I hold it up, moving side to side. A bar disappears. Then both ghost me. SOS stares back at me.
Again.
Shit.
Wait. There’s no Wi-Fi?
I didn’t even think of that.
Hell.
That absolutely puts a damper on my research abilities. Making my laptop useful for one thing only. Writing.
Huh. This must have been Livvy’s plan all along.
How villainess of her. I shove my hands through my hair and let it hang.
Right, so, taking stock.
I’m isolated on an island with a stranger.
A stranger who is a man, and older than me by a fair bit.
I’m down to rations and living in someone else’s home.
I have no Wi-Fi or contact with the outside world.
No way off the island, because who am I kidding? I can’t drive a car without incident, let alone a boat.
And the one other person on this island hasn’t spoken a word to me since we met.
With those pleasant thoughts, I shrink into the only safe place I know. My imagination.
Pulling up my writing project, I’m determined to make the most of this. I keep coming back to the fact that Livvy sent me here. She would have known the lay of the land, so to speak. If she thinks I can get this book done without the distraction of the city, the hustle and bustle, Wi-Fi, and other people, who am I to say otherwise?
I read the last few paragraphs of the last chapter I wrote, pulling my outline up to refresh my memory. Oh, that’s right, the two MCs just met. Realized they are enemies. Blah, blah, blah. Okay... time to up the stakes. I tie up my hair in a this-means-business messy bun.
My hands fly over the keyboard as the night wears on, the moon rising higher and higher before it finally peaks and starts to plummet.
The small clock on the desk ticks, the only other sound in the dim moonlit room. I shiver and reach over to close the window. The blanket from the bed finds its way around my shoulders, and I write on.
I get caught up in the fantasy world of my characters. The angst and the stakes. The banter and the high-octane emotions. As sleep tugs at my eyelids, I finish the paragraph and scroll up to read it over. Resting my chin in my palms, I yawn. I’ll check it over once more and call it a night.
Just once more.
Four
CALLUM
Ienter without knocking. Iris would have my balls. But fuck it. This is my damn house.
It’s quiet.
Likenobody’s upquiet. The sun’s been up for an hour already. And it’s winter. I pull open the fridge and take out the small jug of milk. Surprisingly, it hasn’t been touched. Maybe she didn’t realize what it was; it’s not in a carton like I’m sure this city girl is used to. Taking a plastic container from the freezer compartment, I toss a spoon of instant coffee in a mug and light the stove.
The kettle is still half full, and I slide it over the heat. The gas stove was one of my later installations after renovating the interior of this old house. Wood stoves are great, but they are a pain to maintain, and wood on an island can become a supply issue. Gas cans are much easier to haul from the mainland, and last much longer.
The kettle whistles and I slide it off the heat. Steaming water splashes into my cup, and still nobody else stirs. I glance up, wondering what she could be doing for so many hours in that tiny room—my tiny room—upstairs. Adding a dash of milk and taking a tentative sip, I ascend the stairs.
