30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Rose
“ Thoughts of you drift into my consciousness, and I’m lost, Zehma. When you glance at me, time stops. You are a harmless canopy. You’ve parched my thirst. You are my everything.”
My jaw drops open.
What?
No. It can’t be a coincidence. This passage, something that Balthor says to Zehma, is nearly word for word what Milo wrote to me.
And Milo wrote it to me days ago.
Thaddeus Blackthorn only posted this last night, just before midnight.
Thaddeus Blackthorn could have gotten ahold of that letter and plagiarized it. Milo could have stolen the passage from Thaddeus’s manuscript. Maybe they’re somehow in the same critique group or something.
Zehma of the Night Loch isn’t a romance. But the romantic elements are strong—a nice addition to the epic journey of Zehma and Balthor.
My heart gallops when I read what Balthor says to her. Far more romantic than any romance novel I’ve ever read.
I’m going to be late for work and am frantically trying to Callum get dressed.
My mind is searching for an explanation and there is one. It’s hiding in a corner of my brain, unwilling to come out. But I feel it like a phantom pain.
No. That’s not possible.
My whole body tingles with apprehension and wonder as I drive up the canyon to work, the morning sun brilliantly warming the cool spring air. I drop Callum off at Childcare, get to my desk to go over emails, and spend the next hour trying not to bother myself with this. I’m at work, for heaven’s sake. I need to stop thinking about this.
But I can’t, and finally, by ten a.m., I’ve had enough. I know what the only logical explanation is, but I need him to say it.
I take my break early and slip a piece of old unicorn stationary out from under a pile of papers on my desk. I still haven’t had the time or money for fancy paper or a fancy wax seal, but that’s okay. I’ll let Milo be the cool letter writer.
He is very good at writing letters.
Dear Milo,
I want to track you down and say these things to you in person because, number one, I kind of like seeing you in person. And kissing you. And looking at you. And kissing you. And talking with you. And laughing with you. And kissing you.
But alas, this will have to do. We’re both working right now, and we’re too awesome to be slackers at work.
So, let me cut right to the chase. I have a burning, very important question. One that has been carving a hole in my psyche all morning and which, even now, I’m second guessing myself on. It really is the craziest question. One that might make you laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.
No more stalling, Rose! Out with it!
Deep breath. Here we go.
Do you, Milo Kale Tate, also go by the penname Thaddeus Blackthorn?
Love,
Rose
Before I talk myself out of it, I go across the hall and down to the mailboxes for his department. When I slide it into his box, after stalling around in the area until a couple of HR employees go to leave, I can practically hear the ding of the notification hitting his phone. It’s enough to make me hightail it out of there and scurry to do my daily inspections.
If I’m not thinking about Milo’s kisses, I’m thinking about the possibility that he and Thaddeus Blackthorn are one and the same. I can barely concentrate on my work at all. The afternoon drags and I’m half tempted to go back to the HR office and see if he’s gotten my letter.
Count that as fully tempted, because not twenty minutes later, I’m in there, under the ruse of checking on the paperwork for one of my housekeepers who quit recently, checking to see if my letter is gone.
It’s not. It’s still sitting there. Our secrets are out there where someone could easily pluck it up and read them all.
I was so dumb saying those things in the letter. This is the workplace. I shouldn’t have taken a risk like that. Would his brothers see it and take it as a joke? Why didn’t Sebastian put in actual mailboxes with locks and keys for his employees? This is an outrage! It has to be a violation of employee privacy laws or something.
I roll my eyes at myself, and the day wears on.
When I hear a knock on the housekeeping office door, I stiffen. My boss, Anna, gives a hasty “Come in!” and there’s Milo, standing in the doorway in his affable, cool, beautiful way.
“Can I speak with you, Ms. Hawkins?” he asks, sweetly. Innocently. Anna’s brows go in the air, but she nods her approval and I’m up and out of my desk without hesitation. He places a hand on the small of my back once we’re in the hallway and steers me out the side door. The latch behind us closes tight.
“Did you get my letter?” I ask, searching his expression.
He unbuttons his sleeve, displaying a quick flash of his handsome forearm, when my letter falls out and he shakes it open, his eyes teasing me.
“It’s about time,” I chide. “I left that for you at ten this morning.”
“I didn’t pick it up until just now,” he counters. “I got the notification that I had mail and I’ve been wanting to go see if it was from you. But Sebastian gave me another project to do today, so I didn’t allow myself until things started to wind down with work. And I was going to respond with a letter of my own, but I figured something like this warranted a response in person.”
“So?” I beg. “Respond!”
“I have to re-read it to refresh my memory.”
“Milo,” I warn. “Just answer my question.”
“First I want to revel in the fact that you seem to love kissing me.”
“Milo!”
“Alright, alright.” He takes a step closer to me, tugs me into a hug, and then whispers in my ear. “Yes, I am Thaddeus Blackthorn.”
My knees threaten to buckle out from under me.
