“I said it’s fine.” She smiled, but it had a bite. That only amused me more.
Letting it go because I knew she was too damn polite to demand I move, I opened my laptop. While Sarah was sick, I’d begun making notes, highlighting the copy of the book she’d given me with scenes I wanted to incorporate into the script.
Scripts were an entirely different beast from novels, and I had to hope that Sarah wouldn’t get too hung up on the fact that it was more difficult to understand the nuance of a scene when it was only written in dialogue and basic actions.
A few hours later, Sarah pulled me from my deep thoughts to announce she’d finished her chapter for the day. Taken aback to realize how much time had passed, and how easily we’d worked in each other’s presence, I looked up from my laptop to stare out at the Highland loch beyond.
“Well?”
At her question, I dragged my gaze from the view. “Well, what?”
She shrugged and gestured to my laptop. “I was so into my work I don’t know how you’re getting on.”
“Good.” And it had been. No writer’s block. “I’ve finished the first scene. Why don’t we have lunch and then you can read it?”
Her expression was filled with curiosity as she stared at my screen. “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.
I tried not to laugh at how much she clearly wanted to read it now. “Food first,” I insisted. While she might be better, she wasstill only a few days into her recovery and needed fuel. “Let’s eat out. I fancy that little burger place down by the water.”
“Burger place?” She frowned.
“Yes. You haven’t seen it.” I explained where I’d seen the sign.
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Someone else must have bought that restaurant. It used to be a wee café.”
“Let’s try it, then.”
Sarah eyed me. For someone so shy with everyone else, she had a way of looking unwaveringly at me that unnerved me a little. Like she was peeling back my layers. And I didn’t want anyone peeling back my layers, thank you very much. I didn’t have many. I was almost entirely layerless. Deliberately so.
“Okay,” she finally agreed with a shrug.
I tried not to take offense to the fact that she was so underwhelmed at the thought of dining with me. Women usually loved eating out with me. Well … they loved me eating them out. An image of Sarah lying flushed and naked with my head between her thighs rose out of nowhere, and I jumped out of my desk chair like the action might shove the image right back out of my head.
There would be none of that between me and the little mouse. I had rules against mixing business with pleasure.
I salivatedover my bacon burger while Sarah ate a small portion of mac and cheese. I thought about the scene I’d written and how complex Sarah’s characters were. It was important to me that I translated the characters perfectly because there was no improving on them.
A tourist walked in as I mused and Sarah looked up. Her cheeks immediately flushed bright red, and I shot the tourist a look. It was a younger fella, handsome, rugged, outdoorsy type, and he was smiling invitingly at my lunch companion.
My hand tightened around my fork as he wandered off, still looking at her over his shoulder. His eyes met my hard gaze and he quickly looked away. Sarah glanced back down at her plate, her pretty cheeks still pink.
“Lord, you don’t half blush, do you,” I muttered, annoyed.
She shot me a vulnerable look that made me feel like a bastard before she took a long gulp of her cold water as if to cool her cheeks. Unfortunately, my shitty commentary only made her blush harder.
I bent my head toward her, catching her gaze, and asked her more gently, “How can someone as intelligent as you, someone who understands human emotions and psychology as well as you, someone whose writing is fierce with confidence, be so shy?”
Her stunning eyes widened ever so slightly. “I—I don’t think those things necessarily go hand in hand, anyway.”
“Yes, perhaps. But there must be a reason a grown woman is as shy as you are?”
“Are you mocking me?” she asked, quietly dignified in her wariness.
“No,” I answered sincerely for once. “I’m genuinely curious. Do you even know why you’re so shy? Especially of men.” I gestured toward where the tourist now sat at the counter.
Sarah studied me for what seemed like too long. Then, “I’ll tell you why I am the way I am if you tell me something real about yourself. And not something I could find out if I googled you.”
The challenge made me tense, all the muscles in my body locking. I glowered at my meal. Something real she couldn’tlearn from Google? The only real things about me existed in the past.
