Chapter 5
MILES
The whole car ride home, I sneak glances at Skye.
I meet a lot of beautiful women in my line of work, but she’s gorgeous.
And she’s a writer. I’ve always admired writers.
Putting their thoughts on the page, turning words into feelings, it’s so cool.
Not the most amazing adjective, I’m aware, but I’m not the writer.
“My friend Elsie is a writer. She wrote the screenplay we’re going to shoot. I’ll introduce you when she gets here.”
Skye nods but keeps her eyes on the road. The rain is pounding the windshield, so it might not be the best time to talk. Instead, I gaze out the window as the dark-gray clouds swallow what’s left of the day. By the time we make it back to the castle, it’s dark.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Yep.” She opens the car door but then turns to face me. “Thank you for the books.”
Then she runs inside.
I gather my bags and make a run for it, too. Callum greets me as I enter the stone hallway.
“I hope you like roast,” he says with a large smile. Everything about Callum is large, from his enormous beard to his booming voice. He takes up space with no apologies. It’s comforting. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I’d had a slice of pizza at the mall, or shopping center as Skye informed me, but I’m still starving.
I make my way to my room. First order of business, I plug in my phone with my new charger. As I’m unpacking my other purchases, my phone buzzes to life. Six missed calls and thirteen texts.
My first call is to Jake, my assistant and personal trainer.
I was already spending so much time with him, and then my previous assistant quit to go back to school, and Jake threw his hat in the ring.
It just made sense. He wanted to come with me during this prep time, but I refused.
My character is a loner. Just him and his old housekeeper, who’s more like a grandmother to him than a servant, living in this castle.
Every day is the same until the housekeeper dies, and after a period of mourning, he has to hire a new one.
The new servant is a young, beautiful, headstrong woman who’s obsessed with the Loch Ness monster, and my character falls madly in love with her despite himself.
How would my peppy, let’s-work-out-at-five-in-the-morning assistant fit into my brooding loner character? He wouldn’t. He’ll join me when the rest of the crew gets here.
Actually, come to think of it, spending time with Skye isn’t really going to help me get into character either. I just met her, and already I’m having a hard time putting her out of my mind. Her laugh—I haven’t felt as good about myself in a long time as I do after making her laugh.
But I can’t lose focus. I’m here for the film. I can channel all that energy toward the housekeeper character. Save it, use it.
Jake answers on the third ring. “Where have you been? I thought you died. Like, literally, I was calling hospitals. Hospitals, Miles. Until the YHF thing popped up an hour ago. Then I could see for myself you were just fine. Why didn’t you call to say you made it?”
Shit. YHF loves reporting on my every move. It gives my films lots of free publicity, but I don’t always love seeing my half-awake coffee runs all over the internet, and truth be told, it makes dating challenging. “It’s a long story. What YHF thing?”
Putting Jake on speaker, I scroll to the internet on my phone.
After a couple of attempts at connecting, disconnecting, and reconnecting, it comes up.
I go to the open search tab, Miles Casey YHF today, and hit refresh.
Before looking, I picture myself in a tuxedo top and kilt covered in mud plastered all over Google.
But the only person who could’ve gotten a picture would’ve been Callum or Skye.
My gut lurches at the thought. She wouldn’t. Would she?
A picture of me, looking not half bad in my new sweater if I do say so myself, walking into the bookstore from this afternoon pops up.
Skye is by my side—smoking hot—her leg outstretched, mid-stride, looking like it goes on for days.
Her hair is billowing behind her like she just walked off the set of Outlander.
Even from the far vantage point, her blue eyes pop.
“You’re there less than twenty-four hours, and you already have a date? Who’s the hottie?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
No. Although, going to that bookstore had been her idea.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. I click on the image and read.
They have her name and her Instagram handle.
How do they find these things so quickly?
Will she be pissed? My heart sinks as I answer my own question.
Of course, she’ll be mad. It’s a complete violation of her privacy.
I have to find her and show her this before she sees it on her own.
“Hey, Jake, I gotta go.”
“Okay. Have you been keeping up on your workouts?”
I haven’t. The film festival had been so busy, and I virtually just got here. I wasn’t going to do sit-ups in the middle of the airport. Now that would’ve been all over YHF for sure. So I just make a noncommittal noise.
“At least tell me you’ve been doing the planks and the mountain climbers.”
There’s no use lying to Jake. “I haven’t. But I will.”
“Do a two-minute plank right now while I’m on the phone.”
There’s also no use in arguing with Jake. “Fine.”
I put my phone on the desk, stand, and drop to the floor Batman-style. It may be childish, but I get a kick out of it every time. While I’m holding plank, tightening my core, I say, “I want to start running again.”
“Running? Why?”
“I miss it. Anyway, I think this character is more lithe and less bulky.”
Jake sighs. “Okay, I’ll come up with a plan and email it to you. One more minute. Then ten mountain climbers.”
Thirty minutes later, I hang up with Jake. He somehow turned “just one plank” into a whole circuit workout. I need another shower—well, bath. But I have to find Skye first.
