‘Hey, gorgeous. How are things in Cornwall? Chilly?’ Melissa said as she bit into an apple. I reached over and turned on the table lamp that had been delivered this morning along with four of my books for Drew—a copy of each from the series. Drew dropped off the lamp earlier and stoked the fire before he left. I jotted a note, Do not say he stoked my fire to Melissa. She would be all over that like a sexual innuendo tornado.

Every time I thought about Drew opening the first page of my book I had an overwhelming urge to dry heave.

Will he read them? Will he think they are nonsense and fluff or embrace them as I hope he will?

‘Girl! I can see you now. Don’t they have light where you’re hibernating?’

I Skyped Melissa because I was still craving some form of social interaction. I was even contemplating getting her to read me her new book just to keep me company for the night, but I had a bath running, so a quick chat would have to do.

‘It’s early evening here. Winter in England equates to shorter days and dark nights.’

‘Frostbite, ugly sweaters, sleeping in socks. No thanks, honey.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s positively boiling here. I’m just about to take a dip in the outdoor pool. The sun is so strong it’s burning holes in cars and I’m planning on frying an egg on the pavement.’ She laughed as I put up the hood on my dressing gown and pulled it around my face.

‘Isn’t the shirtless woodcutter keeping you warm?’ she said, wiggling her eyebrows and smirking behind her manicured hand. Bright orange polish today to match her personality. She never failed to put me in a good mood.

‘If you mean has he been delivering firewood, yes, he has.’

‘Girl, is that what it’s called these days?’ I giggled as she threw her head back, shrieking at her own joke. I put a line through my note. Too late now, we were ready to join Double Entendre Town and never look back.

‘He told me he isn’t looking for a relationship.’

‘How did he slip that into everyday conversation?’

‘I tried to kiss him.’

‘Oh, my days! Cal! I love you!’

‘He’s so handsome I want die! He’s almost too handsome.’

‘Henry Cavill handsome?’

‘Exactly!’ Melissa was my person. She got me, even though we’d never met. ‘The other day I was watching Drew cut down all these brambly things.’

‘Brambly things, mmm hmm. Gotcha.’ I ignored her sarcasm and continued.

‘Anyway, I had an epiphany.’ I banged my mug down. ‘He’s only bloody Poldark. Aidan Turner and his shirtless scything can move along, thank you very much.’

‘He was shirtless? Again?’

‘No! He would have frozen to death! He was wearing sexy…work trousers. Overalls.’

‘I’m sensing words. My shirtless love god. My lady bits are all of a flutter when I see his body adorned with sexy overalls.’

‘You’re hilarious,’ I deadpanned.

‘Well, I hate to tell you, but Poldark has been done, and Aidan Turner has done it well! You’ll have to find another Cornish hero to base your book on. How’s it going, anyway?’

‘I have a bit of an outline. A semi-outline. Kind of.’ I grimaced dramatically and she laughed.

‘Spill the deets.’

‘I’m thinking friends to lovers.’

‘Of course you are,’ she replied.

‘He’s an ex-pilot.’

‘I would never have guessed.’

‘He’s had some kind of disastrous relationship. He’s decided he doesn’t want to put himself through love again and takes off to a remote island where he’s a…farmer. It’s going to be atmospheric and dark. We don’t know his secrets until much later in the book. There will be gorgeous backdrops and descriptions of breathtaking scenery. Possibly a scene where he’s chopping firewood without a shirt on, and of course there’ll be cabins because shirtless woodcutter, hello?’

Melissa was sitting back in her chair, legs up, her arms wrapped around them. Until she peered into the screen, her brown corkscrew hair and black rimmed glasses filling it.

‘Oh, girl,’ she said, her serious face appearing. Never good. ‘You’ve got it bad.’

‘What?’

‘Shirtless woodcutter, cabins, remote islands and may I also say secrets? Secrets? Lord.’ She was enunciating every word and at times made notes, shaking her head and tutting loudly. ‘If this is a case of life inspiring art. Oh, my. I need more on the secrets part, honey.’

‘There’s…something. I’m not sure what. A story that could be better than anything I’m pulling together.’

