Chapter 41
GEORGE
It’s night. Eight? Nine? I don’t really know. I sit back against the couch cushions, pull off my glasses, and rub my eyes. I’ve been working for hours. I’m exhausted, but I don’t care. I’m damn near done with the Steele manuscript.
Outside, a light snow is falling. I can just barely see it, almost glowing, in the soft light bleeding out from the cabin.
Around me is the scattered debris of my day. My notes, the remnants of my dinner—some kind of insanely delicious stew from Owen’s stash, one of the wooden puzzle boxes, which I’ve been fiddling with whenever I need to think.
I still have work to do. Tweaks and revisions. One fairly egregious plot hole I’m going to have to figure out. But I think I can officially say I am, in fact, actually going to meet my deadline.
I let out an audible sigh of relief that would be embarrassing if anyone were around to hear it. But they’re not, of course, because I am all alone in my winter wonderland writer’s retreat, courtesy of Zoe.
Her wacky swap idea worked. Who knew?
I’m never going to hear the end of this.
I chuckle to myself, picking up the little box and turning it over in my hand. I absently run my thumb over the seams of the puzzle I haven’t been able to crack yet.
Zoe definitely deserves credit for this one. I’ll give her that, but if I’m honest, it was Owen more than anything else. And not just because he let me stay in his cabin.
I lean forward, watching the (completely under control) flames dance behind the grate of the wood stove and trying not to think of everything that Owen has meant to me this past week.
My phone rings. It’s him.
My mind races through a complicated series of half-formed thoughts, some of which I definitely shouldn’t be thinking. My hand, however, ignores all this and picks up the phone.
“Hi,” I say, sounding way too fond, way too soft. Because I’m an idiot. Fortunately, Owen doesn’t seem to notice.
“Oh my God, George, it’s— I just finished, I had to call. God, I’m sorry. Are you working? You’re probably working. I can call you back another time—”
“No! No. I’m done for the evening. I just finished and… I’m sorry, you were saying? About the book?”
He doesn’t sound like he hated it.
I brace myself anyway.
“I loved it.”
I let out a breath I totally knew I was holding.
“Okay, so it doesn’t suck? Be honest.”
“George, it’s amazing.”
I don’t know what to do with this. I mean, if I’m honest, I thought it was at least okay. I am a professional writer. I do theoretically know how to tell these things. But hearing it from another person is different.
Although…
“But romance isn’t exactly your thing, right?”
There’s a sort of strangled cough on the other end of the line. “Um, what?”
Oh God. “I mean, you don’t usually read romance books, do you? I didn’t get that impression anyway. I’m just trying to gauge what kind of perspective you’re bringing to the book.”
“Well, no. It’s not my typical read.”
Oh.
“Right. Sure.”
“No. No. The genre or whatever isn’t usually my thing, but I’m familiar enough to tell that it’s good.
Really, really good. Like, I was on the edge of my seat, but also I had to go back and read multiple chapters again because it was just so…
I don’t know, real, I guess? And intense, and…
Just holy crap. I just wanted to live in those moments there with James and Sir Henry. ”
Great, well. That… That’s… I have no idea what to do with that.
But I guess he really did like it. A lump seems to have formed in my throat.
And I’m not sure I trust myself to speak.
It’s not like I haven’t gotten good reviews before.
But this is different. Because it’s this book. Because it’s this man.
When I’m silent for a minute, he chuckles awkwardly. “Anyway, yeah, so that’s why I didn’t get back to you sooner. Oh, and also… Marty and Raj invited me to dinner, and I couldn’t think of a way to politely refuse.”
This startles a laugh out of me. “It is almost impossible to say no to Marty and Raj. They are very persuasive when they want to be.”
“Excellent cooks too.”
“Samosas and latkes?”
“Samosas and latkes,” he confirms.
“Oh, they like you.” Knowing my neighbors, this actually makes me suspect that they are attempting their own sort of wishful matchmaking between Owen and me. They’ve been keeping an extra eye over me since Luca moved out. I don’t say any of this, though. Obviously.
“I like them too.”
“But hey, George, seriously. The book is incredible. I know it’s a work in progress, but I really, really, really want to know how it turns out.”
God, this is thrilling. It’s exactly the response I’d want to a book. Too bad it’s to one that isn’t even supposed to exist.
“I promise you’ll be the first to see it if I ever accidentally write the rest of it.”
“What? No. George, no. You have to write it.”
I sigh. “Look, I’m glad you liked it so much. I appreciate that more than you know. But trust me, no one wants to see fluffy, sentimental, period romance from the guy who wrote Balls of Steele.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I kind of do. Trust me, a lot of market research goes into publishing. People want the Sebastian Steele guy to write more Sebastian Steele.”
“Then use a pen name,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
“I can’t just—” Actually, I really hadn’t thought of that. Hmm.
“Or go to another publisher or do whatever you need to, but you have to write this book.”
“Because you absolutely have to know what happens between James and Sir Henry,” I joke.
“Well, yes.” He laughs, “But also because I think you need to.”
A chill runs down my spine. How did he do that? I feel completely, baldly, seen. It is both thrilling and terrifying.
I clear my throat, but even so, when I try to talk, my voice comes out funny. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Well, I should let you go.”
I want to protest, but I have no particular reason to keep him on the line. “No, yeah. You’ve spent the whole day reading my book. I’m sure you could use a break from, well, me.” I chuckle.
There’s a pause on the other end. Then he laughs softly. “Yeah, maybe. Goodnight, George.”
I hang up, and I’m alone again in the still silence of the cabin. I look down at the phone, still in my hand, screen dark now.
And there is absolutely no denying how much I miss him.