The whole car ride home, I sneak glances at Skye. I meet a lot of beautiful women in my line of work, but she’s gorgeous. And she’s a writer. I’ve always admired writers. Putting their thoughts on the page, turning words into feelings, it’s so cool. Not the most amazing adjective, I’m aware, but I’m not the writer.
“My friend Elsie is a writer. She wrote the screenplay we’re going to shoot. I’ll introduce you when she gets here.”
Skye nods but keeps her eyes on the road. The rain is pounding the windshield, so it might not be the best time to talk. Instead, I gaze out the window as the dark-gray clouds swallow what’s left of the day. By the time we make it back to the castle, it’s dark.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Yep.” She opens the car door but then turns to face me. “Thank you for the books.”
Then she runs inside.
I gather my bags and make a run for it, too. Callum greets me as I enter the stone hallway.
“I hope you like roast,” he says with a large smile. Everything about Callum is large, from his enormous beard to his boomingvoice. He takes up space with no apologies. It’s comforting. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I’d had a slice of pizza at the mall, or shopping center as Skye informed me, but I’m still starving.
I make my way to my room. First order of business, I plug in my phone with my new charger. As I’m unpacking my other purchases, my phone buzzes to life. Six missed calls and thirteen texts.
My first call is to Jake, my assistant and personal trainer. I was already spending so much time with him, and then my previous assistant quit to go back to school, and Jake threw his hat in the ring. It just made sense. He wanted to come with me during this prep time, but I refused. My character is a loner. Just him and his old housekeeper, who’s more like a grandmother to him than a servant, living in this castle. Every day is the same until the housekeeper dies, and after a period of mourning, he has to hire a new one. The new servant is a young, beautiful, headstrong woman who’s obsessed with the Loch Ness monster, and my character falls madly in love with her despite himself.
How would my peppy, let’s-work-out-at-five-in-the-morning assistant fit into my brooding loner character? He wouldn’t. He’ll join me when the rest of the crew gets here.
Actually, come to think of it, spending time with Skye isn’t really going to help me get into character either. I just met her, and already I’m having a hard time putting her out of my mind. Her laugh—I haven’t felt as good about myself in a long time as I do after making her laugh.
But I can’t lose focus. I’m here for the film. I can channel all that energy toward the housekeeper character. Save it, use it.
Jake answers on the third ring. “Where have you been? I thought you died. Like, literally, I was calling hospitals.Hospitals, Miles. Until theYHFthing popped up an hour ago. Then I could see for myself you were just fine. Why didn’t you call to say you made it?”
Shit.YHFloves reporting on my every move. It gives my films lots of free publicity, but I don’t always love seeing my half-awake coffeeruns all over the internet, and truth be told, it makes dating challenging. “It’s a long story. WhatYHFthing?”
Putting Jake on speaker, I scroll to the internet on my phone. After a couple of attempts at connecting, disconnecting,and reconnecting, it comes up. I go to the open search tab, Miles Casey YHF today, and hit refresh. Before looking, I picture myself in a tuxedo top and kilt covered in mud plastered all over Google. But the only person who could’ve gotten a picture would’ve been Callum or Skye. My gut lurches at the thought. She wouldn’t. Would she?
A picture of me, looking not half bad in my new sweater if I do say so myself, walking into the bookstore from this afternoon pops up. Skye is by my side—smoking hot—her leg outstretched, mid-stride, looking like it goes on for days. Her hair is billowing behind her like she just walked off the set ofOutlander. Even from the far vantage point, her blue eyes pop.
“You’re there less than twenty-four hours, and you already have a date? Who’s the hottie?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
No. Although, going to that bookstore had been her idea. I wonder what she’s doing right now. I click on the image and read. They have her name and her Instagram handle. How do they find these things so quickly? Will she be pissed? My heart sinks as I answer my own question. Of course, she’ll be mad. It’s a complete violation of her privacy. I have to find her and show her this before she sees it on her own.
“Hey, Jake, I gotta go.”
“Okay. Have you been keeping up on your workouts?”
I haven’t. The film festival had been so busy, and I virtually just got here. I wasn’t going to do sit-ups in the middle of the airport. Now that would’ve been all overYHFfor sure. So I just make a noncommittal noise.
“At least tell me you’ve been doing the planks and the mountain climbers.”
There’s no use lying to Jake. “I haven’t. But I will.”
“Do a two-minute plank right now while I’m on the phone.”
There’s also no use in arguing with Jake. “Fine.”
I put my phone on the desk, stand, and drop to the floor Batman-style. It may be childish, but I get a kick out of it every time. While I’m holding plank, tightening my core, I say, “I want to start running again.”
“Running? Why?”
