Chapter 16 Skye
SKYE
Ihead straight for my computer. We kissed, and oh what a kiss.
It was the kind of kiss Shakespeare writes sonnets about, the kind of kiss Nora Ephron puts at the end of the movie.
And I want more. When Margie offered me the room tonight, I really thought about taking her up on it.
I could have peeled that sweater off Miles and run my hands down his muscular stomach…
Words fly from my fingertips with light tippity taps. By the time I head to bed, I’ve made a good amount of progress on my project. Most of them are words like provocative, titillating, sultry, and—my absolute new favorite—velvety.
I go to bed feeling like a kid before the first day of school, equal parts excited and nervous about what the next day will bring.
In the morning, I write until the sun is just starting to peak above the hills, and I know if I wait any longer, the chickens will morph into even scarier demons, like gremlins that have gotten wet.
I’m just slipping on my wellies when Ava comes running down the stairs in tight jeans, high tan leather boots, and a shiny red bomber jacket.
“Skye.” She stops once she gets down the stairs, not a hint out of breath, not a hair out of place. “I was hoping to tag along this morning.”
“You want to come with me to tend to the animals?”
She smiles, and it’s so bright you’d think I’d asked if she wants to get champagne cocktails. “Yes. I’d love to. I’ve never really been around a farm—well, I’ve hung out with horses, but not anything else.”
I slip into my other boot, then put on my coat.
We go out into the cold morning, so cold I can see my own breath.
The pale-yellow light of the sun is just starting to slice through the gray clouds.
I inhale deeply, smelling the grass wet with dew, the dirt, and moss.
The air is at once floral and earthy, with a slight briny scent underneath. It smells like home.
Ava is watching me, smiling to herself. She looks away when we lock eyes. “You really love this place, don’t you?”
Not wanting to speak, I nod, suddenly feeling silly for a lump in my throat and the tear in the corner of my eye.
It’s true I do love it here, but I can’t deny that part of me really wants to spread my wings and see what else is out there.
Just because New York was overwhelming doesn’t mean that I want to stay in the place where I’ve lived most of my life.
But I can’t leave Dad alone in this big castle.
What if something happened? Once I’m a bit more composed, I say, “Most of the time.”
As we head toward the coup, Ava shakes her head. “I’m jealous. I’ve never felt that way about a place before. Well, maybe my grandparents' house, but I didn’t spend much time there. I moved a lot as a kid. Then I ended up in LA at eighteen, stars in my eyes and not a dime in my pocket.”
“You moved there by yourself?” I don’t know why, but I assumed Ava came from a Hollywood family, and acting was something of an over-glorified hobby for her while she had her family’s money to fall back on. A completely unfair and unfounded assumption I’m seeing now.
“Yeah. As soon as I graduated, I got on a bus from Montana. No friends there, just this feeling.” She motions at her chest. “I knew it would all turn out okay.”
I smile, having a new outlook on Ava. “And it did.”
Ava only half smiles as she mirrors my movements, scooping the chicken feed and sprinkling it over the ground. “After a few really terrible years, it did.”
I’m about to ask more, but Ava tries to pet one of the chickens, and it screeches at her so loud that Ava screams, and I erupt into giggles. That sends Ava into a fit of laughter as well.
We go through the rest of the chores fairly quickly, with Ava asking me about the details of some of the tasks and about Scottish words for things.
I’m surprised she is so at ease with chores.
She doesn’t flinch about mucking out into the mud to tend to the cattle, she doesn’t balk at the landmines when we look after the horses…
Aside from her scream at the demon chickens, you would never know she hadn’t worked on a farm her whole life.
Even when it starts to drizzle on us, she doesn’t suggest heading in or calling it a day. It’s not at all how I thought she would be.
After all the chores are done, we head into the castle. I’m slipping off my boots when Ava surprises me once again by throwing her tiny, but extremely strong arms around me in a hug. “Thank you. Can I shadow you again sometime?”
“Of course.”
Ava runs upstairs.
I head to the kitchen in need of another cup of coffee before my bike ride.
I stop in the doorway when I hear tinkling laughter, like a fork tapping fine China. My father is talking, and Thora Townsend, the Thora Townsend, is holding a cup of coffee and giggling—actually giggling.
They are sitting at our kitchen table, carrying on like old friends.
In fact, they seem to be flirting. I can’t wrap my head around it.
Thora Townsend is a proper movie star. She’s won a pile of Oscars over her career, which is long and varied.
My favorite film of hers when I was a kid was a fantasy series in which she played the White Queen.
But she’s most well-known for her period dramas.
And here my father is, chatting her up like they're at the pub.
I’m not angry on behalf of my mother. Mom’s been gone a good six years now. My dad deserves company if he wants some, but a movie star of all people? Guilt coats my throat as I remember my current fling with a movie star. But that’s different.
I enter the room and head straight for the coffee.
“Ah, pet. Have you met Thora?”
Thora gives me a half wave. “Good morning.”
I smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
My dad mumbles something to Thora, then grabs both of their coffee cups. He joins me at the counter and refills them. “See? Isn’t it fun having all these people here?”
Ty walks in as if on cue. “That coffee smells heavenly.”
The place is littered with movie stars, and not one is the one I want to see this morning.
I nod at my father and slink out the door.
My ride is swift and drizzly this morning.
I pull up to the Thistle House and head straight to the fire, where Kate is knitting.
I’m surprised she’s here today. She works at a yarn shop called Knit Picking, which doesn’t open till ten, so she’s here most mornings before her shift.
But on Fridays, they get deliveries, so she’s usually not here by the time I arrive. I check my watch. I’m not early.
“Skye,” Margie calls out, and Kate looks up and smiles at me. “Tea?”
