“With pens?” I laugh, trying to act like I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“With…” He taps his chest with two fingers.
After he leaves, I close the door and fling myself at my laptop. Words rush out of me. This is not a gentle trickle, but a tidal wave. My grammar is atrocious, but punctuation can’t keep up with this deluge. I type until my fingers cramp, until the light dims to evening, my stomach growls, my back creaks, and still the words will not let up. They just keep coming, until finally I’m breathless.
Spent and starving, I head to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. On my way down the stairs, I run into Elsie, in black leggings, a massive green jumper, and her pink hair sticking up at odd angles. Adorable as ever.
“Skye, I was just coming up to see you.”
Undeniable joy spreads across my face. It’s honestly so nice to have made a new friend, and one that writes. “I’m headed to the kitchen to make a piece. Do you want one?”
“A piece of what?” Elise’s brows pull together in confusion.
I laugh. “I forgot I’m surrounded.” I do my American accent, which honestly sounds a lot like Kermit the Frog. “A sandwich.”
“A sandwich? Brilliant. A piece. I’m going to remember that. I’d love one.”
We both head to the kitchen. I make two sandwiches, and we settle in with them at the table. Elsie chews her bite and then carefully sets her sandwich down. “So, I was reading your pages again. They’re really wonderful. The voice is just charming. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent them to my literary agent friend in New York.”
I freeze with a bite in my mouth. Chewing it would take too long, so I grab a napkin and spit into it. “What?”
“I just sent her the first chapter. I let her know it was really rough.”
My heart sputters in my chest. “I…um…”
Elsie leans forward and grabs my hand. “She loved it! She wants to read more whenever you’re ready.”
My eyes are as wide as my smile. I must look like all eyes and teeth. I stand up, knocking my chair over. “Really?”
Elsie stands too. The joy in my chest is bubbling to my brain. Igrab both her hands and jump. We squeal like teenagers. This is phenomenal. I might not even need that manuscript contest in February. I might be signed with an agent before then.
Mickey and Sorchaare at it again, my fingers lightly tapping at the keys as Mickey’s fingers lightly explore my heroine’s body. I take a sip of coffee and stare out the window at those familiar hills. How much sex is too much sex in a sexy book?
The sun refuses to come out today. Dark clouds have settled, looking like a large quilt, but from the frost on the window, probably not snuggly and warm like one. I check the time and sigh. It’s a good thing fictional characters can’t get blue balls, because this will have to be my stopping point this morning. The demon chickens wait for no mortal man, fictional or otherwise.
It is absolutely Baltic out, most likely going to snow later, so I finish my chores at breakneck speed. Then bundle up the best I can in thermal tights, jeans, thermal top, jumper, coat, hat, gloves, and a scarf. I feel like a child bundled up and ready to be rolled out the door to primary school. I wheel my bike out of the shed and set off into the cold day, pedaling fast to beat the snow.
I keep my eyes peeled, hoping to see Miles out for his morning jog. I haven’t seen him hardly at all this week, and last week was even worse. They’ve been so busy shooting, and I’ve been busy writing, trying to get a draft done to send to Elsie’s agent friend.
I still can’t believe she wants to read my work based on the first chapter. I try to temper my expectations. After all, she might not like the rest. It’s so hard, though. Being hopeful and excited is one of the best parts about this whole process. It’ll hurt just as much if she passes if I was elated or if I was sensible anyway, right? So, I settle my rose-colored glasses firmly on my face and let myself enjoy it.
Pedaling faster, I let hope radiate out of me and churn it into pureenergy. The agent will love it, and then there will be a bidding war, and I will sign a book deal with a big, big publisher.
Before I know it, I’m parking my bike outside Thistle House. I open the door, and a rush of warmth greets me. Kate’s in her usual spot. I don’t even take off my coat as I make a beeline for the fire. I rub my hands together, taking off my gloves, then turn to warm up my backside, which is practically numb from the cold ride over. As I turn, I see Kate is not alone as I had originally assumed, but sitting with none other than Finn fucking McDougall.
MILES
The loch is dark this morning—darker than the clouds, even. It makes it seem like the color is not a reflection, so much as the water itself has turned murky from something beneath. I squat, running my fingers lightly over the surface, a shiver traveling through my entire body.
Off in the distance, a small black figure appears, gliding through the water and sending ripples all the way to the shore. The figure doesn’t stop. It keeps coming, getting larger and larger as it does. I walk into the frigid water, my kilt soaking it in like a sponge, and without hesitation, I dive. Fully submerged, the icy liquid steals my breath. It feels like when I was sacked in that silly quarterback movie—the wind knocked right out of me. I’m gasping when I come to the surface. The beast is right in front of me, its inky eyes darker than the water. I can see myself in its reflection. I reach out a hand to touch its scaly gray skin, when I hear, “Cut!”
I swim back to the shore. Minnie is waiting for me with a heated towel. I slip out of my drenched kilt. Feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds, the soaked wool drops to the ground with a plop.
“That was a great take.” Minnie lowers her voice. “I thought, anyway.”
She trades the wet towel for a heavy blanket. I just nod, too cold to manage even a thanks.
She leads me to my chair that has a heat lamp pointed directly at it. Another PA comes and hands me a warm cup of tea. I’d prefer coffee, but I’m too cold to ask if there is any. I wrap my hands and curl my body as much as I can around the tiny paper cup like I’m huddled next to a fire. The industrial-strength wetsuit I have on must've kept some of the cold out, but it’s hard to believe.
