Three hours I waited.

Three hours of expecting a frantic knock at the door and a quick shoulder bash to open it. Three hours of questioning myself, wondering if I had let us go too far. Another three hours of wanting to stamp over to his cottage and poke him in the guts with his bloody spanner. Instead, I got nothing. No shoulder bash. No telephone call. Not even a breakfast basket in the morning.

That was yesterday. Since then, I hadn’t spoken to Drew. His bedroom curtains remained shut. There was a light on in the living room this morning and he’d let Archie out of the front door every few hours, so that at least reassured me he hadn’t died of embarrassment. Not that I cared. I’d had one-night stands before, even slept with a colleague knowing it was just sex, no strings attached, but never had I felt so used sexually without even being touched.

I’d already come to terms with the discovery that I was a voyeur who liked to be watched. Future books would be full of scenes of mutual masturbation, spying through windows, peeping through…peepholes. Bloody hell, my words had started to disappear again. Maybe they’d fallen out of my brain as I orgasmed against the window. I had re-lived the night, the lovely things he’d said, the flirty banter, the sexual turn in conversation. I was able to remember the sweet moments, the touches to my face, the intensity in his eyes as his hand grasped the back of my neck, pulling my face to him, bringing me closer. It all felt unreal like it didn’t happen, but I know it did because I felt the hurt.

My writing had become dark and twisted today. The hero was turning into an alpha male with a cruel streak. Binding the heroine for his sexual games. That wasn’t usually a genre I felt best placed in. My books were angsty in places, but overwhelmingly romantic, a happily ever after was the name of the chase. But I couldn’t get to that place. I wasn’t in that headspace, so I decided to spend the afternoon at my inspiration spot to clear my head and try to refocus.

An hour later I was still there, focus unchanged.

Despite it being the middle of December, it was a warmer day than usual. The winds were calmer and I’d come prepared with a hot water bottle, my hat, scarf and gloves. I loved sitting on this bench; the views were beautiful. I could see the coastline and I found myself imagining what Karensa was like in the summertime, how the open spaces could be transformed for outdoor weddings with fairy lights and wooden hearts, rows of shabby chic benches and wildflowers decorating the tables. I was about to make some notes when movement caught my eye. Drew was walking up the path, bundled up in his peacoat and bobble hat. He’d obviously come prepared to stay.

I ignored him as he came closer, refused to give eye contact or acknowledge him. I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and started to write whatever was in my head as distraction. He sat down beside me, sighing, the silence deafening. I focused on a tractor meandering through the old roads below us and onto a field, looking like a child’s toy, its wheels sinking into the mud.

‘I’m sorry,’ Drew said, sitting forward, his hands in his pockets. Uncomfortable.

‘Sorry for what?’ I snapped.

‘I shouldn’t have let it get that far.’

‘You stroked yourself and we got off. That’s not going very far, Drew.’

I heard him suck in a breath and the noise echoed around my head. I wanted to say, That wasn’t the worst of it. I waited for you. I hoped you would come to me, hold me, expand on the things you’d said to me earlier in the evening. Not leave me alone and make me feel used.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Drew said, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What exactly are you sorry for?’

‘Cal—’

‘No. I want to know. I want to hear the words. I want to hear you say it,’ I said, a frustrated edge to my voice. I was hurt. He needed to know. He turned his head to the sea. Wild and free. Nothing at all like Drew. He looked pained, but instead of swimming the wave of his emotions, the possibility of drowning at any moment, I surfed those waves instead. ‘How about saying sorry for coming over when you were drunk, sorry you were flirty and lovely and gave me whiplash with your “You’re so lovely, would you like to know what I feel like pressed against your pussy?”’

‘I never said that,’ he replied looking sheepish. ‘Did I?’

‘Not exactly…but that doesn’t matter! I waited for you. You watched me strip, Drew. I let you see me touching myself. We orgasmed together and instead of coming to me, checking to see if I was OK, you closed your curtains and ignored me.’

‘I don’t know what it is you want from me, but if it’s more than friendship, I can’t give that to you,’ he replied, vulnerable and tortured.

