by Katy Cannon
She nodded behind me and when I turned, I saw Drew waiting by the exit to the marquee.
I placed a kiss on Gran’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“No.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. “Thank you, Tilly.”
When I looked back again, Drew had vanished, with just the tent flap moving in the wind to show which way he’d gone.
I took a breath and followed.
Outside, night had fallen.
My feet were aching from the beautiful but uncomfortable new shoes, so I reached down and slipped them off, padding barefoot along the temporary wooden pathways with my glittery heels dangling from two fingers. I knew he had to be out there somewhere, but there was no in between to look for him in. Nothing but bright lights or absolute dark.
“Drew?” I called out. And when that didn’t get me a reply. “Morgan?”
A soft chuckle from off to my left made me turn and then, suddenly, there he was.
“I guess we’re both done with the pen names now, then,” he said, stepping into the light.
I nodded, mesmerized again by the sight of him in his suit. “When did you know? That it was me, sending you edit notes, I mean.”
“That day in the library,” Drew admitted. “You mentioned you were working there and I looked up and I just knew it had to be you.”
“I knew the minute they said your name in the nominations. It could only be you.” In so many ways, I realized suddenly, our bodies drifting closer together as we spoke. I shivered but I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or being so close to him again.
“Morgan’s my middle name.” Drew stripped off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. “Black was my mother’s maiden name.”
“It suits you,” I said. “But what I don’t get is … when? I never even saw you write anything.” It had been bothering me from the moment I realized who he must be. Every time we were in the library together he’d just been staring into space. I knew from experience that wasn’t a good way to get a novel written.
Drew gave me a small, embarrassed half-smile. “That’s because you’re very distracting.”
“Distracting.”
“Yeah. With your … hair and your eyes and stuff.” He waved a hand around vaguely that seemed to encompass most of my head.
Seriously, how could a guy who wrote so beautifully be so rubbish with words in the real world?
I must have looked confused, because he sighed and started to explain himself.
“When you were there … I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Just you.” He shrugged. “So I decided to make sure I wrote when you weren’t there. So I could enjoy your company when you were.”
“My company? Drew, you realize that for months we either didn’t speak at all or we argued?”
“I preferred to think of it as banter.” He leaned in to tuck a loose coil of hair behind my ear. “And whatever we were doing … it was still the best part of my day.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “And I knew it shouldn’t be. I knew you had a boyfriend, knew – or thought I knew – that you were just another rich kid looking to piggyback on someone else’s fame. But I couldn’t help myself. And then, when I got to know you…”
“I feel like I’m still doing that,” I admitted, swaying closer again. “Getting to know you, I mean. But I want to. A whole lot more.”
“Good.” Drew wrapped a hand around my waist, under his jacket, and pulled me to him. Without my shoes, I was almost a head shorter than him and looking up into his eyes I realized exactly what this must look like.
A perfect romance novel cover.
I grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Drew asked.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I just seem to have found my perfect romance after all.”
Then he kissed me and I forgot all about fiction. It was time to enjoy the real world for a while.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is about more than just the main character. So thank you to all my supporting characters!
My agent, Gemma, for having all the best ideas
My editors, Ruth Bennett and Rachel Boden, for helping me tell the story I wanted to tell
My designer, Sara Mognol, for the fantastic cover
Everyone at Stripes for being as excited about this book as I am (and working hard to show it!)
The fabulous women (and token men) of Stevenage Ladies Choir, not just for the music, but also for the stories (some of which may have found a home in this book)
The incredible women on the Harlequin Mills & Boon Romance Authors email loop. So much of what I know about romance, I learned from them
All my romance editors, past and present, for teaching me the rest! Thank you, Charlotte, Pippa, Victoria, Lucy, Nic and Megan
My eager, and eagle eyed, proofreaders: Georgina, Ann Marie, Ali and Ally
My parents and grandparents, always, and for everything
My daughter Holly, for loving stories as much as I do, and being an inspirational lesson in imagination, every day
My son Sam, for inspiring Finn and Freddie by reminding me just how much chaos toddlers can cause. But also for the sweetest hugs, songs, and every time he asks ‘You all right, Mummy?’ just to check
Most of all, my husband Simon, for teaching me about love, and reminding me how wonderful it is, every day
About the Author
Katy was born in Abu Dhabi, grew up in Wales, went to university in Lancaster, then spent a few years splitting her time between London, Hertfordshire and an assortment of hotels across the world. She now lives in a little market town not far from Cambridge. She has a husband, two children, a goldfish and far too many notebooks. As a teenager, Katy was constantly in trouble for reading when she should have been doing something else. These days, she mostly gets in trouble for dreaming up new stories when she should be writing the ones she’s already working on.
www.katycannon.com
@KatyJoCannon
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of The Little Tiger Group
1 Coda Studios, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2018.
Text copyright © Katy Cannon, 2018
eISBN: 978–1–84715–983–0
The right of Katy Cannon to be identified as the author of this work respectively has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk