It took Drew two days to fix the bathroom. It took just as long before the purple stain faded from my body. He was now referring to me as Violet. I wasn’t happy with the new nickname at first, but now I was starting to like it. I chalked the whole thing down to experience and made a note to include this hilarious scene (eyebrow raised) in a future rom-com.

I heard a knock at the door and checked the clock. It wasn’t quite seven. Why would Drew want to come around at this time? I was pretty sure he never wanted to see the bathroom again. He helped me open the door, his shoulder feeling the brunt. It was sweet. He was always helping me.

‘Sorry. I don’t like cold callers, I don’t need any insurance and I have all the dusters I need,’ I said as he smiled.

‘That’s OK then because I was just wondering if you’d like some company. I happen to know there’s a chess board in that cupboard over there.’ He pointed in the general area of a cute little door I hadn’t yet looked in. I walked backwards as he followed me. He was slightly unsteady on his feet and his smile was a weird lopsided grin. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was going on. Perhaps he was tired. I pressed the little black latch on the door, and when it opened, it was filled with various board games. I didn’t like to tell him that I hadn’t played chess since I was twelve years old and my dad always beat me because I never quite grasped the rules, but if it meant spending some time with him, I was more than happy to oblige.

‘Set us up and I’ll get nibbles,’ I said as I went through to the kitchen. ‘Brian must have sensed I liked highly calorific snacks because when I unpacked the shopping, there was a lot I hadn’t chosen myself.’

‘He never does that for me,’ he shouted as I filled a bowl with homemade brownie bites and some gold chocolate coins. When I came back into the living room, Drew had pulled over the coffee table and was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he set out the chess pieces. ‘Prefern…preferen…preferential treatment. White or black?’

‘White,’ I replied, trying to fathom him out as I set down the bowl. I returned to the kitchen for two glasses and the bottle of wine Brian had added to my shopping. It was more of a treat bag, to be honest, and unexpected when he dropped it over earlier today. I poured us both a glass of wine. ‘You’re obviously not as adorable as me.’

‘No one is,’ he replied before clearing his throat and looking away. I smiled. I battled with myself, not wanting to scare him away, but at the same time desperate to put my fingers under his chin and bring his gaze back to mine, recreating the moment, building on the small snatches of wonderfulness that he always seemed to pull away from. He looked so relaxed with one knee up and the other folded underneath him. He was wearing black jogging bottoms, a black t-shirt and a burgundy hoody, casual and comfortable as he busied himself setting out the pieces. Classic distraction from his throw-away comment that made my limbs feel like jelly, but I could see right through it.

‘How long has it been since you played chess?’ I asked, catching his small smile as he handled the pieces.

He returned my gaze, looking in his element. ‘Too long. Archie isn’t a great player.’

‘Then I’m thrilled I’m making you happy.’ His gaze lingered on me, longer than necessary but not long enough, and I made it my aim to get him to look at me like that again.

‘The purple tint has left your skin,’ he said smiling. ‘Shame. I thought it made the blue of your eyes pop even more than they already do.’ I was stunned. I didn’t know how to react, what to say in response. The guy had only gone and used a verbal stun gun. ‘You look really pretty when you’re trying to figure me out, Cal.’ Boom. Second round of ammunition.

‘Oh.’

That was it. That was all I had.

‘Have you started A Christmas Carol yet?’ he asked, completely blindsiding me with a 360-degree banter turn.

‘Sorry, what?’ I said, squeezing my eyebrows together. ‘Oh…no. Christmas Eve remember? The tradition I need to keep alive.’

‘Be a rebel. Read it on Christmas Eve eve.’

I laughed. ‘This has nothing to do with rebellion and everything to do with tradition.’

‘We used to do magic tricks,’ he said, looking wistful. ‘I would put on a show for my grandparents. Christ, I haven’t thought about that in years.’

