“I can see that, thank you. Where are they? And if you say hanging on my wall, I’m going to shuffle all of these pages out of order.”
He laughs and stands up, leaving his book on the chair.
I follow him, walking around the desk to stand in front of the pictures.
“The first one is a rainforest in Careiro, Brazil. That suspension bridge in Japan is one hundred and sixteen meters long. The mountain is Dhaulagiri in Nepal. Jason and I climbed it two years ago. The last one is an old rollercoaster from the Camelot theme park that closed down in 2012. I took all of those pictures over the last few years.”
My mouth falls open. “You took those? You went to all these places? In person? For real?”
“Believe it or not, I do more than read books and workout at the gym. I try to get away two to three times a year.”
I stare at them in awe, my heart swelling so big that I’m probably going to have a heart attack. “You sure do. I would love to see all of this in person. To travel the world and collect these memories. I’ve really never seen anything. Why do you hang them in here?”
“This room is full of a thousand fictional worlds. I like to remind myself that I can visit a thousand real ones, too.”
My stomach tightens with a longing I’ve not felt this strongly before. I want this so badly, I can feel the yearning taking form in my soul. I want to plan a trip to someplace I’ve never been. I want to see things that look photoshopped.
“That’s amazing. I want that.”
“You can go anywhere you like, Mila.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I want to see this waterfall. Did you go in it?” He nods. “You’re not allowed to travel without me again.”
Leaning against the wall, he replies, “That would be completely appropriate.”
“Do you care about appropriate?”
“Less and less every day,” he replies.
My eyes slide sideways. Reid is staring at my lips like he’s going to claim them. Oh.
Hours. It’s only been hours!
The air between us heats by a few million degrees. I take a ragged breath, aching to move closer to him and feel those strong arms holding me close.
It’s all lust from here on out. His fiery eyes on me are a spell that I don’t want to break.
His tongue trails over his bottom lip.
I can’t move or speak. Reid doesn’t utter a word either, but he says everything he needs to with those dark eyes.
Desire fills my veins, pumping hard until I’m dizzy.
Curling my fingers into my palms, I watch him struggle internally, our eyes linked, breathing hitched.
Just two steps between us. That’s it. It would take only a second to meet in the middle, and another second to feel his mouth on mine.
Reid winces and pushes away from the wall.
I blink rapidly and turn away, the spell broken, leaving me cold and sinking in guilt.
What the hell was that?
I press my lips together.
He was going to kiss me, and I wanted him to. A wave of nausea hits my stomach, and it definitely isn’t the prosecco.
Would I have let him?
I want to say no. I want to be sure that I wouldn’t be in another man’s arms the same day that I ended a long-term relationship. But I’m not sure at all.
He goes back to his book, and I tiptoe to his desk, trying to make as little noise as I can so he doesn’t look over.
Cold, hard shame settles into my conscience, judging me for putting myself in this situation. Why didn’t I just go home when Spencer and Indie dropped me off? Who can’t even wait a day before wanting to kiss another man?
Bad, Mila. Very fucking bad.
Reid and I recover fast, and that’s because we don’t speak. It’s closing in on one a.m. now and he shows no sign of getting tired or wanting me to leave.
“I’m loving this. The guy is so creepy,” I say after a while of reading, which is the only thing I need to be doing in this house.
The tension from the almost kiss is long gone. It fizzed away, and now we’re pretending it didn’t happen.
“You’re probably ahead of me now,” he says. “You can write on it.”
“Huh?”
“The manuscript. If you have any thoughts—which you always seem to have—you can put it down with mine.”
“What, seriously? You want me to do that?”
“I’d like to know what you think, and I don’t just mean overall.”
I can’t believe he trusts me with this. “Okay. I do have some thoughts on some of the dialogue.”
He nods. “Good; put it down.”
“I’m sure you’ll soon scribble it out if my ideas are crap.”
“In bold red ink.”
“Will you also give me a report card with a big F on it?”
“F minus.”
“Damn it, you’re a savage, Mr Walker.”
“Are you tired yet?”
I purse my lips and shake my head, despite the fact that I’m still slightly under the influence and longing for my bed. “Nope, but that means you are.”
“The night is still young for me.”
“Do you always work late?”
“Not always. I do have a life, you know?”
I fake gasp. “Shut up. You do more than read?”
“Occasionally, I go out.”
“Breaking news. Oh my God, we should go out right now.”
“Have you taken something while I was making the coffee?”
“Found the stash of crack in your drawer.”
“I was saving that for a special occasion.”
I gesture down to my body. “Am I not a special occasion?”
He laughs.
I shake my head. “All right, Reid. I’m going to go home and let you work. Don’t lose my place on this.”
Holding up his palms, he replies, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I bite my lip as his dark eyes do stupid things to my insides. Let’s not go there again. I think tonight I’ll be dreaming of him.
