Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Book stacks can be used to measure…things.
My shelves are no match for Sanderson.
The choice of clothing was accidental.
“Okay, so tell me again,” Otis grinned, rearranging the towering stacks of Earth’s Core on the counter just to irritate me, “how many orgasms are we talking, exactly?”
“I’ll tell you again, Oaty Schmoaty, that it’s absolutely none of your business,” I said, checking out Pride and Prejudice and Zombies for a tiny, pearl-wearing grandma who was either hard of hearing or blessedly unbothered.
“Is this a present?” I asked her, mostly for something to say.
“Oh no, dear. Just a treat for myself.”
With trembling fingers, she placed the book in her shopping trolley. I considered warning her that it wasn’t exactly the Austen she might be expecting—but decided to let it be. Everyone deserves surprises.
As she shuffled away, I leaned against the counter and refreshed the Haller & Mark site. My numbers were climbing steadily. John’s had finally plateaued, thank God, but he was still ahead of me, and “JereMay,” as the internet had tragically dubbed them, had surged into the lead.
“You’re a party pooper,” Otis groaned dramatically, still stuck on the other numbers.
I’d told him. Told him it was enough times. That the thing between me and John was over. One steamy lapse in judgment, and now Mr. Fancy Bestselling Author and fanfic connoisseur Nora Skye were back to being competitors with zero tension and a lot of spite.
“Maybe just a hint at how…large?”
Otis began stacking books on the counter. One by one. His grin spread as the pile grew. “No? Still more?” Another book. His eyes sparkled with glee.
I rolled mine and said nothing. Just grabbed one of the green covers and placed it on top of his tower before walking off without further confirmation. His gasp of delight made me grin.
“And you’re sure you’re totally over it?” he called after me. “How would that even be possible?”
“So over it,” I called back, heading for the staff exit and up the stairs as if to check on Mom.
As soon as I was out of view, I sank down onto the steps and pulled out my phone. The local resale page lit up. My old drawing table had a pending offer. It hurt to let it go, but we were days away from the power being shut off.
That, and keeping a brave face around Otis was getting harder than I expected.
I was over it. Obviously. And yet...I’d caught myself staring at the calendar, mentally willing the days to stretch, just to buy a little more time before heading back to the cabin.
Three weeks hadn’t been enough. It had taken a full seven days for the love bites to fade.
Not that I checked them daily. That would be weird. Excessive. Pathetic.
My bag was already packed for tomorrow. Mom thought I was going on a cabin trip with my boyfriend. Which—technically—was only half a lie.
When I saw the sale had gone through and I could cover next month’s energy bill, I let out a slow, shaky breath. Whatever that whole John Kater thing had been, I couldn’t let it distract me. Not from what was at stake.
Not from the reason I was here in the first place.
The next morning, Otis kept giving me that look again. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror for the tenth time in an hour. I was in the backseat this time, Jeremy in the front beside him, blushing every time Otis rested a hand on his thigh. It was adorable. Sickening, too, but mostly adorable.
Jeremy had made the trip to Middleton just so we could travel together this time. And not at all because the two of them were a breath away from making it official and couldn’t stay apart any longer.
Otis threw me another side-eye. Another judgmental glance.
“Have you lost something, Otis?” I finally snapped.
“Nope.” He bit back a grin. “You just look…nice.”
I frowned, glancing down. Combat boots. Leopard print coat. Black slip dress. Wait—
“Oh.”
“You do look lovely, Nora,” Jeremy added, turning in his seat to flash me a sweet, freckled smile. I could absolutely see what Otis saw in him.
“Thanks,” I muttered, throat suddenly dry.
It was the outfit. That outfit. The one from the selfie. Which, of course, had been totally on accident. Ever since John had invaded my life, I’d been living in a chaotic mess of accidents.…selfies, swims, kisses, and other…things.
I silently begged the universe to let me arrive before him, so I could change. Just the thought of being under the same roof again was enough to overheat my internal circuits.
Not the same bed, though. Definitely not.