‘I like you, Drew. If stripping in front of you didn’t tell you I want more, I don’t know what will.’ I was shaking now, shivering from the cold and trembling from the hurt.

‘I like you too,’ he whispered, like saying it in a quieter voice wouldn’t make it real.

‘Then how could you use me like that? I waited up for you.’

‘I know’, he said. ‘I watched your light go out.’

I turned to him. ‘Were you waiting for me for me to come to you?’

‘No,’ he replied firmly before letting out a breath.

‘You didn’t think to come to me? Even just to see that I was OK with what we did?’ He dropped eye contact and it was like a bucket of ice had been dropped over my shoulders. ‘I can’t do this,’ I said, standing up and starting to walk.

‘Cal…Wait a second,’ he said, following me. ‘Think about this from my point of view. Please.’ He held on to my arm, but I couldn’t turn to him. Didn’t want to. ‘You’re here temporarily. A few weeks and you’ll be gone. Back to your life. But I’m here forever. I’ve already experienced heartbreak. I can’t go there again.’

I turned to him. ‘So, you don’t allow yourself to get close to anyone?’

‘I can’t,’ he said, his voice full of despair. ‘I can only give you friendship. I don’t know how to give you anything more.’

‘Why?’ I asked, totally amazed. ‘You’d rather close yourself off than be happy, even if just for a short time?’

He sighed deeply, paced around with his hands on his head. ‘That plan was working just fine until you turned up with your hair and your legs and that luscious arse that I just want to bite,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Of course that can’t be enough to torture me. You’re also lovely and adorable and cute yet sexy as fucking hell, and Jesus, I’m also insanely attracted to you, Cal, but you’ll be gone in a couple of weeks. Where does that leave me? Tell me. I really want to know.’

‘What happened to you?’ I asked disbelief threaded through my words. ‘What did she do to you to make you so cautious?’

‘Why aren’t you cautious?’ he shouted as I continued walking away. ‘I’ve read the book, Cal. I know your story. I know about your first love and what he did to you.’

‘That’s embellished to make a better story,’ I replied, still walking as he followed me. ‘Something real needs to spark a reader’s interest, help them tap into their imagination, peel back their layers so by the final word they’ve pieced themselves back together and maybe learned a thing or two.’

‘Maybe I did.’

‘What did you learn, Drew?’ I stopped, unable to navigate the turn of conversation while trying to navigate the chalky rocks back down to the cottages. Landing on my arse would not help matters in any way.

‘That words on a page are capable of taking you places you don’t want to think about anymore,’ he replied, looking dejected.

‘Isn’t that amazing? Something tapped into the place you’ve switched off,’ I replied as I carried on walking.

‘Reading it made me ask questions of myself,’ he replied behind me.

‘Like?’

‘Damn it. I knew you’d ask me that.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘I can’t put the words together to explain myself. But, Cal, your character. She had this self-doubt. She wondered if she would ever find the kind of love she’d hoped for…so she settled.’

‘She did,’ I agreed.

‘She thought this is my chance. We’re friends. He seems nice. In a lot of ways, he ticked all the right boxes, but she always had doubts. A fear that at any second he’d walk away. If she changed parts of herself or even conformed just to stop rocking the boat, he’d stay, and that wobble of wonder would settle rather than sway from side to side.’

‘You identified with that?’ I asked, dumbfounded.

‘There were parts where I felt you were writing about me.’

We stood for a moment, facing each other, the backdrop of Wuthering Heights behind us and an atmosphere to match the prose. He reached for my hand and started to circle patterns on my wrist, the little touches sparking my need for him that never seemed to go away. We linked hands, still not giving each other eye contact, but connecting in another way.

‘I’ve lost the freedom to love,’ Drew said as I shook my head. ‘I can’t allow myself to fall again.’ I placed my hand on his neck, my fingers curving round his skin. He withdrew from me, avoiding eye contact. ‘Can I show you something?’ he asked. I finally nodded, wondering where he was going to take us. He took the lead, me following behind with our hands still threaded together.