Reid shows me to the door, and I get out of there as fast as I can.
Ten
Mila
Two days after sobering me up, Reid is outside when I get home from uni. I’m only a couple of chapters in to writing my own book—a romantic suspense. I could ask him for some advice. I need to do something because I’ve been stalling life for so long.
I finally need a plan. Something to get me started. I’ve never much liked solid plans before, but I can change direction if I need to.
Looks like I really am growing up.
Reid slams the boot of his car and looks up, as if he senses me. His eyes find mine, and they give me a mild electric shock.
Control yourself, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a pretty face.
Raising my hand, I wave and make my way over the road. He meets me on the path outside his house.
“Hey, how was uni?” He nods to the notebook he bought me.
“It was good. How’s work? Late one last night? You look tired.”
“I had a lot to do over the last few nights.”
“I shouldn’t have taken up so much of your time. But you did get to go stationery shopping and have coffee. It was basically a day out. Like—”
“Mila, it’s fine. I wanted to.”
I take a breath and force myself to calm down. “You wanted me to take up all of your time and make you work late?”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “I like driving, I like notebooks, and I like beautiful women.”
Oh.
“Well, I know you like coffee,” I tell him. “You look about ready to crash.”
I should invite him in and make him a drink. It’s the least I could do for making him work late.
Reid tilts his head, like he’s not sure what I’ve asked. “Do you want to come in for a coffee, Mila?”
“That sounded a lot like do you want to come in for Netflix and chill. Hey, I wonder how many peop
le have screwed while watching Carole Baskin acting mental.”
He laughs again. “No idea, and I wasn’t sure anything else was on the table.”
“I’d love a coffee. I should make it for you, though.”
He gestures for me to go into his house. I grip my notebook to my chest and walk with him.
We make our way down the large hallway before heading into the kitchen. I take a quick peek in his living room and see soft, brown leather sofas and bookcases. I didn’t see a TV, but I only had a second before we passed the door.
His kitchen is gorgeous, fitted with dark navy cupboards and one thick, white resin worktop that is moulded into a sink, too. He has a rustic wooden dining table with navy legs, with two benches sitting either side. There are copper handles and light fittings, as well as the biggest coffee machine I’ve ever seen in a home.
“That thing belongs in a Starbucks.”
“Do I swear at you?” he asks.
“Ah, you’re a coffee snob.”
He raises his hands. “Guilty. Well, are you making this coffee?” he asks with amused eyes because he’s fully aware that I can’t work that thing.
“Do you make coffee with it or use it to fly to the ISS? I was asked to use one of these at a restaurant I worked at a couple years ago. I spilled coffee beans everywhere and got myself banned.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Sit down, Mila.”
I take a seat on his navy stool and watch him load the thing with beans. I put my notebook on the breakfast bar and place my hand over the top. He’s not going to grab it and read my plot notes. And if he did, he would find a fat load of nothing for the end.
“What’s it like working with authors?”
“I love it. Is that what you want to do?” he asks.
“I want to write… but it scares me. Not everyone makes enough to live.”
He nods as the machine grinds loudly. “Some make a lot.”
“I wish I knew which one I would be.”
“You can’t do that unless you try.”
“You sound like my dad.”
He smiles and places a large mug, much like the ones they have on Friends, on the machine. It’s basically a bowl, and it looks like I’m not sleeping for the next three nights.
“Will you show me some of your work?” he asks again.
“Will you let me in your office again?”
“Seems like a fair trade.”
“How long does this thing take to make coffee?”
“It’s worth the wait.”
He gets milk out of the fridge and pours it into a jug.
“Am I having a latte?”
“Yes.”
Okay, I get no choice. That should bother me. No man should decide things for you—not even what you’re drinking. I can’t bring myself to be annoyed, though.
“What if I suddenly don’t like lattes?”
“I’ve watched you drink three to date, but do you want something else?”
“Nope.”
His dark eyes peer at me. “Excellent.”
When the latte is made, somewhere around twenty million minutes later, he places the mug in front of me.
“Wow, you’ve even done that little pattern in the milk, too.”
“I worked in a Starbucks for two years through college.”
“But you don’t like their coffee?”
“No.”
“I’m glad we didn’t go to my house. I was going to make you instant.”
He makes his drink before he joins me. We sit side by side on high stools. It should be awkward, but it’s not. Today I have less guilt about being here. Liam and I haven’t spoken. I haven’t even looked him up.
“Can I see?” he asks, tapping a single finger on my notebook.
He’s actually touching it.
I breathe through my nose to stop myself from throwing my latte on him. “Erm… God, I think I would rather strip for you.”
“The floor is yours.”
Laughing, I decide to be brave and slide the notebook over. My fingers tremble.