My hands are practically shaking from the cups of coffee I’ve had at home. “Mmm, maybe just a little hot chocolate.”
I sit next to Kate by the fire. “No work today?”
Kate shakes her head. “I stayed late last night doing inventory. Boss gave me the day off.”
I thank Margie when she brings me my drink. Kate clacks away with her knitting needles. I never quite got the hang of the whole knitting thing. I do okay with one row, but then completely lose the plot when it comes time to purl.
We’ve sat here in comfortable silence a million times before, but this morning feels different. Because this morning, I have a secret. I kissed Miles Casey. I’m going to have a proper grown-up fling with the most handsome man I have ever met.
The memory of his hands on my waist, his lips on mine, the rain falling all around us has me smiling into my mug.
“What?” Kate says.
I shake my head. “What?”
“What’s with the smirk?”
I raise my eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “I’m not smirking. I just enjoy your company, and this hot chocolate is lovely.”
Kate narrows her eyes. “Oh my God. You got laid. Is it that braw American?”
How does she see right through me? “I did not get laid, and you watch far too much American tele.”
Kate is still looking at me suspiciously. “Well, something happened.” She puts down her knitting, picks up her tea, and leans forward in her chair. “Dish.”
I sigh, but if I’m honest, I’m dying to tell someone. I lean forward too. “You can’t tell anyone. Like anyone at all. Swear it.”
“I swear.”
“Swear it on Christie.” When we were fifteen, we got very into the BBC version of Hercule Poirot.
We watched the episodes nonstop and Death on the Nile with Mia Farrow on a virtual loop.
We read every single book Agatha Christie ever wrote.
We read And Then There Were None five times in one summer.
Since then, if we’re really serious about something, we swear on Christie like it is our version of the Holy Bible.
Kate laughs. “Well, it’s been a minute.” She places a solemn hand over her heart. “I swear it on Christie.”
I tell Kate all about our epic kiss by the loch, every single swoony detail. Then I tell her about our agreement to have a mature, no-holds-barred, no emotions fling.
Kate shakes her head and picks up her knitting. “You are going to have a fling?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe? Why do you keep saying you like that?”
“Because every single person you’ve ever dated, you end up engaged to.
” I’m opening my mouth to protest when she holds up a finger.
“Even Seamus Flanagan in primary school when you first moved here. Remember, he gave you one of those silly candy rings and he told you not to eat it so it would stay nice.”
I laugh. “He actually shellacked it so I couldn’t eat it.”
“He did?” She shakes her head and goes back to clacking away with her needles. “You see my point.”
“We were kids.”
“What about Finn?”
I sit back in my chair like she slapped me. We don’t talk about Finn, ever. I set down my cup. “I should get going.”
“Skye, wait. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“That’s why it’s a fling. No one has to get hurt.”
I ride home hard, trying to pedal off some of my annoyance.
How dare she imply that I will get attached to Miles?
That I fall in love with every bloke I ever date.
I run through the very short list in my head and pump my legs faster, as I see that she is infuriatingly right.
There was Seamus in primary school, then Charlie in secondary school, and then, of course, Finn.
Just because I was serious with all of them doesn’t mean I will be with Miles. I’m older and wiser now. I can see love for what it is—a big, fat farce. Miles and I can just make out a bit while he’s here and say a fond farewell when he goes.
Riding down the road, wind in my hair, excitement bubbles in my throat. This is all going to work out. When Miles leaves, I will have a best-selling romance novel and a secret.
Coming around a sharp corner, I see a figure approaching me on foot. Miles is out for a run—sweat making his tight shirt cling to his torso. His body-hugging running tights leave little to the imagination, his powerful thighs flexing with every foot strike. Slowing down my bike, I hop off.
“Skye.” He waves, speeding up as he runs toward me.
It feels like the scene in the airport at the end of the movie.
The handsome man running toward the attractive woman with sleek hair, or in this case, me with my curls wild around my face, to tell her he loves her and can’t live without her.
I shake those last thoughts out. No, this is just about attraction.
As he gets closer, I throw my bike down, run to meet him, and fling my arms around his neck.
In one fell swoop, he hoists me up, his large hands on my ass.
I wrap my legs around him. Our mouths meet like they are magnets, unable to resist the force of each other.
It feels like years since our last kiss, even though it was only yesterday.
I memorize the feel of his lips with mine. Soft, yet firm.
I pull back as I hear footfalls getting closer, and Miles puts me down. Ava runs around the corner, sweat glittering on her forehead. She literally doesn’t sweat; she sparkles. Miles and I move apart quickly like teenagers caught knacking in a car park. But I’m pretty sure Ava didn’t see anything.
“Skye.” She stops when she meets us, her eyes go wide, and she points to my bike abandoned on the side of the road, the back tire still spinning. “Did you get in a wreck?”
“Ah, no,” Miles says right as I say, “A wee one.”
Ava looks between us both. Miles wipes the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his forearm, then says in a horrible impression of someone surprised, “You did? I didn’t realize.”
I resist the urge to shake my head. How can someone who is a brilliant actor be such a terrible liar?
“Just hit a bump.” I pick up my bike. “It’s fine. The bike’s fine. Everything’s grand.”
Ava smiles. “Ahh, well, we’re only about halfway into a five-miler, right, Miles?”
He nods, but his eyes are drinking me in. Goosebumps ripple the back of my neck. “Do you want to join us?”
I shake my head and put out my leg, pointing to the toe of my boot. His eyes follow the line of my leg all the way up my body to meet my gaze, his brown eyes smoldering. He bites the side of his lip. “Not properly attired.”
Ava waves. “Ahh, maybe next time.” She runs away.
Miles mouths, You’re killing me. I smile. He gives my butt a covert pat before he runs after Ava.
I pedal back to the castle as if my bike has wings.