We walked down to the barn conversion that I was yet to see, down past the side where wildflowers would grow in the summer and towards the entrance of Karensa’s showpiece. I took a breath. Collected myself. It was stunning. Specially designed to look as spectacular as possible. A wedding photographer’s dream venue.

A water fountain stood as the centrepiece, long turned off and lifeless. It was surrounded by Cornish rock, pieced together to form a circle like the famous stone structures you’d find across the county. The huge glass double doors were dark and lifeless. It was pretty clear that no one had been here for quite a while.

Drew unlocked the doors and disabled the alarm before switching on the lights and beckoning me inside. He held the door open and followed behind me as I walked through to the reception area. Everywhere there were clean lines and glass, sleek silver fittings and pretty chandeliers sparkling like a collection of Cornish fairies. Drew looked around like he’d never seen it before. Removed and detached. Emotionless apart from the slight shake to his hands. He watched me as I spun around, taking in the balconies of glass and the vases of flowers that were now dry and crisp, petals fallen onto the tables they were sitting on, giant orchids that were now sticks. It was like a macabre wedding museum.

‘You don’t come up here?’ I asked, running my hand along the chaise lounges that were covered in dust.

‘Not much,’ he replied. ‘Not anymore.’

‘It’s such a waste, Drew. Look how beautiful it is. It’s like a fairy world,’ I said as I looked into the atrium and saw the tiny flickers of lights around the archways. As I went through, he stood back at the door like he was afraid to come closer, hanging onto the door frame like the ghosts of his past were in the room, circling the high ceilings and shifting the walls, attempting to make the whole place collapse on top of us.

The atrium lead through to another barn conversion, attached with a glass ceiling that was now dirty and drab, an ivy circling across it. This one had the potential to be just as beautiful as the other. A bar was in one corner, bottles hanging and glasses still in place. Champagne glasses were set out in heart shapes on the tables. As Drew approached, he moved them with his fingers, hooking them into the rims and destroying the symbol of love. An arch of balloons was drooping onto the floor and two huge walls of flowers were now dry and brown, the flowers long since dead.

Drew walked towards a staircase leading up to a balcony and unclipped the red velvet rope that had sectioned it off as private to the rest of the space. He started climbing and I followed him, waiting as he stopped and started again like he was deciding if he wanted to go any further before changing his mind just as quickly.

‘When the barns were converted, Meghan and I decided that we would have this as our personal living space. She designed it all. I let her do what she wanted.’

‘Can I see?’ I asked as he stepped aside, essentially inviting me to explore. I entered through a set of large oak doors to a grand living area with comfy sofas and high-backed chairs, all mismatched but somehow working together perfectly. There were cushions on every space, throws and sheepskin rugs. A huge television was covered in dust on one of the walls, and beautiful pieces of white furniture were set in flawless places, designed to fit perfectly in every square inch of the flat. I spotted a pair of silver heels, sparkling and shiny, with the tell-tale red sole, one left upright, the other toppled on its side. Were they Meghan’s shoes? Why did that lopsided shoe indicate that she left abruptly?

Drew disappeared into another room, giving me opportunity to look around. The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been touched apart from a few dirty dishes in the sink and four empty beer bottles discarded on the sleek marble island. I peeked into the bathroom, quickly assessing it was bigger than my flat back in London. I approached another door and my hand trembled on the smooth, silver door handle because I was pretty sure I knew what lay behind it. Drew and Meghan’s bedroom. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing it. Bedrooms are a deeply personal space and could tell you a lot about the couple who shared it, even if they hadn’t shared it for the past year.

Immediately, the room felt cold. Clinical. Unloved and unlived. A great, sparse space with a bed situated in the middle of the room enabling me to walk around it. Unusual and unique, certainly not homely or warm. The covers were pulled back and crumpled like someone had just woken up and gone to make their first morning tea. The bed was positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a fantastic view across the coastline and onto the beach. I’d only been able to catch a glimpse of the bay from the bench on top of the hill. It provided a much more scaled-down version of the breathtaking scene in front of me.