I had even toyed with telling Charlene I had, I don’t know, explosive diarrhea, and had to do my revisions at home. But it felt too risky. What if she thought I wasn’t cut out for this?
Maybe John wouldn’t even come. Maybe he was full of regret, mortified by it all. Maybe he’d decided to do the retreat remotely from his sexy little houseboat with his sexy little French press and sexy little reading glasses.
But no. Of course not.
As we pulled into the drive, every car was already parked. Including his.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Otis said, winking as I opened the door.
“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” I said flatly.
“Exactly.” He blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes and shouldered my bag.
Otis and Jeremy lingered behind, caught in a chaste-but-swoony goodbye kiss.
The front door swung open as I reached the top stair. May pulled me into a brief hug. “Nora,” she beamed, then pushed past me to greet Jeremy.
Charlene followed, bright and breezy. “Good news—no snowstorms in the forecast.” Then she disappeared outside to greet the others.
And just like that, I was alone in the entrance hall.
And then I wasn’t.
He was there.
I had told myself the memories I kept replaying had been romanticized—overly saturated by the haze of sex and hormones. That I’d exaggerated the sharpness of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes. That I had filled in the blanks too generously. That he wasn’t really all that.
But as he sat there, in the cognac leather chair on the opposite side of the entrance, one ankle balanced on the other knee, his glasses perched on his perfectly sculpted nose, a snug turtleneck fitting like a glove and painting a landscape of his pecs, I realized that no…
the memories hadn’t been half as breathtaking as the man himself.
The only thing breaking the sea of black was his oversized watch, catching the slant of sunlight pouring through the window. Golden dust articles bathed his shoulders, his hair.
“Nora,” he said with a small nod. My stomach flipped. I ignored it.
Cool-girl exterior. Come on, Nora. He’s just a guy. Like…ew.
“John,” I returned, hefting my bag higher. I was one second away from bolting upstairs, ditching this dress, and plunging into a cold, cold shower.
Then his eyes dropped to my outfit. His brows lifted, his lips parted slightly.
Shit. He noticed.
I should’ve worn something safer. A hoodie. A coat. A medieval suit of armor. But no. I had to wear this dress. The dress.
Wait. No. I wasn’t going to apologize for looking good. It was just a dress. So what if it happened to be that dress? I had every right to exist in it.
“Everyone’s on time, goodie,” Charlene chimed behind me as Jeremy and May stepped in. She was practically singing to herself as she handed out folders and uncorked a bottle of wine. “Who’s excited for a childfree week?”
While Charlene prepped dinner, the rest of us slipped back into our previous bedrooms, like it had been silently agreed upon.
Which meant—yep—John was once again sharing a wall with me.
I tried to focus on my editing notes instead of the soft zip of his suitcase or the thud of his boots hitting the floor.
The feedback this time was lighter. Mostly comments about my main character. There was something I still hadn’t quite cracked. Something emotional. Something missing.
When I finally opened my door to head down for dinner—determined to show up for every meal, every workshop, every conversation—I flinched when John’s door opened at the exact same time.
We both paused. A blink too long. For a second, I could’ve sworn I saw something shift in his expression—his eyes flicking to my mouth, pupils darkening just slightly—but then it was gone.
I remember you, Nora.
The echo of his voice in my memory sent goosebumps racing across my spine. I shook my head, trying to physically scatter the thought.
He tilted his head slightly. “Hungry?”
“Famished,” I said, breezing past him—or trying to. But he moved beside me, walking down the narrow hallway in perfect sync.
Our shoulders brushed. Just barely.
And then his scent hit me. Pine and leather. Crisp cologne. His shirt still held the faint starch of fresh laundry. Clean and masculine.
It brought me back to another scent entirely—what he’d smelled like half-asleep in bed. The way our bodies had tangled in the white sheets. Sweat, skin, my scent on him.
I nearly tripped on the first step down.
His hand brushed mine as if to steady me. Just a graze of his thumb across the back of my hand. Casual. Barely noticeable.
But my body noticed. Every single inch of it.
I spent the rest of dinner sitting at the very far end of the table away from John Kater.