Chapter Four
JANUARY
Anders
Rain lashed against the windows of The Sleeping Goose Inn while the wild January wind howled against the door and down the chimney of the roaring fireplace, which I was tucked in next to with my laptop, a bowl of chowder, some chips, and a pint.
I’d ventured out to see my brother and his husband for the first time this year and would be regretting my decision if it wasn’t for the food and the fire.
It was Wednesday lunchtime, so the pub was quiet with only a few brave regulars nursing pints at the bar or tucked into tables with steaming pies or the enormous sandwiches the kitchen turned out.
I was supposed to be working through my edits for my next book, but I was bored.
I’d done all the easy stuff, and now I was trying to fix a small subplot I’d known was a bit off when I’d submitted it, hoping on the off chance my editor wouldn’t notice.
He had. And now I had to fix it either by reworking it or taking it out.
Taking it out would be the easy option, but I was stubborn and wanted to try to make it work.
Although I was currently cursing Oliver under my breath for poking at my poorly concealed plot holes.
“How’s it going?” my brother, Soren, asked as he sat down on the chair opposite me. He was younger than me by two years, and his blond hair was stubbornly resisting turning grey like mine had.
“It’s fine,” I said as I hit Save and sat back on the bench, reaching for another chip. They were on the edge of turning cold, which meant I’d been staring at my screen for too long. I closed my laptop and turned my attention back to my lunch. “Just doing edits.”
“They going well?”
“Not bad.”
“When are they due?”
“Couple of weeks,” I said. “I’ve done most of it already, so it’ll be fine.” I reached for the spoon to continue eating my chowder while Soren watched me. I knew he was waiting to see if I’d say anything else, and I was hoping he’d go away so I could eat my lunch in peace.
“That’s good, then,” Soren said eventually when he realised I wasn’t going to say anything more. “How’s everything else?”
“It’s fine.” Soren raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t going to leave until I talked to him, which I supposed was fair enough since I’d come to his pub.
“Gotta try to take Fish to the vet tomorrow. I think she’s done something to her back leg, but she won’t let me look at it.
Kept trying to chew my bloody arm off when I got close.
Don’t know how I’m going to get her in the fucking carrier to get her there. ”
Fish was one of those cats who looked like an angel—small and fluffy with black and white fur and large dark eyes—but she was a dick.
If she got what she wanted, she was happy, but if she was cross or upset, she’d let you know it.
I was half-convinced she was going to smother me in my sleep one day out of sheer spite.
I had no idea how Barney, her brother by adoption, put up with her.
Then again, he was a lazy bastard who spent most of his days asleep in the sun or on top of one of the bookcases in my office out of her reach.
“Good luck with that,” Soren said with a wry smile.
“No offer to help?”
“No, she’s your cat. You wanted to be a cat dad, now you have to suffer being eaten. I’m just her cat uncle, so I just get to come give her pets and treats.”
“You spoil her,” I grumbled, using some chips to mop up the last of the chowder.
Soren was one of the only people Fish liked, and every time he came to my house, she climbed onto his shoulder and purred like a steam train, rubbing her face against his cheek.
She even allowed him to carry her around like a baby and feed her these little dried fish treats he always brought with him.
She liked him more than me.
Soren shrugged. “She deserves it. She’s a baby.”
“She’s a brat. Luckily she’s cute.” When Fish was feeling generous, she would come and sit on my lap while I wrote or drape herself around my neck like a fur cape. It was a solid, comforting warmth that made the world a little better.
“Did you hear about the castle?” Soren asked, stacking my plates on the tray he’d brought with him as soon as I’d finished. He couldn’t help himself. I thought and sipped my pint, racking my brain to see if I’d heard anything recently.
The castle wasn’t really a castle—more a large country house that resembled some kind of Gothic castle or abbey a local landowner with expectations of grandeur had built in the early 1800s.
It sat on the cliff top, overlooking the sea, to the north of Heather Bay, which made it seem a bit like a vampiric, fairy-tale castle, which I guessed had been the point.
Even if it had apparently nearly caused the family to go bankrupt, which was justified in my opinion.
Since it wasn’t that old, the castle was in good shape, and it was open to the public for tours and weddings, and they sometimes held events on the grounds.
Visitors could walk up there if they wanted, and it was free to get into the grounds just not the ornamental gardens or house.
I didn’t really have much of an opinion on it, but it was good for tourism and local businesses, so that was fine with me.
“No. Something going on?”
“There’re rumours someone’s looking to hire it out to film a TV show. Some new period drama,” Soren said. “Apparently there was a location scout up there yesterday looking round, and someone said he’s staying at Heather Sands for a couple of days.”
I hummed and nodded, sipping my pint. “Makes sense. They’ve used it in the past,” I said. “They do weddings and shoots too. It’s a nice location.”