‘You see?’ I said, high pitched and wobbly, trying to re-focus. Forget the comments about my lovely poppy eyes. ‘Another Christmas tradition that’s died. It’s so sad,’ I replied before an idea struck me. ‘Do a trick for me.’ He groaned. ‘Go on! I’d love to see one.’ Despite his protest, he didn’t take a lot of persuading, and as he leant over the table, moving in closer and closer, almost touching, I lost my breath. His hand skimmed my ear, my hair ruffled slightly by his fingers. He watched it fall back into place and a deep sigh left his mouth. Was it a contented sigh? A sigh of, She’s beautiful. Or was the sigh something else? Something I didn’t want to think about because that usually meant he left and we were back to skating around a weird friendship that felt like it could be more. Drew pulled his hand back and covered it with his other producing a coin like it had magically appeared from the back of my ear.

‘Blow it,’ he said, his voice low and rumbly like he’d just woken up or was still coming around from a monumental orgasm. Either way, I wanted to hear the same tone again. I leant forward, placing my hand around his and that spark ignited. Matching lip bites, the same wide-eyed look of, What is that feeling every time we touch? ‘Make a Christmas wish,’ he said. ‘Make it a good one.’ And I blew. The lip between his teeth fell away, his smile broke free and the butterflies deep in my stomach multiplied by a thousand. I closed my eyes for a second, peeking one open to find his smile again and watched as he covered the coin with one hand and wiggled his fingers midair to reveal it had disappeared.

‘Wow!’ I said, covering my mouth with my hands.

He held up a finger, ‘Hold on.’ The same hand moved to my throat as he gently pushed back my head, studying me, admiring the lines, tracing his finger under my chin. I gasped. He smirked, knowing what he was doing, the effect it would have and how he was in complete control. I took a breath, parted my lips. He traced them with the tips of his fingers, pulling them away to push my loose hair behind my ear. His hand covered it now, slowly tracing the curve before he moved it forward and produced a shiny, gold chocolate coin. My breathing was harsh, and if we were looking for a perfect moment for a perfect kiss, this was it. The setup was ideal for the first big kissing scene from a novel. The start of the journey. Friends transitioning to lovers. Moving the plotline, creating the magic. But not for me. That wouldn’t be the start of my story because when I opened my eyes, Drew was sitting down, legs crossed, eyes back on the chess board.

Friends it is.

‘Blimey,’ I said clutching my chest and trying desperately to appear as non-affected as him. ‘Impressive sleight of hand there. Where did you learn that?’

‘My dad taught me,’ he replied. ‘I used it to impress the girls at school. Practiced for years until I perfected it.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t have impressed me,’ I said, moving closer to the board.

‘Lies,’ he replied with a wry smile.

‘It’s true! Perfecting that trick must have taken hours of practising in your bedroom. Therefore, not actually meeting any women or having any sex.’

‘Ouch…but alarmingly true.’

‘I had an uncle who used to do magic tricks at holiday camps. He didn’t get laid either. Never married. No kids. It was all very sad,’ I said, fiddling with a king.

‘What are you trying to say?’ he asked, feigning shock but laughing lightly after.

‘Nothing,’ I replied, holding my hands up. ‘It’s just you’re on this island all alone. I’m imagining there isn’t a great deal of sexual debauchery happening here.’

‘You’re wondering about my dating history,’ he said, biting his lip again. ‘Tell me yours first. Because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re here for a month, over Christmas. Alone. I’m assuming there’s no one special this year to…fill your stocking.’

‘That’s a terrible line,’ I replied, taking a sip and keeping the glass near my mouth. ‘And, no, there isn’t anyone special.’ I dropped my eyes and waited for his response.

‘Why do I feel like I want to know more about you?’ He pushed a pawn and glanced up.

‘You tell me,’ I replied, licking my lips.

‘When was your last serious relationship?’

‘Two years ago.’ I don’t know why I told him so quickly without even a pause or a blink of an eye. Maybe it was knowing he was interested in me and I was ready to open up and tell him anything.