‘Proceed with caution, Cal. Be inspired by the place. The scenery. The legends. See where those stories take you. So far, I’m hearing your only inspiration is coming from your ex-pilot over there. Would he like his story to be your next bestseller?’ she asked. ‘I’m smelling lawsuits.’

‘It’s a sketchy outline. I’m not finished. Anything could happen. These characters are talking to me in the shower. You know what that means.’

‘I certainly do. They’re in charge! That’s fabulous, though. That hasn’t happened to you in a long time. Embrace those beautiful voices!’

‘I plan to! Anyway, how’s the release? I checked the bestseller charts this morning. You’re doing great!’ I said, throwing the droopy hood of my dressing gown back.

‘Sitting at three hundred and forty-two. I’m happy. I smashed my goal which was top five hundred.’

‘And climbing,’ I replied as she inhaled deeply and broke into a smile. A knock on the door made me jump. ‘Crap. It’s so quiet here. I never expect any noise. I’m anticipating a heart attack to occur before I leave.’

‘Oh, girl. Shirtless woodcutter is making an unexpected visit.’

‘Shush! He’ll hear you.’

‘Through a fucking door?’ Melissa replied.

‘I’ve got to go. Talk soon.’

I slammed the laptop shut and checked the state of my hair in the mirror before I opened the door. Drew helped by pushing his shoulder against the wood and grinned as I stepped back with the force. He held up a spanner.

‘I’m here to take a look at the dripping tap. My heart sped up as he lifted one of my books in his other hand. ‘And looky what came this morning,’ he said, putting the spanner under his arm and thumbing through it.

‘Have you started it already?’ I asked, leaning against the wall. Drew waggled his hand in a see-saw motion. ‘Ah, much more important things to do than read my masterpiece.’

‘I started it,’ he replied, still thumbing through it as if he was looking for the words to jump out at him like a child’s pop-up book.

‘Well, I guess that’s good.’ He finally gave me eye-contact. Blushed. Looked away. Smiled. Gah! He was swoony gorgeous. If I’d have looked slightly to the left, I swear I would have seen fireworks blast out around his head. Crackle and boom. My heart a pitter patter of unregulated beats. ‘Any feedback?’ I mumbled, my voice getting lost in the feelings that I knew were only going to grow and flourish at an alarming rate, especially if he kept looking at me like I was fascinating.

‘It’s…easy to read.’

‘Oh…thanks. Strange praise,’ I said, tipping my head.

‘You don’t want your books to be easy to read?’

‘Well…yeah. The words need to flow to keep the reader engaged. Nothing worse than having to re-read a sentence because it’s too clunky. You’ve lost the rhythm, and therefore, lost the reader. Not good.’ He nodded like he was taking it all in and it was the most interesting conversation he’d ever taken part in. That made my stomach do this little jaunty dance as I thought about all the conversations he must have had about aircraft operations and aeronautical engineering. He was standing with my book resting against his stomach and something strange happened. The spike of arousal that pinched whenever he was near, the butterflies dancing in my stomach whenever we talked, suddenly increased in size and weight. My words, my thoughts, my ideas, everything that was so personal and honest was now clutched against his chest. Quite honestly, nothing else mattered. Just Drew, my words and me, and if I didn’t have his hands on my thighs, hitching up my dressing gown in the next ten seconds, I was going to be having words with my inner fucking goddess.

‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I moaned too brashly, the thoughts taking me to a place of torture because I needed his fingers on me and I wasn’t sure how to tell him without scaring him off.

‘You OK?’ he asked as he squeezed past me, my breasts enjoying the feel of him as he inched his way through the purposefully small gap I’d left open. If I knew him better, I could have sworn he let out a breathy moan.

‘Never better,’ I mumbled, trying to take the sexual edge off my voice. ‘Flip! Hold on. I’m just running a bath. Stay there!’ I ran upstairs, two steps at a time and turned off the water, narrowly escaping a spillage of epic proportions.

‘I can come back later,’ he shouted up the stairs.

‘Erm…OK. Are you sure?’ Don’t go. Sit on the toilet seat and read a book to me like one of my heroes.

‘Yeah, have your bath. I’ll just grab some more firewood from the outhouse and make sure it’ll last you for the rest of night.’

‘Thanks!’

