“She’s growing like a weed. She’s three now, and the next one is due in December.”
I already knew. It’s all Logan posts on his feed. I just wasn’t sure how to launch into it. “That’s awesome.”
Silence crackles over the phone.
“So…what’s up?” Logan asks, sounding just the tiniest bit suspicious.
“Yeah, so…” I explain to Logan about the film production and my need for them not to use Castle Loch Ness.
“I don’t know, Skye. I’ll look into it, but two weeks is pretty short notice. If Dun Loch Ness needs the money?—”
I appreciate his referring to the castle as “in need” rather than me.
“—why not let them shoot there? It sounds like it could be a lot of fun.”
How can I explain my gut reaction that inviting this circus into the castle would be disastrous? My mother had been a star at one point. She was a singer-songwriter and made three albums, one of which got really big. She met my father after the release of her second album. When they married, she continued singing and released one last record before falling pregnant with me. She gave it all up and never said why. Once, when I was thirteen, I gathered all my courage and asked her plainly why she quit. She could’ve been a big star, like Adele or Lily Allen.
She said, “I changed. It wasn’t who I was anymore.”
I didn’t understand. I still don’t. Would she want the fame she left behind knocking on our door now?
Besides, how can I write with all the distractions? Once I sell my book, we can pay for repairs with my advance. If I write a bestseller, we can keep the castle afloat with just my income.
And then, of course, there’s the stupid letter.
Remembering Logan is still waiting for an answer, I say, “It’s hard to explain. In my gut, I just know it’ll change everything.”
There’s a beat, and then Logan says, “Change might not be such a bad thing. But I’ll see what I can do.”
Swapping my phone for my book in my bag, I feel better already. Logan will find something, and then the whole production can move to Lewiston or Dores—anywhere but here.
I tuck into the book Kate made me buy. I’ve been inhaling it—gulping air like I’d just hopped off the bike after a steep hill. It’s about a pop star and a baker falling in love. I usually only read mysteries or thrillers, sometimes the odd literary fiction, but I’m hooked on this romance despite myself. None of it is based in reality. Proper fiction, practically a fantasy novel, really. But it’s the first romance I’ve read, and it’s a revelation. Someone doesn’t have to die in a book in order for it to be exciting. Who knew?
“Good book?”
I startle, spilling a little coffee on the page I’m on.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Miles frowns. “I thought you saw me coming toward the table.”
I’d been so lost in the story, I hadn’t. Somewhere along the way in his shopping, Miles had changed out of the enormous trousers and into a pair of dark-gray jeans and a black jumper that hugs his body in such a seductive way, I imagine my fingertips gliding along the soft knit.
“There’s a bookstore back there,” Miles says, jarring me out of my daydream. “I can buy you a new copy. What book is it?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I suddenly don’t want Miles to know I’m reading a romance. It’s low spice, from what Kate says, but all the same, I shove the book into my bag.
“No, it’s fine.” Then I think about how little of the novel I actually have left. I’m itching for another romance to lose myself in, and Idon’t have any at home. “On second thought, I’d love to stop at the shop for a new book, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. My treat. I’m in the market for something new to read, too. I finished the one I was reading in the airport.”
I smile, not sure I want to let him buy me a romance book, or anything for that matter. I’ve already warmed to him more than I expected on our drive over here. I don’t need another reason to like him. Especially since once I figure out how to stop this production from happening at the castle, he probably won’t speak to me again.
“We’ll see. I know a better bookstore than this one, though. Come on.”
We throwMiles’s packages in my car and walk the short way.
“How far is it?”
I see Leakey’s in the distance and point. “It’s right over there.”
