burst out laughing. After a moment of making muffled squeaking sounds, I manage to gain my composure. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s not funny. Not at all really. It’s actually quite serious.” I snicker again, then clear my throat. “I promise I won’t tell anyone else how it happened.”
Tilting his head, he gives me a dirty look which, for some reason, causes me to collapse into a fit of laughter, folding myself in half on the plastic chair.
“It pleases me to no end knowing I can amuse you.”
Straightening up, I wipe the tears from my cheeks and shake my head. “Sorry. Last time, I swear.”
“This may be funny to you but I’m in real trouble here. I don’t know how I’m going to finish my book with one hand,” he says, sighing. “I was on such a roll, too. After over two years of nothing, I was finally able to sort out how to end the saga. I had an epiphany this morning when…” He stops mid-sentence, his face turning slightly red, then says, “…I woke up. And if this hadn’t happened, I’d still be typing away on my laptop.”
There is very clearly something he’s not telling me about how he managed to find his inspiration, but no matter how curious I am, I can’t ask. It’s absolutely none of my business. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say. “Awful timing, really.”
“Yes, it is rather unfortunate because now that inspiration has struck, I feel the need to get it all down at once before I forget any of it.” He swallows hard, then says, “That probably sounds mad to you.”
“Not at all. I’ve been working on this concept for a new sort of fusion menu and it’s become a bit of an obsession. When I’m working on it, it’s like this energy is flowing through me and the ideas are coming so fast, I can hardly keep track of them.” I blush a little, expecting him to scoff at the comparison. “It's probably not the same thing, though. To you, thinking up a new type of cuisine probably seems trivial. Not like writing a wildly popular series.”
His face becomes serious. “I deeply regret implying that you wouldn't understand what it's like to be an artist. I’m afraid I’m much better on paper than I am in person, especially when it comes to…” His voice trails off and he gives his head a tiny shake and scrunches his face, looking embarrassed.
Grinning, I ask, “Especially when it comes to what?”
