Callum sighs.
“I’m very sorry, sir.”
Callum rises and pours some more wine into my glass. “You don’t need to be. Honestly, it’s not your fault. I knew when we invited the film to come here, we’d get outside attention. It’ll be good for the town. Mark my words, Leakey’s will have a banger week in sales. Skye’s just upset. She’ll cool down. She always does.”
I nod and sip my wine. My next bite of Yorkshire is glue in my mouth. I hate that Skye is mad at me. I want to run to her and apologize, but Callum suggests space. Space is the last thing I want from Skye.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I drop my fork. “Just thinking how amazing this place is.” And your daughter. “I’m drawn to it in a powerful way.” By it, I mean her. Why am I so fascinated with Skye? I take a sip of wine. We just met, after all. I haven’t felt this strong a pull since Lana.
The wine sours in my mouth.
Look how well that turned out. I was in love with Lana from the moment she walked out onto the beach, her long brown hair flowing in waves bigger than the sea behind her. It wasn’t just her looks, either. It was her laugh, her energy. I thought our souls were connected, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I was falling in love, and she was playing an altogether different game.
What am I doing entertaining romantic thoughts about Skye? She’ll just stab the little pieces of my heart that are left rattling around in there. Besides, she’s clearly not interested in me that way. And on top of everything else, it would be unprofessional. I need to take this role as seriously as I’d like the Academy to.
I will not pursue Skye in any way. I will not act on this odd pull. But I should still apologize.
“Thank you for dinner. If you’ll excuse me, Callum.”
SKYE
Iclomp up the stairs, as if my anger can shoot from the soles of my feet and shatter everything in its wake. I cannot believe my face is all over the internet.
Miles’s words pop into my head. Pop isn’t the right word—more like ceaselessly run on a loop like a record snagged on a scratch.You look stunning.He saidstunningwith eyes so warm that I thought I might melt under their gaze.
I stomp harder, as if I can physically trample out any feelings I have for Miles Casey.Feelings? I must be tired.He’s attractive and charming, but I don’t need to go melting for any man. The last man I had feelings for left to pursue his music career in America. Finn McDougall. We’d known each other our whole lives, really. He asked me to marry him when I was nine and he was eleven. I stuck my tongue out at him and threw a handful of dirt right in his face. We didn’t properly start dating until I was fifteen. We dated for years. Everyone thought we’d marry someday—even me—and then he left with a guitar in his hand and stars in his eyes.
Finn wanted me to join him in New York, and I did for a bit. I’d always wondered what my life might have been like if we’d stayed in America. Going back felt right. But when I got there it was like I’dlanded on the moon. New York was so different from anything I knew. It was bright even at night. When you looked up at the sky there were no stars, just the reflection of all the neon. There was noise all the time. Garbage trucks, taxis, horns, music; even the odd alley cat was louder than any Scottish feline I had ever heard.
And the energy—there was so much energy. When I stopped at a crosswalk for a red light while walking around the city, I could feel the buzzing of the people around me, raring to go, barely contained balls of ambition and grit. It was…exhausting.I was already planning on coming home when my mom got sick. I left as soon as my dad called.
Finn and I tried long distance for a while. But how do you connect with someone living on the moon—someone who can’t remember what gravity feels like anymore?
Enough Finn thoughts. I need a bath. I throw my phone on the bed—not wanting to look at it anymore—and get my things together. Favorite nightgown, check. Book, check. The only thing missing is a nice glass of wine, but I’d have to go downstairs for that, and I’m too mad to look at either of their faces.
It’s no big deal, pet.Maybe not to him.
Dad is the one who wanted all of this attention in the first place. And then to bring up Mom on top of it. It’s not the first time I’ve been told I took like my mother, but with her gone, it’s like antiseptic on an open wound.
Submerging in bubbles, the smell of lavender and eucalyptus filling the room with a steamy mist, I lay my head back on the rim of the clawfoot tub and try to imagine the story I’m going to write. The love story. From what I’ve read so far in my craft books on romance, I need to introduce my characters and explain why they don’t want to fall in love. I smile. That part should practically write itself. I know a million reasons why not to fall in love. One, it never lasts. Two, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Three, you can lose yourself and be swallowed whole like my mother was. Dimming her light so we could shine. Four…
A knock startles me.
“Skye, are you in there?”
I’m hyperaware of my nakedness. I can feel every bubble on my skin. One pops near my clavicle, and I let out a small yelp at the sensation. Miles is outside the door, and the only thing separating us is a thin piece of wood. I imagine him wearing what he had on at dinner, that tight sweater and those jeans that look like they were tailored to accentuate his thick thighs, walking into the room, gently touching my face, tilting my chin up to him, and planting a soft kiss on my lips as his other hand sinks into the water.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am.”
My cheeks, already warm from the hot water I’m soaking in, burn as if he can see through the door. Or read my thoughts. Or both.
“I didn’t think that kind of thing would happen out here. Honestly, I didn’t. But even so, I should’ve warned you it was a possibility.”
I want to say something, but no words come, a running theme for me these days.
“For what it’s worth, you look amazing. In the photo, I mean.” Miles sighs, and I picture his handsome brow furrowed and flustered. “I’ll let you bathe in peace.”