‘That long?’ I nodded. He seemed pleased with that. ‘Why did you break up?’

‘We drifted apart. Writing tends to take over. An author is always at work. Even if we’re not sitting at a laptop typing, we’re taking everything in. People-watching, making notes, listening to conversations. I can get preoccupied if a scene isn’t working, and that leads to writing in the early hours of the morning just to get it right. He didn’t like that.’ Sean and I had met through friends a year or so before we started dating and although I was fond of him, I quickly realised that he would come second to my writing. When he asked me to make a choice, spend more time with him or lose him, I was ready to lose. ‘We split just before Christmas Eve that year. I toasted to a better relationship but it’s never happened.’

‘I spent last Christmas with Jack Daniel. Not great company, but thankfully I don’t remember much.’ He lifted his wine glass like he was making a toast and took another sip.

‘Your first Christmas without Meghan sounded tough,’ I said.

‘Being alone was tough.’

‘Have you dated since?’ The million-dollar question. Was he open to a new relationship? I was thinking the answer would be no.

‘I don’t believe in romance, remember?’

‘Ah yes. I think I have some vague recollection of you saying that…’ But I’d chosen to forget.

‘Brian set me up on a date, actually. His eldest daughter. He described her as, “Not bad for her age.”’ I giggled behind my fist. ‘Living on a small island has its benefits if you’re not looking for love. The dating pool is one of them. If farmer’s daughters are your thing, you’re well away. Happily, they’re not mine.’ I tried to ignore the tiny stab of disappointment as he confirmed he wasn’t looking for love. ‘I tried to politely decline, but he was rather insistent. In fact, he told me he’d never serve me at the farm shop again.’

‘Oh no,’ I replied, trying to join in without asking more questions.

‘Yeah. I couldn’t imagine my life without his cookies so…’

‘Terrible,’ I deadpanned. ‘I would have done the same.’

‘I have to acknowledge that I’m a thirty-seven-year-old single man, Cal. Women are not queuing up outside the door, and to be honest, that suits me fine.’ He looked up. Smiled. Looked away. ‘Or did, anyway.’

‘Did?’ I replied, unable to hide my brief delight.

He shook his head. ‘It still suits.’

Why does he say things that give me hope one minute and then knock me over the head the next?

‘Tell me about your date,’ I asked, trying to cover up my disappointment.

‘We met one evening in the local pub. She arrived dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, wellies and a leather apron with a knife sticking out the pocket.’

‘Maybe she didn’t have time to get changed before the date,’ I said, trying not to laugh.

‘She said the apron was her best one and she’d worn it specially to impress me.’

‘You didn’t hit it off?’ I said, my voice trailing off.

‘She had a missing front tooth and enjoyed talking about crop rotations.’

I fell back onto the floor, covering my face. ‘Did you see her again?’

‘Yep. I helped Brian rebuild a wall. She was mixing the concrete.’

‘Awkward,’ I replied, pushing myself up with my elbows.

‘Slightly.’

‘You’re making it up.’

He made the sign of the cross. ‘I promise you, I’m not.’

‘Don’t you get lonely here all by yourself?’ I asked.

He straightened up. Shifted around a little. ‘Sometimes. Especially this time of year when it’s dark and the nights are long. Actually, having you here has reminded me that I like company. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it,’ he said, looking up briefly but dropping his gaze again. Embarrassed, obviously wanting to say more. ‘It’s…nice to have you around.’ He watched as I poured another glass of wine and as soon as it was full, he picked it up, took a sip, then more, until it was half empty. ‘Join me.’ He pushed the glass towards me, his words filled with so much more, something I wasn’t sure was touched with darkness or wonderful, perfect light. I poured some wine, not as much as his, and took a sip, his eyes watching my mouth following the line down my throat the entire time. ‘Make the first move.’