He flicks the notebook open, and my teeth snap together.
“Are you looking at that right in front of me?”
“Would you prefer me to take it into the dungeon?”
“What kind? Sex or torture?”
“Are you going to be cool if I read it here?” he asks.
“I’m never cool.”
His eyes linger for a heartbeat, and then he looks down.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm.
He looks straight back up, and I retract my hand as if he’s burnt me.
“Yes, Mila?”
“If you read it aloud, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Noted.”
“And if it’s shit, I want you to be honest but don’t wrap it up with a positive at the end.”
His smile grows more prominent. “I promise to tell you what I do like before I rip it to pieces.”
“I appreciate that.”
His gaze falls on the page to my handwritten, four-page synopsis. I might as well be naked.
“Are you done yet?” I ask, my foot tapping on the stool.
“I’ve read three words.”
I press my lips together and try to breathe at a normal rate.
Why didn’t I make him go into his office?
This is torture. Not his dungeon.
My skin crawls as his eyes move over the page.
“Nope.” I slam my hand down on the page in front of him, and he startles.
He looks up, eyes slightly wide. “Is everything okay?” His voice is half surprised, half amused.
I drag the notebook back with my hand and flip it shut. “I don’t like show and tell.”
“All right…”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m right here.”
“I had noticed. Do you want to leave it with me?”
“A part of me does.”
“You do realise that if you want to be published, you’re going to have to let someone read it?”
“It’s not finished.”
“I understand that, but I assume you want feedback on the synopsis, right? That’s why you’re showing me. You want to make sure you’re heading in the right direction.”
“I’m going to kill off someone called Reid in it.”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “That’s not an insult.”
Fine, it’s not. How cool would it be to be someone’s fictional victim?
“How many bad books do you read?”
“Too many.”
“That must suck.”
“I only have to read the first few chapters. If I’m not gripped by then, I’m not buying it.”
“You really do have the best job.”
“Yet you want to be an author and not an editor.”
“I think I’d get drunk with the power.”
He laughs, and I smile big. “You make it sound like I’m in the mafia.”
“Or one of those knobheads on queue control at festivals.”
“You been to many festivals?”
“Loads. Not so many in the last couple years, though. My brothers have grown up, apparently. They’re settling down. Selfish, really.”
I’m not actually mad at them, of course. I just miss us all living under the same roof. I know a lot of siblings who don’t get along but me, Hugo, and Archie have always been as thick as thieves. Quite literally sometimes. When we were kids, two of us would create a distraction while the other pinched three strawberry laces from the shop down the street. Now, Hugo lives with a girl, and Archie is pretending to be Hugh Hefner with his mate in the city.
“You miss them?” Reid asks softly, and his voice makes me shudder again.
“More than I thought was possible. Things are just different now. I feel like I blinked and everything changed. I’m still trying to catch up.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Once a month, at least.” I sip my coffee. “I’m lucky,
really. How about you? You have a sister. Phoebe, right?”
“Yes, she lives with her husband and six-month-old daughter Lexie.”
“You’re an uncle.”
“Yeah, the kid hates me, though.”
“You don’t have boobs.”
He frowns. “No, I don’t.”
“Babies love boobs. Men love boobs, too. And women, actually. Sorry, I should stop saying boobs.”
“Did you sneak something in that coffee while I wasn’t looking?”
I shake my head. Shut up, Mila.
Draining the last of the latte, I pick up my notebook. “I should probably get going.”
“All right,” he replies.
“Thank you for the drink.”
He follows me to the door, and I open it. I turn when I step outside and thrust the notebook at him.
He takes it with questions in his eyes.
“Will you let me know what you think? Write to me or something?”
“You live over the road.”
“Call me, then.”
“Mila…”
I burst. “I don’t want to look at you while you give me feedback.”
“Ah. Author nerves. I get it. I’ll write it up and leave it in here,” he says, holding the notebook up.
“But on a loose piece of paper. I can’t have it attached to that.”
“Of course, you can’t.”
He thinks I’m a nutjob. Wincing, I thread my hands together. “I’m sorry, and thank you.”
“No need to apologise, and you’re welcome.”
On a smile, I turn and cross the road.
“If it’s shit, am I allowed to use those very words?”
“Fuck off!” I call back without turning around.
I hear his laughter until I get to my path.
Eleven
Reid
I’m staring at a piece of Mila like it’s the Holy Grail.
I’ve lost count of the number of times an author has told me how personal their writing is, so I know this wasn’t easy for her, and she hardly played it cool when she handed the notebook over.
I’ve had so little of her for years; just a hi or a wave here and there. One evening in a bar where we shared a few drinks with friends. A conversation that cost me so much. But in the last two days, I’ve had her in my car, taken her shopping, and shared coffee in my house.
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