Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Grabbing my laptop, I settled at the dining table and opened my screenplay. I’d finished writing two episodes of the TV show inspired by Ardnoch Estate. I could send it to my agent, but I still didn’t feel confident enough in it. Uncle Brodan had dabbled in screenwriting—I could share it with him. But there was someone else I’d thought about sending it to.
Theo Cavendish.
He was Mum’s friend Sarah’s husband. Sarah was a famous crime fiction writer who had worked at the estate as a housekeeper all the while making millions off her independently published crime series. She eventually left Ardnoch to start living her life as a writer out in the open. Theo was a well-known and respected screenwriter and producer and an estate member. He and Sarah had fallen in love while adapting her series for screen. They were not the most obvious pairing. Sarah had always been a shy, quiet woman, and Theo was this intimidating, scorchingly hot aristocratic playboy. Yet I’d never seen a man more in love.
He was still intimidating, though.
But he was honest and I respected him.
If he thought my screenplay was good, then it would buoy my confidence.
I could email him, but it might be better to talk to him face-to-face. Which I could do now, since I was home.
But I needed time.
I needed patience with myself. Just some time to … merely be. And yes, I knew I was privileged to take that time. Most people had to keep working through life and its struggles. Most people also hadn’t experienced the amount of international pressure I’d dealt with.
I needed time to enjoy writing, enjoy my family, without all that other stuff clouding my mind. Ultimately, I’d decided to give up London. Ardnoch was where I wanted to be, so I didn’t sign another rental agreement on my flat. My landlord Peter practically begged me to stay and offered me a longer term of rent control. I’d thanked him but packed up all my belongings. Most of it was in storage while I moved back into my childhood home.
The sea breeze fluttered over me as I rested my arms against the balcony railing on the deck of my parents’ house. Being home was all about fresh starts. With everyone. Mum and Dad had redecorated the annex knowing I was coming home, and I was bravely facing my fears of the space. Last night was my first night in the detached guest suite, and it took me a while to fall asleep. But I was determined to persevere. The guest annex allowed me to be near my family while still providing some privacy. Of course, I could get my own place now that I was home, but I wasn’t ready to do that either.
They’d even set up a desk for me so I could write. Once I told them what my aspirations were, they threw themselves into supporting me. Not only was there a desk but there were notepads and a cork pin board above the desk with pins and empty note cards all ready for my thoughts and ideas.
An ache moved through me as I stared out at the North Sea. Years. I’d kept myself from them for years. No wonder I’d been miserable. I’d separated myself from the people who made me whole.
Yet despite our reunion, there was still an emptiness in me.
It had a name.
Fyfe Moray.
His warm dark eyes filled my mind and I flushed, remembering the last time we were together. I’d avoided my brother’s best friend for six months. Ever since he kissed me at Lewis and Callie’s wedding and then blamed it on alcohol again. Fyfe had tried calling. For weeks and weeks. About six weeks in, he gave up. He sent me a text promising he’d leave me alone and reiterating how sorry he was.
Ignoring Fyfe wasn’t part of my new approach to life. No, avoiding him was temporary. I needed to deal with all this other stuff first and fully intended to have a serious discussion with him upon my return home.
I knew Fyfe was terrified of commitment.
I also knew we were drawn together. That there was a connection between us neither could deny. And I was done denying it. I was going to admit my feelings to Fyfe. Either he’d reciprocate and together we’d deal with how that affected Lewis … or he’d reject me. The latter would hurt like a motherfucker. But I’d have my answer and I could move on.
I was done with being dishonest with myself and others.
Butterflies erupted in my belly as I pushed away from the balcony and turned to open the sliding doors to the living room. Stepping inside, I shut it behind me and locked up. Mor was at school, Mum was at the childcare center she ran, and Dad was at his office in Inverness.