Chapter 5 #2
Dash laughed. “It was actually a good thing, being so cold. Kept me focused on the writing. You should advertise this place for struggling artists,” he added with a wicked grin. “Ice road boot camp, the extreme way to beat writer’s block. You could charge a fortune, I’m telling you.”
She smiled. “But the lawsuits would be a bitch. Frozen fingers and toes.”
“Psh.” Dash grinned. “Wimps. Didn’t anyone say, you need to suffer for your art?”
“See, that’s the part I don’t buy.” Ellie tucked her legs under her body, getting comfortable.
“This whole tormented artist thing. It makes it seem like happy people can’t be creative, like if you don’t have some deep dark trauma lurking in your past, you can’t be capable of writing a good book, or painting a beautiful picture. ”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Dash argued. “I had a rather normal childhood—”
“Except the humiliation of that second-place prize at your essay contest,” she teased.
“Except that.” He smiled. “But, I think artists see the world differently, they think about people, about life more deeply. It’s what makes us want to create, to explore what’s going on beneath the surface.”
Ellie snorted. “So us civilians don’t think about the world?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” he protested.
“You are, but that’s OK.” She smiled so he would know that she was still teasing. “I could never sit down and write a book or movie. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Dash flexed his hands, wincing. “The first draft is hell, but after that it gets easier. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”
“How does it work?” she asked, trying to imagine creating a whole world, a story from scratch. “Do you ever base characters on people you know, or do you make it all up?”
Dash shrugged, evasive. “A mix of both. It depends.”
“That would be the best revenge,” she mused. “Anyone who screws you over, you can just put them in the movie—but as a really unflattering asshole.”
He laughed. “That’s how your brain works, hmm? You don’t think, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to immortalize this awesome person?’ you just go straight for the jugular.”
“Don’t you?” she protested. “Come on, tell me you haven’t written someone just to get back at them.”
Dash’s expression turned mischievous. “Well, there was this one girl… She broke up with me in a text message.”
“The horror!”
“Hey! There’s a way to do that kind of thing, and it’s not on your mobile phone.”
“You Brits,” she teased, “such sticklers for etiquette. So, what was your revenge?”
“A mate of mine was writing a horror movie, and he was brainstorming… So I may have suggested he call a character Claire and have her get attacked by the monster because she was too busy looking at her phone.”
Ellie laughed. “Do you think she ever realized it was her?”
He shrugged. “Be a pretty great claim to fame if she did. That’s the problem with writing your revenge,” he sighed. “Usually the people are too excited to be in a movie at all to care if they look bad.”
“Right, they get to live on forever.” Ellie yawned. “Still, I’d hate it, having someone write about me. Just imagine, being immortalized as a weird version of yourself—like they get to decide who’s the real you.” She shuddered.
“I don’t know.” Dash looked unsettled. “Wouldn’t you be flattered?”
“No way.” She shook her head, determined. “I’m happy to stay behind the scenes, thanks very much. So no getting any ideas about putting me in your movie,” she warned him, joking.
He coughed, then took a gulp of tea. Ellie’s eyes went to the clock over the mantle.
She’d lost track of time, talking like this, and now it was past one in the morning.
She yawned again, but didn’t move. It was cozy there, tucked in the warm room with the fire flickering in the grate, and she was feeling a sleepy kind of lull.
This would be simpler if Dash wasn’t so easy to talk to.
She could just keep her distance and fight the attraction until his stay was over.
But instead… she liked spending time with him.
Even when he bugged her with his ego and teasing, it was still a fun back-and-forth, words and quips flying between them.
She didn’t think she’d ever had such a natural rhythm with a guy like that before.
“What are you thinking?” Dash’s voice broke her sleepy haze.
She flushed. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just all the things I need to do tomorrow.”
“Don’t you have a list for that?” Dash’s smile was gentle. Teasing.
He already knew her too well.
“This is the revised list,” Ellie lied. “Although, this is the easiest season. We have a ton of guests, but they’re regulars. They all pretty much take care of themselves.”
“Except for that annoying chap in cabin fifteen.” Dash’s eyes flashed with mirth. “He can’t go five minutes without needing rescue from the snow.”
“He could have packed a couple more layers of clothing,” she agreed, smiling.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Dash looked down, tugging at his T-shirt. It lifted, revealing several inches of tanned, toned stomach.
She swallowed.
“They’re fine—for an afternoon at the beach.” She dragged her gaze away. “But maybe you want to invest in a fleece if you want to make it through a real winter.”
“Fleece, check.” Dash grinned. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Next time.
Her heart lifted. If he was coming back, then maybe, their kiss could be the start of something, not the end. He probably travelled for movies all the time; there was no reason he couldn’t swing by Sweetbriar Cove en route to New York or London—
No. Ellie forced her imagination back in check.
He’d said it himself, that kiss was a mistake, and besides, hadn’t she learned by now that long-distance was a lie?
She refused to be the girl waiting around for her guy to remember she existed.
She wanted to be off, having adventures of her own, not hanging out in the hope of a visit every couple of months.
She looked at Dash, stretching out on the couch. He tugged a blanket down and covered his legs, giving Ellie a sleepy smile that made her want to snuggle up right there with him—and do anything but sleep tonight.
She got to her feet.
“Calling it a night?” Dash asked, and she wondered if that was disappointment in his voice.
She nodded. “Busy day tomorrow. I’m a guest judge at the nog-off.”
“Nog-off?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow.
“Eggnog tasting,” she told him, and put another couple of logs on the fire. “Are you sure you’ll be OK here for the night? There are pillows in the closet just across the hall.”
“I’m all set.” Dash tugged his bag over and pulled out his laptop. “I won’t be getting much sleep, I’ve still got another twenty pages left in me.”
He smiled, clearly full of excitement to be getting back to work. Right. She’d been sitting there dreaming about stripping all his clothes off and doing unspeakable things on her parents’ knitted afghan throw, while he was plotting his next masterpiece. That was definitely her cue to leave.
“Goodnight,” she told him, heading for the door.
“Sleep tight.” His voice followed Ellie down the hallway, back to her room, and into her dreams.