“Ava, you have to go.”
“Fine.” She sighs and shimmies into a pair of sweats over her sleep shorts. “Miles, I don’t understand. We discussed this. Several times. Why are you acting like you didn’t know I was going to be here tonight? You know our love scene is tomorrow.”
I shake my head. Talked about what? “Ava, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. When did we discuss this?”
“The first night I came. It’s part of my process to be close with my co-stars off-screen before any big love scene. It’s not sexual. It’s just a sleepover, a pajama party if you will. It will make the scene less awkward tomorrow if we spend some intimate time together. You could’ve told me you had a guest coming.”
I shake my head. Shit. “I didn’t know she was.”
Ava throws on her sweater and slips into her boots. “Can we hug it out before I go? We still have to be very much in love first thing in the morning.”
I nod and wrap her in my arms. It feels wrong. I should’ve run after Skye, but what’s the point? She’s back with Finn. Skye never took me or my feelings seriously. I was only ever a distraction from her real life.
Ava is rubbing my back slowly with the tips of her nails, bringing me back to the present.
My stomach lurches, and I pull away. “You can’t stay. I’m sorry. I’m in love with Skye.”
Ava frowns. “I understand. From what I heard from the porch, though, she doesn’t feel the same.”
My whole body heaves with the heaviness of the fact. She doesn’t love me back. How many times can one man endure unrequited love? So far, the count is two. Even so, I can’t deny my feelings. “That’s probably true. Sadly, it doesn’t change how I feel about her.”
Ava smiles and gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Really putting the hopeless in hopeless romantic, huh?”
I laugh.
“Not that I’m one to talk. I’m miserably in love with a man who writes letters. No texts, no calls… Actual letters.” She shakes her head. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miles.”
I should try to sleep.Call time is seven tomorrow morning, which means I need to be up at five to fit in my workout. But how can I sleep? I pick up my phone and open the text thread with Skye. Should I send her one? Where did she go? I didn’t even see her car.
I start to type.
Me: Nothing is going on between Ava and me. She basically wanted to rehearse our love scene.
Delete. Delete. Delete. It doesn’t matter what I say. It won’t change her feelings for Finn. But did she actuallysayshe hadfeelings for Finn? Or did I just say it? Either way, it won’t change the fact that she doesn’t have any for me.
I throw on a coat and go outside to the porch. The snow is starting to pile up. The night is muffled, the moon glinting off the white-capped roofs. I look down the road for Skye or her car. A green folder catches my eye, nearly camouflaged in the bush next to the deck. It must’ve fallen out of Skye’s bag. I brush off the snow and open the front cover.Insert Amazing Title Here: A Novel by Skye Ainslie.
My pulse picks up like the beat of a drum. This is Skye’s mystery novel. I bring it back inside with one last glance down the road. She must’ve left it. I pick up my phone again.
Me: You dropped your manuscript. Come back and get it, and we can talk.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
It sounds like I’m holding her novel hostage. I can just give it to her when we get to the castle. We should be wrapped here in the next couple of days. Then there are only a few scenes left to shoot, and we’re done. Fin. God, I hate that word now.
All of us will head back to America—well, most of the crew is from Edinburgh, but I will head back. Back to my big, lonely house in LA. No, it’s not lonely. I have friends over. It’s just the way I like it. I have my space. Everything is set up just how I like it. I can swim in the pool, watch a movie in my home theater, and take a shower with massive amounts of water pressure whenever I want.
I try again to sleep but end up staring at the ceiling, wondering what Skye is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Probably not. I stare at our texts, willing the three little dots to appear, saying she’s typing. But it’s late. She’s probably sleeping by now.
My chest vibrates as three dots appear. I sit up. She’s texting me. But then, as quick as they emerged, they vanish. I stare at my phone until her texts are branded on my eyes like I’ve been staring at the sun. The dots are gone. There is just my sappy, sad sack text about her eyes. She must be sick of people talking about her eyes. I couldn’thave been more original and talked about her ankles, or maybe the spot underneath her left breast where she has an adorable little mole.
I put my phone on the bedside table and yank on the chain of the lamp with a clang. Sleep is not going to come today. Best to move on. I make myself a cup of coffee with the Keurig machine in the little kitchenette.
Once it’s ready, I grab the manuscript and my coffee and settle myself under the covers. I feel like I should ask Skye’s permission to read her novel, but my curiosity can’t take it anymore.
I open the cover and begin to read.
Hell of a Meet Cute
