“You always want to be a writer?” he returns.
Surprised at the question, I look up with a strained chuckle. It’s odd, these little pockets of easy we find ourselves in between the otherwise strained existence we have here together.
“I guess. I had the idea in high school and never really worried about looking any further.”
He simply nods. “Sometimes you just know.”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
The conversation is easy, if not a little stifled. It’s the first time we have talked like this. Who knew all I needed to do was corner him in the lantern room? And it’s refreshing; it gives me hope. Maybe life isn’t as bad as I think it is. Maybe the grey, lifeless days I endured were meant to give me a fresh start. Maybe not here, but this is like a precursor, a way to kick the tires. This is me, dipping my toe in the waters of change. Changing from the life I have in the city to something different. Anywhere different. I can take my writing anywhere.
Maybe I should.
The deep-seated thought of my heart’s work resurfaces for the umpteenth time since I started my writing career. Fantasy isn’t what my heart wants. It fills the void most days, but it far from lights me up. To be honest, it stresses me out. The world-building and magic systems. I haven’t had the guts to tell Livvy.
“. . . down?”
I flip my focus to Callum’s frowning face. “Sorry, what?”
He gives me a quizzical look that ends with a genuine smile.
And, oh my god, he’s stunning. A wide smile that lights up his eyes the way I imagine this lantern room illuminates the ocean. His throat works as his chuckle peters out, and the room is far too small all of a sudden. My heart flings against my ribs, and I can’t help it when my eyes lift to find his mouth.
Shit.
I scramble to my feet and look anywhere but at the man below me. He stands, shoving the cleaning rag in his back pocket. “We should go down before the afternoon sun finds us.”
“Ah—yeah—sure thing.” I grab the rail and descend faster than is safe, my cheeks aflame, my body doing something ridiculous. When I hit the first floor, I dart into my room. Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it. My head thumps backward onto the wood and I slide down to the floor. Knees hugged in my arms, I groan.
What the hell was that?
Eight
CALLUM
My bones rattle as I lie on my small bunk in the hut. May as well be a fucking igloo. Just as predicted, the cold weather did a hairpin turn. Grinding my jaw shut to stop my molars from busting from the chatter, I roll over and try to ignore the ache that’s slowly consuming my body.
Goddamn winter. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to rough it. I duck my head under the blankets, hoping each steamy breath will warm me in my cocoon.
The cloud of steam that puffs with each exhale fades and cools miserably. My hands start to cramp.
Fuck me.
Must be below freezing this time.
Not unusual for the East Coast, just unlikely.
At any rate, I refuse to go to sleep and freeze to death. Tossing the covers from my half-seized body, I roll off the bed and to my feet. Huddled in a coat, I shove my socked feet into my boots and brace for things to get worse before they get better. I swing the hut door open and make a run for the house.
Inside is warmer. Not warm.
I glance to the fireplace. Fire’s died out.
Fuck.
With stiff, aching fingers, I pluck up logs and toss them in. Grabbing the fire iron, I shunt the coals about until the wood catches. As it flares back to life, I close the door and open the flue. If this one’s gone out, has the bedroom one also burned down?
I take the stairs two at a time.
