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 people 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.