I gasped, trying to take in air, my head feeling giddy after only one glass. He was brave tonight, bold and daring. Fearless.

Looking down at the chess board, ignoring the shiver that passed through my spine, I moved a pawn forward and watched as he did the same. The next few moves were a series of glances. Fleeting looks. Peeks. The arousal he caused in me was now thundering around my bloodstream, making it feel thicker, laborious, to a point where all I needed was an orgasm from his lovely mouth to make it less arduous to pump the blood around my body. Keep me functioning. Upright. Together. Lord. I needed him to do something. Make the first move. Crap, I’d even accept him mounting me right here on the chess board, but he stayed where he was and all he threw my way were more lingering looks, interspersed at times with a look of wild regret.

‘I wasn’t honest earlier. I read more of your book than I led you to believe,’ he said, taking a sip of wine to follow up his statement. Brave. ‘You have a great talent. I was…pleasantly surprised.’

I tipped my head in flirty mode. ‘Really? Why was that?’

‘It was witty.’

‘Thank you.’

‘There was a story and it was engaging.’

‘Good to know.’

‘The connection between the characters was realistic. I liked their banter.’

‘Dialogue needs to sound realistic, not forced or grammatically correct. People don’t talk that way,’ I replied, making another move on the chess board. As I pulled my fingers away from the piece, his finger brushed mine and a smile so naughty and full of something more passed his lips.

‘Why do you think people are so judgmental about romance novels?’ he asked.

I sighed, removing my eyes from the planes of his neck because something inside me wanted to bite him there, or at the very least press a kiss to his skin.

‘I don’t know. Maybe there’s a view that romance novels have no substance, that it’s paint-by-numbers writing. But if those critics actually read one, they’d see that’s not the case. You could also argue that they’re ridiculed because it puts the female experience at the heart of the story.’

‘That’s important though, surely?’ he said.

‘Absolutely important. Vital,’ I replied. ‘I can’t change the stereotypes, but I can focus on writing stories that I believe in. Stories about strong heroines and men who understand consent when they’re about to go at it. I can support other authors, read their books, leave a review. Basically, shout from the rooftops about how life-changing their words are. Cheerlead for them. Help.’

‘Sounds like an amazing community to be part of,’ he said.

‘And my work here is done.’ I smiled. ‘Changing stereotypical views one person at a time.’

‘Just keep writing amazing books,’ he replied.

‘Thanks. I intend to.’ He leant in and for a second I imagined him pushing the table over with his hand, removing the object that was putting distance between us so that we could pounce and connect and do all the things that I was writing about. I had already finished a sex scene, not paying attention to the fact that I didn’t even have a full outline planned. Sex scenes were easy because my muse was right in front of me. The scene took place in the cockpit of his plane and involved tongues and body parts and a cock so perfect it made the heroine cry the first time he slid himself inside her, and as they were ready for takeoff, she was straddling him, about to cry for a second time.

‘Is the first book really about you?’ he asked. I smiled and became coy. I’d always shied away from telling people my debut book was based on my own story. There was something so personal about sharing that with the world, but I wanted Drew to know it all. I wanted to know he was turned on by it, like a voyeur that wasn’t watching, but reading about my most private moments.

‘Yes,’ I replied, my blood feeling oozy again, the trickle of arousal now a whoosh, flooding my body, my senses, and affecting my ability to think clearly. Silence fell between us. Drew was watching me. Studying. His eyes never left mine, and as I started to lose all reality and stop myself from giving in to the want, he bit his lip. The desire climbed higher. I knew I had him. He was holding on with a thread—a tiny scrap of something. All I had to do was tell him I wanted this, tell him I hadn’t thought about anything else since the day I arrived on this beautiful island.

‘The sex scenes were…en…enlightening,’ he said, sweeping a slightly unsteady gaze over me. Had he been drinking before he arrived? A glass of wine shouldn’t cause such a quick pace of slurring, surely?

