“Were you at a shoot this morning?” Finn asks, sitting forward in his chair.
Miles nods. “At the loch—well, technicallyinthe loch. We were shooting just a little ways up from that spot that you took me, Skye, with the willow tree.”
Finn sits back in his chair like Miles slapped him in the face. He looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes is so intense you would think we were still a couple. “You took him to our spot?”
Now who’s mad?Ourspot? I let out a quick breath. “I’ve been going to that spot since I was a kid. I found it. It’s my spot, and I’ll take whomever I please there.”
Finn shakes his head, and I realize I don’t have to sit here and endure this little chat. I shrug on my coat.
Finn reaches a hand out. “Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. I didn’t mean anything.”
“I have an appointment.” I give Miles a smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Finn throws his head back. “I can see your temper is as fiery as ever.”
I take my mug to the counter and stride out the door without a look back. I had been hoping to see Miles this morning. We haven’t been properly alone in nearly two weeks. But I didn’t want to see him like this. Flustered once again by Finn.
I get on my bike and push down the pedals like they personally wronged me. Like they told me that they didn’t like my book, or like they tried to claim my secret spot as their own. I ride straight home.
Once upstairs, I soak in the tub, hoping my feelings will drain away with the bathwater, but my bitterness remains well after the water has gone.
I stomp to my laptop. I can use this frustration. Mickey and Sorcha need some tension, and here it is in a neatly packed, sandy-haired, leather coat–wearing package. Enter the ex-boyfriend, Flynn.
My fingers jab at the keys as the plot twist starts to form. Flynn wants Sorcha back. He’s realized that he can’t live without her. Well, too bad, Flynny boy, because Sorcha’s heart belongs to Mickey now.
I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keys. Is that true? In the book, absolutely, but in life, does my heart belong to Miles? Before I have time to fling myself with wild abandon down that rabbit hole, there is a small knock at the door.
Miles is standing in the alcove with a purple flower. I recognize it immediately as one of the violas from Thistle House.
“Pilfering foliage now, are you?”
Miles smiles, and my knees are jelly. “Well, you know?—”
I don’t let him finish. I’m across the room as fast as my wobbly knees will take me. I shut the door behind him and put my mouth to his. He runs his hands through my hair, and I let out a moan that I don’t even recognize.
“Is it safe? Does the door lock?” Miles asks in a husky voice that sends shivers down my spine.
“No” is all I can manage before my mouth is on his again.
He keeps kissing me and walks me backwards to the couch, but we aren’t paying attention and run into the piano. We both laugh.
“No, it isn’t safe? Or no, it doesn’t lock?”
“Either…or both.” I bury my head in his neck, kissing the tender spot under his jaw. He maneuvers me around the piano and closer to the couch. “We could be quick.”
Miles throws me on the couch and joins me. “Nothing about what I want to do to you involves being quick, but I’ll do my best.”
After we areboth blissfully satisfied and back in our clothes, we lie on the couch, Miles the big spoon and me the little one tucked into his body tight so we’ll both fit. His fingers traipse on my thigh.
“I was hoping to sneak away to that secret room at Thistle House. That’s really why I went there, to find you.”
“Ah. Sorry I left so suddenly.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Was thattheFinn?”
I nod. “It was indeed.”
“Does he come back to visit a lot?”
