Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Now the morning is drifting into afternoon, and we haven’t moved from the rug. We’ve just been dozing, sharing the same blanket, taking turns staring at the fire and at each other, like a pair of stray animals waiting for animal control.
Thunder rumbles somewhere behind the rain, a baritone growl that makes the windows shiver. I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at Talon. He’s got a hickey blooming under his left collarbone—a souvenir from when I bit him, by accident, in the heat of the moment. He likes it, and says it’s a sweet memory. His hair’s sticking out in every direction, and there’s a smudge of soot on his temple where he bumped his head on the firewood. He’s a mess, and he’s beautiful.
“Hey,” I say, fingers drumming his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
He cracks an eyelid, expression already half-amused. “You can ask me anything, Kitten. But I reserve the right to lie if it’s boring.”
I giggle, but then school my face into a serious expression because I actually want the answer.
“What do you think happens when this ends? Like, when our time together is up and I go back to normal life?”
He closes his eyes again, but his thumb never stops tracing lazy circles on my side. “I think you go back to school, get your degree, and end up running a bookshop in the city. Or maybe you get your MFA and teach at some liberal arts college in upstate New York. Or maybe you become a weird, reclusive novelist and haunt dive bars until you die.”
I laugh. “Those are all interesting options.”
He smiles. “That’s life, kiddo. Lots and lots of lots of options.”
I’m quiet for a bit, thinking about what he didn’t say: What if I want something else? What if I want to keep this?
“I want to go back to Century College,” I say, and my voice is too soft, but I let it out anyway. “I want to study creative writing, and I want to finish something for once in my life. I don’t even care if I’m good. I just—I want to know that I can.”
Talon nods, not laughing or judging, just waiting for more.
“But what if…” I hesitate, because I’ve never said this out loud. “What if, by the time I graduate, the publishing industry has imploded? What if there are no jobs? What if AI writes all the books and I’m just a punchline in a meme about Gen Alpha chumps who got the short end of the stick?”
He actually looks thoughtful at that. “Then you become a legend. Like a blacksmith after the invention of the gun. Nobody needs you, but everybody remembers you.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “That’s not too comforting.”
He catches my chin and turns my face until our eyes lock. “But it’s the truth, sweetheart. The world moves on, and we’re just small minnows pulled by the tide.”
We stare at each other, and I feel the question hovering, like a bug trapped inside a glass. I want to ask: What if I want you? What if I want to stay?
He must sense it, because he shifts, propping himself up so that we’re face to face, noses almost touching. He wraps the blanket tighter around us, his hand splayed across my hip.
“If you want to come back here, after the two months, you can,” he says, voice dead serious. “You can stay as long as you want. I’ll even clear out a drawer for your stuff, sweetheart. More than a drawer. You can have the closet because I’ve only got a few things.”
I’m so blindsided I don’t even have a joke for it. My throat goes tight.
“Thanks,” I say, and it comes out ragged. “But what if I mess everything up?”
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You get another chance. You can fail as many times as you need. I’m here to catch you, Kitty Kat. I’m your back-up.”
Something inside me unwinds, a rope gone slack. I press my face into his bronzed chest, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke and salt and sweat. “God, you’re such a sap,” I say, but I hold onto him, hard.
He laughs, arms tightening around me. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation as a bad boy author.”
I let the silence take over, the fire popping, the rain so relentless it feels like we’re underwater. For the first time in months, I’m not thinking about what I should be doing, or who I should be. I’m just here, warm, full, content.
Then, I lift my head, brush the hair out of his eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, studying the curve of Talon’s jaw as he scratches at his stubble.
“Shoot.”
“Why are you writing romance novels?” I ask hesitantly. “It’s not what you’re known for. You’ve written like, what, ten thrillers that are international best sellers, but now you’re writing sex scenes and love stories? Did you get tired of killing people off?”