‘Expand,’ I demanded as I prized the glass out of his hand.

‘Hey, where’s my friend going?’ He asked as I took his glass and the bottle into the kitchen. When I returned with a glass of water, he was drinking mine. He smirked as I beckoned the glass with my finger.

‘How much of the book have you read?’ I asked.

‘Enough to tickle the taste buds,’ he replied. ‘Your virgin lady…you…soon threw off her…your …inhibitions. Wowsers, no fumbling for her…you. She…you…were off like a rocket.’

I crossed my arms as I loomed over him but couldn’t help my smile. ‘She met the man she thought was her soul mate. It was a natural connection. She found her way because he guided her. Don’t you know anything about romance novels? I can’t write that the sex was awful because sticking something the size of a marrow into her poor vag and banging it in and out repeatedly would cause a fire in her nethers for the next few days.’

‘Isn’t nethers on the list of words never to use when describing a vagina?’ he asked. ‘It should be. Add it to your vag dictionary.’

‘How much have you had to drink tonight?’

‘You gave me wine,’ he replied pointing to the glass. ‘I gave myself whiskey.’

‘Oh, lord. Why ever did you do that?’

‘I needed something to get me through the sex scenes,’ he whispered-shouted behind his hand.

‘Bloody hell, I know I’m not Shakespeare, but my writing isn’t that bad!’ I said as I plonked myself down on the floor. Chess was out of the question now, especially as he looked like he couldn’t focus on the board let alone the pieces.

‘It was fantastic. Adorable. I loved your character. You.’ His eyes finally found mine. Deep brown. Wide and bright. One of my favourite parts about him. ‘Reading those scenes was…a trial.’

‘Why?’ I asked, wondering if we were edging closer to something more.

‘You,’ he replied. ‘Him.’

‘I need more connecting words.’

He laughed and lay back on the floor.

‘At first, I was more than a little…impressed.’ He threw his arms over his head. ‘Your words, Cal. I was harder than the bloody flagpole at Buckingham Palace.’ I put my hands over my face and melted into the floor. ‘We’re talking hotrods. Tent poles. Raging hard-ons. However else you word it. You’re the expert, why are you asking me?’

‘I didn’t. Take a sip,’ I said, encouraging him to sit up as he reached for the glass of water.

‘But after the full salute, it started to hit me that it was you. I was reading about you.’

‘Highly embellished, but carry on,’ I replied, rolling my hand.

‘It was like watching a car crash.’

‘Not exactly what I was going for.’

‘I mean you don’t want to look, but something inside you tells you not to look away.’ He was in the fetal position now. There may have been some rocking. ‘I couldn’t stop reading.’

I decided to go for it and push the limits. My inquisitive mind wanted to see how far I could go with this. ‘Tell me more about why reading was such a challenge.’

‘You…him. Sexy words. Arousal. Back and forth. Whiplash.’ I shook my head and squeezed my mouth together indicating that I still wasn’t sure what he was getting at. But I think I knew. Yes, I knew. He circled his fingers at the side of his head and made a throwing a hand grenade motion. He’d had enough to drink because we were at the stage where he wasn’t making much sense, but his mouth wouldn’t stop moving. ‘Would it be wrong to say I glanced at your perfect naked body as you lay on the bathroom floor and now, when I’m reading your steamy little book with all the sexy little words, all I can think about is the perfect curve of your breast and how it would feel in my hand.’ He downed the rest of the water and looked up at the results of his third blast with the verbal stun gun. I was wide-eyed, mouth parted. Stunned. Shocked. Aroused. But clarity seemed to return to his eyes and a look of, What the fuck have I just said? appeared across his face.

‘I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink,’ I said, smiling in an attempt to reassure the startled man in front of me that whatever he’d just said was fine, acceptable, welcome, not at all embarrassing and hopefully said with a splash of honesty and not just a big splash of alcohol. ‘Maybe you should go home and sleep it off.’

