Chapter 20 Skye #2
Once I am completely naked, he gives me a hand into the tub. The water is deliciously warm and feels soft from the bubbles. My whole body relaxes.
Miles gives me his most handsome smile. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
I reach out, grab his hand, and shake my head. “That’s the last thing I want.”
His smile grows wider.
I pat the water on the other side of the tub, making little splashes as I do. “Plenty of room.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Miles says as he shimmies out of his clothes.
He hops into the tub with a massive splash that we’ll without a doubt have to clean up later, but right now that doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters except our slick skin next to each other in this blissful tub and Miles’s lips on my neck.
Sneaking back into the castle isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Miles had the idea for me to drop him off in Foyers, and he’d find his own way back. It wouldn’t look like we were together at all. Still water, no ripples.
After I smuggle our things into my room, I head to my writing room, but stop dead in my tracks at the door. My dad is there, staring out the window. He usually never spends time in this room, even before I took it over. “Dad.”
“Ah, pet. You're back. How was the writing class?”
I glance at my laptop on my desk, where it’s been all weekend. “Good.”
“Thought it was a little funny you went to a writing class without your computer.”
So, he clocked it too.
“Yeah. It was all about tapping into your creativity with a paper and pen.” Yep, that sounds legit. “No laptops allowed.”
Dad narrows his eyes but nods once. He comes over and gives me a kiss on the head. “Be careful, pet.”
“With pens?” I laugh, trying to act like I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“With…” He taps his chest with two fingers.
After he leaves, I close the door and fling myself at my laptop.
Words rush out of me. This is not a gentle trickle, but a tidal wave.
My grammar is atrocious, but punctuation can’t keep up with this deluge.
I type until my fingers cramp, until the light dims to evening, my stomach growls, my back creaks, and still the words will not let up.
They just keep coming, until finally I’m breathless.
Spent and starving, I head to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. On my way down the stairs, I run into Elsie, in black leggings, a massive green jumper, and her pink hair sticking up at odd angles. Adorable as ever.
“Skye, I was just coming up to see you.”
Undeniable joy spreads across my face. It’s honestly so nice to have made a new friend, and one that writes. “I’m headed to the kitchen to make a piece. Do you want one?”
“A piece of what?” Elise’s brows pull together in confusion.
I laugh. “I forgot I’m surrounded.” I do my American accent, which honestly sounds a lot like Kermit the Frog. “A sandwich.”
“A sandwich? Brilliant. A piece. I’m going to remember that. I’d love one.”
We both head to the kitchen. I make two sandwiches, and we settle in with them at the table.
Elsie chews her bite and then carefully sets her sandwich down.
“So, I was reading your pages again. They’re really wonderful.
The voice is just charming. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent them to my literary agent friend in New York. ”
I freeze with a bite in my mouth. Chewing it would take too long, so I grab a napkin and spit into it. “What?”
“I just sent her the first chapter. I let her know it was really rough.”
My heart sputters in my chest. “I…um…”
Elsie leans forward and grabs my hand. “She loved it! She wants to read more whenever you’re ready.”
My eyes are as wide as my smile. I must look like all eyes and teeth. I stand up, knocking my chair over. “Really?”
Elsie stands too. The joy in my chest is bubbling to my brain. I grab both her hands and jump. We squeal like teenagers. This is phenomenal. I might not even need that manuscript contest in February. I might be signed with an agent before then.
Mickey and Sorcha are at it again, my fingers lightly tapping at the keys as Mickey’s fingers lightly explore my heroine’s body. I take a sip of coffee and stare out the window at those familiar hills. How much sex is too much sex in a sexy book?
The sun refuses to come out today. Dark clouds have settled, looking like a large quilt, but from the frost on the window, probably not snuggly and warm like one.
I check the time and sigh. It’s a good thing fictional characters can’t get blue balls, because this will have to be my stopping point this morning.
The demon chickens wait for no mortal man, fictional or otherwise.
It is absolutely Baltic out, most likely going to snow later, so I finish my chores at breakneck speed.
Then bundle up the best I can in thermal tights, jeans, thermal top, jumper, coat, hat, gloves, and a scarf.
I feel like a child bundled up and ready to be rolled out the door to primary school.
I wheel my bike out of the shed and set off into the cold day, pedaling fast to beat the snow.
I keep my eyes peeled, hoping to see Miles out for his morning jog. I haven’t seen him hardly at all this week, and last week was even worse. They’ve been so busy shooting, and I’ve been busy writing, trying to get a draft done to send to Elsie’s agent friend.
I still can’t believe she wants to read my work based on the first chapter.
I try to temper my expectations. After all, she might not like the rest. It’s so hard, though.
Being hopeful and excited is one of the best parts about this whole process.
It’ll hurt just as much if she passes if I was elated or if I was sensible anyway, right?
So, I settle my rose-colored glasses firmly on my face and let myself enjoy it.
Pedaling faster, I let hope radiate out of me and churn it into pure energy. The agent will love it, and then there will be a bidding war, and I will sign a book deal with a big, big publisher.
Before I know it, I’m parking my bike outside Thistle House.
I open the door, and a rush of warmth greets me.
Kate’s in her usual spot. I don’t even take off my coat as I make a beeline for the fire.
I rub my hands together, taking off my gloves, then turn to warm up my backside, which is practically numb from the cold ride over.
As I turn, I see Kate is not alone as I had originally assumed, but sitting with none other than Finn fucking McDougall.