Can’t hurt to try, right?
With that thought, I open a fresh document and tap out a daydream. A story that has my heart exploding, sends fire through my veins, and makes emotion swell in my throat.
The romance I have wanted to tell since the day I first let my waking dreams hit the page.
With the meet-cute jotted down, I find my fingers sail over the keys, my new heroine’s life blooming across the screen like the flutterbys, a rebranded type of romance.
My kind of romance.
Cal is writing in his journal when I pull the towel from my head and wrap it around my body. He hasn’t written anything since before I arrived, going by the entries I saw before I threw it at his feet. Freshly showered and bare-chested, he sits in bed penning down the page.
Running a hand through his damp hair, he pauses. When he starts writing again, I lean on the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes homed in on him, intrigued.
“What’ya writing?” I ask softly.
He glances up from the page. “A few things Em told me today. Thought they’re noteworthy.”
“Sure. You think it’s odd someone tampered with the boats then left one floating in the middle of the ocean? I mean, does that sort of thing happen often?”
What I really mean is... Could it be connected to me?
Is it a warning?
Surely, the letter at the café was a stretch. Maybe T thought in a small town where everyone knows everyone, the letter would find me eventually. Could he know the connection Iris has to Cal, and Cal to me?
That thought burns.
Iris in danger because of me?—
Calin danger because of me.
Fuck.
The air in my lungs burns out. Heat prickles up my spine, setting my eyes on fire with unshed tears.
Rolling off the doorframe, I pad back into the bathroom. I close the door behind me before leaning on the vanity. The towel slips, hitting the floor as I turn the cold tap on and splash my overheating face with the cool water. Pressing a hand into my chest above my heart, I will my choppy breaths to slow. To not burn so badly.
A soft knock rattles the door. “You okay?”
No.
“Yes, be out soon.” The words are too wobbly. Hardly believable.
I splash my face one more time and turn off the faucet. Swiping the towel from the floor, I dry my face and neck. Now, I lean on the vanity, catching my reflection. I search my face for signs of the lie, only now noting the sun-kissed blush my cheeks have, my slightly darker skin from the hours outside. In the garden. The beach. The forest. With Cal.
“Nighean bheag.”
Something thuds against the door.
I imagine his forehead hitting the wood.
The knob turns, and I suck in a breath, schooling my face to neutrality. As the door opens, I drop the towel at the last second. I can’t tell him. I can’t let him become a part of this nightmare. So I go with distraction.
Blue eyes darken and meet mine, and I know my decoy worked.
His heart is safe for now.
My own will weather the storm, like it’s done for the last six years.