I take in a breath, but instead of pulling away from me, he continues to whisper. “When Balthor tells Zehma she’s his canopy, and how time stills at her glance? I wrote that the day after we first met. I had to wait a long while to get Zehma’s story to be ready for those lines.”
I gasp and pull away from him, searching his face. “I’m in shock.”
“That I could manage to write so many words? Yeah, me, too.”
“Not that, Milo. I’m impressed, and a little starstruck. It’s a relief that Thaddeus Blackthorn isn’t a senior citizen in Boca Raton after all! Why do you keep your pen name a secret? I’m so . . . confused about all of it.”
And now that I know the truth, there’s another worry pressing on me. One that I didn’t want to allow to blossom in my mind. But it’s fermenting now, so before he can even answer me, I continue.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Secrets are their own brand of . . . sticky for me.”
“It’s . . . I never meant for it to get so out of hand.”
“Out of hand? It’s astounding. You have hundreds of thousands of followers on Turnip for these stories.”
“It hit a million this morning.”
I gasp again. “You should get a book deal.”
When he hedges, I gasp for a third time. “You have a book deal?!”
“No, not yet. I’m looking for a good agent to shop my first book, The Dowager Magician to publishers. I’m hopeful, but the pile of rejections is growing.”
“It’s only a matter of time because you’re going to get it published. And you’re going to publish Zehma , too. But . . .” I put my hand on my heart, willing it to please calm down . “Milo, you had so many opportunities to tell me it was you. Why did you wait so long? It feels almost—”
“Dishonest?” He blanches then squeezes the space between his brows with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure it does. There were so many times I wanted to tell you, but I’ve got a lot of hangups about what I do. I’m not at all sure how my family’s going to react.” His gaze flits to mine, and his smile grows. “But the more I got to know you, the more I became absolutely sure that I wanted to tell you . . . first. You’re the only one from my real life who knows.”
I swallow hard. There’s so much to think about, and yet, that crampy feeling in my chest, the pinch that tells me I’ve been deceived, again, is something I can’t ignore.
“I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Rose. I’ll answer anything you need me to answer now, though. Anything.”
“Oh, I have plenty of questions, Milo.” I clear my throat. “I do feel . . . betrayed . . . somehow. But it feels like my go-to reaction that I can’t control. It almost doesn’t feel genuine. It’s like my brain knows logically you hadn’t set out to deceive me, but the rest of me hasn’t caught up yet.”
The fact that there’s so much depth and breadth of experience in this man that he could be capable of writing such sparkling prose, such complex character arcs, such beautiful worlds . . .
“I didn’t want to deceive you. I should have told you right from the beginning. I guess I needed some time. Rose, you’re not just the first person in my life I’ve told. You’re the first person I’ve really wanted to tell.”
I chew on my bottom lip, feeling my forehead gnarl in thought. Objects around me lose focus, so my gaze takes in the tiled floor beneath us.
When I finally look at him again, there’s apprehension in his eyes. Does he think I’m disappointed?
“I’m surprised, and yet I’m not because you’re a beautiful letter writer and a huge fan of fantasy, I just . . .” I pull him into a hug. “I know we’re at work but—” I hesitate. I want to say that I don’t care about being at work, that I’m overwhelmed with the strongest emotions of respect and adoration. And love.
Am I in love with him because he’s Thaddeus Blackthorn? No. I’ve been in love with him much longer than I’ve known that. But there’s something about knowing that he wrote those words after meeting me . . . while thinking of me . . .
“We’re at work, but I don’t care, either.” He glances down at my lips and that’s all the permission I need. I kiss him, exploring him, savoring him. I pull away as soon as I can muster up the strength to do so.
“Henry probably saw that,” I whisper, a blush creeping over my lips, my eyes searching for the security cameras.
“Henry needs to avert his eyes,” Milo warns before giving me another, too-quick kiss.
“Rose, like I said, you’re the only person who knows my pen name,” he says quietly, searching my gaze.
“You had to have known that I’d put two and two together when I read the latest installment.”
He nods, and now it’s his turn to blush. “I was hoping you would. I didn’t really think it through that much. But I knew the romantic storyline needed that kind of commitment, that declaration from Balthor. And since you’re my muse, I had to use the words I’d penned about you. It’s the only thing that made any sense.”
“I’m your muse? I’ve never been anyone’s muse before.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. I think you’ve inspired plenty of people.”
I clutch his shoulders, not wanting to let go. “There’s so much to discuss.” I glance back at the door. I still have an hour left in my shift.
“We have plenty of time for all of that. Can I hang out with you, Callum, and Thorin tonight, Rose?”
“You’d better,” I breathe, still breathless from the knowledge that Milo Tate is far more than I considered him to be. His depth and rich creativity are far more than I’d imagined.
I’m a woman of science who finds comfort in cold, hard facts.
Milo’s this intangible thing, a flurry of sunlight and laughter and creativity.
He squeezes my hand once before he clicks the door’s security pad with his badge and holds the door open for me.
And it makes total sense now. Everything in him is a steady whimsy. He’s brought excitement for the small and big things back to my life. Of course he’s a talented writer.
Of course I love him.