I heard the front door close and the cottage was quiet and still again—apart from the bloody dripping tap. I chose to ignore it as I slipped the gown down my shoulders and stepped in, the water warming my body like a gigantic hug. Blissful. A bath could make everything seem good again. I settled in, flicked my hair over the edge of the roll tub and closed my eyes, sinking down until the water covered my head. I came up for air, took a deep breath and reached for my shampoo. I was more than shocked when it came out a bright shade of purple. My hairdresser recommended it to keep my highlights fresh until I was back in London but failed to mention it would be brighter than an Oxford street Christmas light switch on ceremony. I leant back, lathering it up, massaging it in until a loud spurt from the dripping tap made me jump. I stayed perfectly still, my eyes wide at the jolt of noise until a shoot of water came out in bursts forcing me to squeal, stand up, and take a better look. I leant across, holding myself on the edge of the sink, bashed it with my hand—I don’t know why I thought that would help—and hit it again with the end of the shampoo bottle. A loud crack echoed through the room as the sink proceeded to lean a little to the left and then fall mightily off the wall. It took tiles and pipes with it collapsing onto the floor with a crash, along with me, my legs still hanging over the bath, naked as the day I was born. I groaned, looking up to see a spurt of water from the tap that was now hitting the ceiling. ‘Oh, my God!’

‘Cal? Are you OK?’ Drew said from outside the door.

‘Don’t come in!’ I shouted at the same time he announced he was coming in. Oh, holy fuck.

‘Jesus,’ he said, turning around again but trying to survey the damage by shielding his eyes comically.

‘I’m naked!’ I shouted.

‘And…purple,’ he replied. I opened one eye and scanned the bathroom. It looked like a crime scene involving Violet Beauregarde and the chocolate factory after Willy Wonka turned her into a blueberry.

‘It’s my shampoo!’ I held my hands across my breasts and raised my knees to my chest in an attempt to cover my lady bits. ‘Apparently, it’s medicine for my highlights.’

‘Hang on,’ he said, disappearing into my bedroom. ‘Everything’s wet.’ When he returned, he tried to hand me my Louis Vuitton Blanket. ‘Wrap this around you.’

‘That’s cashmere!’ I squealed.

‘Bloody hell, Cal! It’s a blanket.’

‘It’s Louis Vuitton.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ he laughed, throwing the cashmere into the bedroom before taking off his sweater to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. Yum. Even with the trauma of water gushing towards the ceiling, I could still appreciate defined shoulders.

‘Here,’ he said, crouching to the floor and turning his head in the opposite direction. He held his arm out with the sweater dangling from his hand. ‘I’m not looking. I promise.’ I took a glimpse and didn’t miss his lingering glance across my body or his definite blush. ‘I need to turn the water off. I’ll be back.’

The water stopped a minute or so later, and as I twisted my body and removed my legs from the edge of the bath to look around, I realised the bathroom could only be described in one word. Carnage. The sink was in half. Tiles were broken and splintered. I was lying in a puddle and there was a decidedly purple tinge across…everything. I sat up, my back twinging, my hips feeling like they’d been dislocated, and pulled Drew’s sweater over my head. As my nose brushed down the fabric, I smelt him. Pure manly man. I was still fully inside the sweater, sniffing like a loon when Drew returned.

‘Cal.’

‘Yep,’ I replied, swiftly pulling the sweater over my face.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I think so. Erm, Drew?’

‘Yes, Cal,’ he replied.

‘I think you’re going to need a new sink.’

His rumble of laughter made me smile. ‘Are you hurt?’ He asked still looking down the hallway, anywhere but me.

‘I almost had a funny turn when you handed me my blanket.’

‘Seriously,’ he said.

‘My back isn’t thanking me. My hips are calling me all sorts of unruly names.’

‘I’ll get you some clean towels.’

He was back in no time and passed me a large white towel, which I wrapped around my important bits. Drew was standing in contemplation, hands on hips, surveying the damage.

‘Cal?’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the damages.’ I felt a drip down my face and when I pressed the towel there, it turned purple.

Drew started to chuckle. ‘Can I ask you one question?’

‘Shoot,’ I replied, mortified.

‘What the bloody hell are using to wash your hair?’