Chapter 24 Skye
SKYE
It’s been nine days. Miles has been gone for nine days.
We’ve texted a little, but not much. The reception where they are is spotty.
And honestly, I haven’t been quick to respond.
If I let the texts sit unanswered, maybe I won’t miss him so much.
I can fool myself into being okay with this.
Like tapering off contact will make it easier.
He offered for me to visit again. But I can’t. They are staying in a small group of cottages all next to each other. How would we sneak around when everyone else is so close? Anyway, I need to finish this book.
In fact, I’m at my laptop right now, killing time until I need to leave for my writing critique group, but the words aren’t coming.
I got here an hour early to try to get some writing done, since this morning I wrote a whopping one-hundred and thirty-seven words.
And also because I didn’t want to stay at dinner any longer.
Thora came back a week ago, and tonight she and my father made dinner together.
“Isn’t the roast great?” Dad asked, kicking my foot under the table.
Truth be told, it was dry. Very dry.
I smiled. “It’s great.”
Dad and Thora kept exchanging these looks the whole meal.
They had little in-jokes too that didn’t make a lick of sense to me, but made Thora giggle.
I excused myself after what to me seemed an acceptable amount of time.
It’s not that I’m against my father dating, if that’s what they’re doing.
But where could it go? Thora lives in LA.
Dad lives here. A familiar problem, for sure, but not mine this time.
I thought I’d get more done with the production crew leaving—a quiet castle, no interruptions. But that is definitely not the case. It’s like the muse accepted Miles’s invitation, packed up, and left with him. The hussy.
I could visit him. What would be the harm?
It’s a dry night, so I opt to ride to Thistle House for our meeting. The night swallows me in its cool embrace, the wind in my face refreshing. I didn’t give myself enough time, so I’m ten minutes late.
“There she is!” Bella says and claps her hands together as I walk through the door, shrugging off my coat.
Gabby’s face is a little pinched, but it always is. It’s probably not from my tardiness. Hopefully.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Kate hands me a whiskey she had waiting for me with a smile. “What were you getting up to?”
I blush, even though I absolutely wasn’t fooling around since Miles isn’t even in town.
Gabby smiles. “Ah, yes, probably just furiously typing away.”
I laugh. “Not hardly.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Bella says. “You’ve nearly written a whole novel in…when did you start it again?”
“The beginning of September.” When Miles first came here. It feels like a lifetime ago.
I take a seat, settling into the cushions. We talk about Bella’s work first. Her killer needs a better motivation to be believable. Right now, the motive is protecting a long-held family recipe for mincemeat pie, and Gabby, Kate, and I agree, we’re not sure that’s murder worthy.
We talk about Gabby’s manuscript. It's flawless, as per usual. She’s going to send it out in the new year, since most of publishing takes the holidays off.
Then we come to my pages. They’ve read all I’ve written so far. I’m about sixty percent through my manuscript.
Gabby clears her throat. “I’m curious how much of this is… well… autobiographical?”
Kate bites her lip, not saying a word. She’s the only one who knows about Miles and me.
I freeze, quite literally, with my whiskey glass halfway to my mouth. “What makes you ask, out of curiosity?”
“I follow your IG account, and back in September, you were tagged in YHF’s post. You were walking with Miles Casey. And I noticed in the pages, there are a few times early on, where Mickey is spelled M-L-E-S.”
Bella covers her mouth, her eyes wide.
Shit. Find and replace does not replace typos.
“I was just curious. Is Mickey really Miles Casey, and are you Sorcha?”
Gabby is an excellent mystery writer and clearly an excellent detective as well.
I sigh. “Is it really that obvious?”
Bella is shaking her head, but Gabby says, “Yes.”
Kate pipes up, “I swear I didn’t say anything!”
“I didn’t know,” Bella insists as she pours more wine into her glass. “But I’m also not on social media. Good Lord, Skye! Are you really dating Miles Casey?”
The whole thing comes spilling out. I tell them all about our romance, sparing the spicy details. Why, I’m not sure, since they’ve already read about most of them, all exaggerated, I assure them.
Truly, most of them are shockingly accurate…
Gabby is sitting with her drink to her lips, her expression very thoughtful.
Bella is absolutely thrilled.
I pick up my whiskey and take a sip, focusing on the cool glass under my palm and the caramel notes on my tongue, trying not to guess what they might be thinking. I’ve known these women long enough to know sometimes they all need a minute to process before speaking.