There’s no answer when I knock on her door. I make my way down the stairs and nearly run right into Callum. “Ah, there you are. Dinner’s ready.”
I’ll have to tell her at dinner. In front of Callum. Will he be mad that, because of me, his daughter is all over the internet?
My gut twists, but I smile. “Great.”
Callum leads us through a hall to the side of the staircase, then through a large, ragged stone arch into a grand dining room.
The walls go up to a vaulted wood ceiling.
Dark oil paintings hang from the walls that look just about as old as the castle: some are landscape paintings, some formal portraits of men in different stoic poses, all with a tartan hanging from a shoulder or in their kilt.
On the far wall is a fireplace with a roaring fire, and the head of an elk hangs above it. A long, almost black wooden table sits in the middle, large enough for forty people. Three place settings are waiting, along with a delicious-looking spread of food. But the room is empty. Skye isn’t there.
“Go on. Pull up a chair,” Callum says as he takes a seat.
I sit as instructed. Skye comes through the doorway, her usually fair cheeks pink, water droplets dripping from her hair. I stand as she enters and looks at me like I’m insane.
I sit back down immediately. What was I thinking, standing like she’s the queen of England?
“I swear those chickens are possessed by the devil himself. They got out again. I can’t even figure out how they’re doing it.”
Callum laughs.
“Ah, so funny. Laugh it up. I don’t see you nearly getting your eyes pecked out by demon chickens.”
This sets Callum off again, his large belly laugh so infectious I can’t help but join in. After a few beats, Skye does too. We dissolve into laughter, and everything feels lighter. Wiping tears from her eyes, she says to Callum, “Pass the wine, old man.”
The roast is tender, the wine rich, and the Yorkshire puddings are little pillows, smothered in gravy sent straight from heaven.
How have I gone my whole life without ever having a Yorkshire pudding?
In an attempt to make up for lost time, I reach for a third one.
Skye gives me a mischievous look across the table that sparks something in my chest.
“I see you're a fan.” She motions her head to the Yorkshires.
“To what I’m sure would be my trainer’s utter disappointment, I am.” Jake. That’s when I remember the YHF photo. I set down my fork and pick up my wine, taking a fortifying gulp. I can do this. They might think it’s funny. Both of them seem to have a sense of humor. “So, funny thing…”
In my most charming, most jovial way, I try to explain the picture online. Skye pulls out her phone and brings up the YHF article in question.
“Oh my God. I look terrible. Look at my hair. It’s a rat’s nest.”
“You look stunning,” I say, not understanding how she can’t see what a goddess she is, striding down the street, wind rustling through her locks like she’s commanding it to do so.
Callum takes the phone out of her hand. “Pet, what are you talking about? You look fetching. You look just like your mother.”
Skye levels him with a stern stare.
Callum holds up a hand. “It’s a good thing.”
She puts her head in her hands, her fingers running through her curls. I’m lost, watching the motion.
She looks up and says, “How did this happen? Does it happen to you all the time?”
I assume the question is rhetorical. When both Callum and Skye continue to stare at me, waiting for my answer, I realize it’s not.
Does it happen all the time? Yes. Do I want them to know that? No. I’m not sure why. I don’t want them to think less of me or worry about the kind of attention the castle might get with me being here.
“Sort of.” I attempt to soften it with a smile. “Really didn’t think it would happen all the way out here, but I guess it did.” My fake smile fades. “Yeah, if I’m honest, it happens pretty much all the time.”
“I can’t believe this.” Skye gets up from the table, grabs her phone from her father, and strides out the door.
Callum sighs.
“I’m very sorry, sir.”
Callum rises and pours some more wine into my glass.
“You don’t need to be. Honestly, it’s not your fault.
I knew when we invited the film to come here, we’d get outside attention.
It’ll be good for the town. Mark my words, Leakey’s will have a banger week in sales.
Skye’s just upset. She’ll cool down. She always does. ”
I nod and sip my wine. My next bite of Yorkshire is glue in my mouth. I hate that Skye is mad at me. I want to run to her and apologize, but Callum suggests space. Space is the last thing I want from Skye.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I drop my fork. “Just thinking how amazing this place is.” And your daughter. “I’m drawn to it in a powerful way.” By it, I mean her. Why am I so fascinated with Skye? I take a sip of wine. We just met, after all. I haven’t felt this strong a pull since Lana.
The wine sours in my mouth.
Look how well that turned out. I was in love with Lana from the moment she walked out onto the beach, her long brown hair flowing in waves bigger than the sea behind her.
It wasn’t just her looks, either. It was her laugh, her energy.
I thought our souls were connected, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I was falling in love, and she was playing an altogether different game.
What am I doing entertaining romantic thoughts about Skye?
She’ll just stab the little pieces of my heart that are left rattling around in there.
Besides, she’s clearly not interested in me that way.
And on top of everything else, it would be unprofessional.
I need to take this role as seriously as I’d like the Academy to.
I will not pursue Skye in any way. I will not act on this odd pull. But I should still apologize.
“Thank you for dinner. If you’ll excuse me, Callum.”