“That’s true.” Soren nodded. “It’d be nice if they used it though. Might get more people into town, which is always good.”
“It’s not going to happen next week,” I said, “if it happens at all.”
“Don’t ruin my fun. I’m hoping they’ll use it and bring some very handsome actors with them.” He grinned. “Colin and I are making a list of who we’d want them to use based on who we think is hottest and who we most want to meet.”
I snorted. “You’re casting directors now?”
“We’re talented like that.” He crossed one leg over the other and glanced at the bar where his husband, Colin, was pulling pints and chatting to one of the regulars, a bar towel thrown over his shoulder and the sleeves of his thick, knitted jumper pushed up to his elbows.
A soft expression slid over Soren’s face as he watched his husband.
It was the kind of expression Disney tended to animate on their lovestruck heroes.
They’d been together for years, and it was almost annoying how sweet they still were with each other.
But that was because I was still single and had been forever. Mostly out of choice.
I just wasn’t good at meeting people and was even worse at connecting with them.
The people I spoke to with any regularity were Soren, Colin, Oliver, a couple of author friends, and Bastian.
I frowned and took a sip of my drink. I didn’t know how it had happened, but somehow I’d kept up regular email contact with Bastian since the end of October last year.
We’d never switched to anything easier and instead kept sending emails back and forth like old-fashioned letters with a frequency that ranged from once a week to several times a day, depending on how busy we were.
He was probably the person I spoke to the most, and that realisation made a new heat kindle in my chest.
“You’re smiling,” Soren said, turning back to me and fixing his expression on me like some sort of detective. “Why?”
“Can’t I smile?”
“No. You’re Anders Flynn. You never smile.”
“I smile sometimes.”
“Only when you’re gleefully murdering one of your characters, and even then, I think it’s probably a manic smile rather than one of joy,” Soren said.
He might have had a point. He’d been surprised when I’d shown him Bastian’s photo of me because he said it was the first time he’d ever seen me looking like myself.
“Are you saying I’m grumpy?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” he said. “But that’s you. You’re my grumpy, cantankerous, murderous older brother.”
“Cheers.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why were you smiling?” I knew he wasn’t going to let it go, but it was easy to sidestep the truth because Soren didn’t know who Bastian was beyond my initial mention.
“Just thinking,” I said. “About work and a question a friend asked me.”
“Oh? What sort of question?” He was intrigued now, leaning across the table like I was about to spill some sort of secret.
“He’s a photographer. Does a lot of weddings and fantasy-themed shoots.
He’s been looking for some new locations, and you mentioning the castle reminded me about it.
” It wasn’t what I’d been smiling about, but Bastian had mentioned looking for new places to shoot this year, and Soren talking about the castle had jogged my memory that they allowed photoshoots there. I’d have to mention it to him.
And—said a little voice in my head that I tried to ignore—if he did come to shoot at the castle, I might be able to see him again.
I was still ruminating on whether to tell Bastian about the castle when I got home.
Rain continued to lash against my windows as I stretched out across my sofa with Barney on my lap like a fat, fluffy hot water bottle.
Fish was curled up in front of the log burner, having claimed her spot as soon as I’d lit it.
There’d be no moving her now, not without consequences.
Having given up on my edits, I’d decided to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening reading, but so far I’d had about as much luck with that as I had with the edits.
The book was good, but every couple of sentences my mind wandered back to Bastian.
We hadn’t talked about meeting up again.
I’d never thought to bring it up. But now that it existed in my mind as a nebulous idea, I wanted it to happen.
The only thing holding me back was the nagging thought that I wasn’t a person people wanted to spend time with.
Part of that was my own fault since I wasn’t keen on socialising and hadn’t really made an effort over the years.
But even when I had, I’d always found it awkward.
I’d told myself that was just the way I was, but deep down I knew spending time with people was a skill I’d never taken the trouble to practice.
And even if Bastian didn’t mind talking to me over email, that didn’t mean he’d want to talk to me in real life. He seemed like sunshine personified whilst I was a cantankerous cave troll who preferred the company of my dickhead cats.
I wanted Bastian to like me though.
I really fucking wanted that.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to spend time with someone—specifically the gorgeous, sweet man who just strolled into my life and didn’t seem capable of taking no for an answer. He was like a handsome prince walking up to the castle to befriend the dragon who guarded it.
My laptop was on the floor beside the sofa. I leant down, careful not to disturb Barney, and picked it up. I had to shuffle about a bit to fit the cat and the laptop on my lap, but I managed it without too much grumbling from Barney.
I opened my emails and clicked on the long running chain I had with Bastian, the one whose subject was still RE: LCC Photos. Then I began to write.