Staring at my glass, the fire dancing behind it as I wait, I end up just staring at my own reflection. It startles me how much I look like my mother in the shiny surface.
Kate clears her throat, pulling me back to the present. “Has Miles read it?”
My stomach churns. I set my wine down, the taste of it heavy on my tongue.
Has Miles read it? No. Absolutely not. Hopefully, he never will.
But if Bella and Gabby could figure out it was Miles, and Elsie could tell, will it be obvious to everyone?
No. They all just know me—well, Elsie doesn’t really. Shit.
“Skye?” Gabby says.
“No. He hasn’t read it. What if I changed his name to Ben?”
Bella is nodding, but Gabby is shaking her head. “You paint such a vivid picture of him. You describe his face, his body. He’s an actor. He was in a teeny bopper football movie. You would need to change more than his name.”
My heart sinks into my slippers. Am I going to have to scrap this whole manuscript?
I’ve put so many of my other books to bed.
Set them aside after revising going in circles, or a stiff rejection.
On to the next shiny new project. But this book is so close to my heart.
I can feel the heft of the words on the page.
They are like a calming weighted blanket to me. I can’t lock this one away. I can’t.
Bella sits up, sloshing her wine a little on the floor as she does. “Just ask for his permission. I’m sure he will agree. It’ll be grand.”
Kate is nodding. “You said he invited you on location, right?”
I nod.
“A drop-dead sexy man has invited you on location? What are you still doing chatting with us? You can take some pages and talk to him about it when you aren’t otherwise engaged.” Bella winks in an exaggerated manner.
The timer dings from Gabby’s phone. Always the timekeeper. Gabby and Bella take off first, leaving Kate and me to finish our whiskeys.
“What is stopping you? Why not join Miles on set?”
“What if he changed his mind?”
“He didn’t.”
I roll my glass in my hands, not able to meet her eyes. “What if he breaks my heart?”
Kate gently touches my chin, our eyes meeting. “At least it will be getting some good use.”
I glance over at the bar where Tommy is sitting, staring at us—well, Kate more accurately. “You’re one to talk.”
She sighs. “I’ll go talk to Tommy if you go talk to Miles.”
I smile. What am I waiting for? “It’s a deal.”
Hopping on my bike, I decide I don’t even have to show him the pages if it doesn’t feel right. Either way, I would get to see him, kiss him, and snuggle in his arms.
That’s it, I’m going.
Once home, I open my laptop back up and print out what I have of the manuscript so far, then head to my room to pack. I’m so focused on my task that I nearly run right into my dad.
“Whoa!”
“Sorry, Dad. I’m going on a little trip. Would you mind feeding the chickens?”
I don’t wait for his answer; I just continue to my room to pack. I need to go now if I want to get there at any kind of decent hour.
Dad follows me. “Can you go tomorrow? I can feed the chickens, that’s no problem. It’s just…I’d like to talk to you.”
Dad’s face is red, and he looks flustered. My dad is never flustered.
I stop walking. “Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
He laughs. “I’m grand. Oh, pet, look at your face.” He smooths the wrinkle between my brows. “I’m great.”
“Can we talk now?”
“I’d really like to talk to you over a proper dinner.”
“Of course.”
He smiles and gives my shoulder a pat. I can leave for Glen Coe after dinner tomorrow. What’s one more night?
The writing in the morning comes like a defective faucet in dribbles and spurts, but I end up with two hundred words, and after the last few days, I take it as a win.
I pack in the afternoon, making sure my manuscript pages are tucked away in the inside pocket of my messenger bag, and toy with the idea of texting Miles to let him know I’m coming.
But a surprise would be better. I picture his face as he opens the door to his little cabin, shirtless obviously, because this is my fantasy, and he can wear whatever I imagine.
He beams and picks me up, swinging me around the room until we land on the bed—both of us suddenly with no clothes.
The day takes ages to pass by. I fiddle around with the piano, trying to work out the song that seems to always be stuck in my head now. “Somewhere Only We Know.” Our song. I make a playlist on my phone for the drive later that I title “To Miles.”
When dinner finally does come, I’m surprised to see the table is elegantly set, but Thora is nowhere to be seen. I thought they both wanted to talk to me, and I’m a little ashamed of how thrilled I am that it’s just my father and me.
Dad’s made a beef stew. The smell of sage and the freshly made loaf of bread has my mouth watering. I sit. After a few minutes, Dad joins me, coming in with a bottle of red wine.
He pours us each a glass and raises his. “A toast.”
I raise mine as well. “Cheers.”