He reached for my hand, linking our little fingers, brushing them together, lightly, softly, a tease. Thumbs caressing gingerly until finally, we watched them connect like it was happening of its own accord, neither of us in charge until our hands slid together. We left them there. Like it was meant to be.

‘I love your words. They’re real. True. I can’t stop thinking about them.’

‘Why?’

He lifted our hands, kissed mine briefly and let go on a sigh.

‘Why are you wearing my sweater?’ he asked, rubbing his arm down the soft sleeve of the sweater he’d taken off and handed to me as I lay on the bathroom floor in a puddle of purple, it’s only purpose to cover me. I hadn’t stopped wearing it since. It didn’t smell like him anymore. I’d run it through the wash because it was damp and probably purple under the black, but I didn’t care. It was his, and something told me to keep it close for comfort and serenity.

‘It’s soft,’ I replied. ‘I like how it feels against my skin.’

‘How would I feel against your skin?’ he asked, eyes focused, breathing shallow. I gasped, my shoulders shuddering, my stomach whooshed.

But Drew…dropped his head.

‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying,’ he said, pressing his hands to his eyes.

Don’t answer him. Don’t say, Let’s give it a go, strip. Don’t tell him you’ve touched yourself thinking about him chopping wood naked. Don’t say you’ve imagined his cock. Imagined it hard. Thought about how it would feel in your mouth. What it would be like to be fucked by him.

‘You haven’t said anything bad,’ I replied.

‘I’m on the cusp,’ he whispered. ‘Mixing whiskey and wine will do that.’

‘Sometimes it makes you honest.’

‘Perhaps it does. So, I’d better go.’

He reached for my book. Studied the cover.

‘Bedtime reading,’ I said, pointing to the book.

‘Something like that,’ he replied. ‘Cal.’

‘Yes?’

‘No one should be ashamed of what they read. Romance gets a beating and it shouldn’t.’

I shook my head, taking a deep breath as his words hit me, reflecting my feelings without having to say a word.

‘You’re absolutely right.’

‘If a reader connects with a story, doesn’t that make it worth something? Whether it’s a romance, a rom-com or the fucking Bible.’

‘A book should be like an itch,’ I replied, taking a deep breath, trying to breathe.

‘Annoying?’ he said, leaning in again. So close. He smelled so good. Clean and masculine and everything that set my joy with the world alight.

‘No,’ I replied, moving closer. ‘You can’t leave it alone. The flow of the words should be perfect, taking you with it so your heart sinks when you have to put it down. All you want to do is read. It’s all you can think about when in the reality of your daily life. It should consume you.’

‘Like a lover,’ he said, his hand moving to my face, both of our bodies stretched across the little table, the chess pieces falling over, rolling to the floor. I leant back as his hand trailed through my hair to the back of my neck. Nerve endings standing. Straight and solid. His grip hard and soft, like he was holding me there, my entire body balanced in his hands.

‘Great analogy,’ I whispered, trying to get my breathing back to the right pace, clutching my hand to my chest hoping it would help.

‘If I were open to love, I would only want to be open for you.’

I gasped at his words. His eyes grew wide. The sadness returned. He moved back, farther away, watching the chess pieces still rolling around on the board where we’d knocked them over. He shook his head in regret. Urgh, definitely regret. I closed my eyes and tried to make sense of what just happened between us, but came up with nothing.

‘There’s a lot I shouldn’t have said tonight,’ he said. ‘I’m giving you the wrong impression.’

‘Stay with me. Try to explain.’

‘I can’t explain it to myself, let alone you,’ he said sadly.

He stumbled onto his feet, mumbling things about finishing the game another time, Archie needing to go out, whispers of sorry and hopes of me sleeping well.

I decided to let him leave again because tonight had made me even more determined to keep my senses, concentrate on finishing my book and hopefully leave Karensa with my dignity intact.