Across the room, I noticed there were drawers open next to the dressing table. As I got closer, it appeared that items were missing, as if bottles, makeup and creams had been scooped into a bag in a rush. Three cardboard boxes scattered the tops, one open, the others still closed. I pulled open the cardboard and found what looked like little booklets. As I lifted one out and read the title, my legs started to give way beneath me.

‘Order of Service for the Wedding of Meghan Tuxford and Drew Carolla, Saturday, October 21^st, 2017.’

I looked up and the pieces of Drew’s puzzle fell into place. On the back of the door was a silk hanger, a veil and the most stunning wedding dress I had ever seen. It all made sense, now. The champagne glasses still set out in the shape of hearts, the wall of flowers, once majestic but now withered away to nothing, the discarded shoes, the dress. The reason why Drew was so cautious. The reason why he didn’t come up here and the weddings at Karensa had stopped.

He’d been jilted. His bride left him on what appeared to be their wedding day.

Drew entered the room. His eyes falling to the order of service in my hand as he blew out a breath.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said softly, watching as he nodded in thanks.

‘I found them the morning of our wedding.’ I replayed his words, the emphasis on them. Not her. Not Meghan, not my ex-fiancé. Them.

‘Found them?’

‘I walked in on them on the bed over there. Our bed. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows she just had to have,’ he replied, his voice low.

‘I’m sorry,’ I replied.

‘It was good that I did. Otherwise, I would have married her a few hours later.’

‘Oh my God, Drew.’ I gasped. ‘Did you have any idea?’ I asked, still shocked.

‘No. No idea.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘You could say that,’ he replied, rubbing his hand through his hair. I knew his story was about to get worse—could see it in his face. ‘It was Mum’s partner,’ he replied, his eyes dropping to the floor in pain. ‘The guy she ran her holiday business with.’

‘What? No,’ I said, covering my mouth with my hand.

‘I offered him a job when we came here. He was missing the work, had the experience, although on a much smaller scale. He was going to do odd jobs, tend to the gardens, help me with building work. I felt I owed it to him, Cal. How stupid does that make me?’

‘Not stupid,’ I said, ‘Never stupid. How could you have known?’

‘I should have picked up on something.’

‘No, Drew.’ He folded his arms. ‘It’s not your fault.’ He nodded. ‘Are they still together?’

‘No idea. I haven’t heard from either of them.’

‘What did she say to you when you found them? God, what did he say?’ I asked.

‘Ah…erm.’ He glanced towards the bed and a whoosh of breath left his mouth like he was back in the moment, and the shock stole his composure. He hadn’t been back to this room since that night over a year ago, flashbacks of the horror were to be expected. ‘He started apologising, saying he was sorry to me, my mum. I lost it. Mentioning her. I couldn’t hear it. His clothes were in a pile at the side of the bed and I threw them at him.’

‘Drew.’ I was astonished, my heart aching for him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘He was living in one of the guest rooms. He cleared the place and was gone. We sold the house I bought him after Mum died and put the money towards the barn conversions. Essentially, he had nowhere to live when he left. To be perfectly honest, I gave zero fucks,’ he said, holding up his fingers to make a circle. Doing his, let’s make a joke when things get tough, routine. I saw through it immediately.

‘What about Meghan? What did she say?’

He drew his mouth in and tipped his head. ‘She told me she did it because she was lonely.’

‘Lonely?’ I repeated. ‘You were running this place together. How could she be lonely?’

‘I was busy. Preoccupied. Like you, I guess. My mind was always on the business.’

‘Wasn’t he just as busy as you?’ I asked.

‘Busy fucking her it seems.’ I hid my face in my hands at his words. Those awful words and this horrible mess of a situation. I thought about it all and watched him pace, avoiding the bed like one false move would cause it to explode.

‘How old was he?’ I asked.

‘In his early fifties. He was younger than Mum. A silver fox apparently…’

‘Meghan said that?’ I gasped.

‘Yep. Somewhere around her, “He paid more attention to me than you did,” speech.’

‘But Drew…have you seen yourself?’ He chuckled at that, stroking his stubble, his shoulders lightly shaking. ‘I’m not kidding. You’re romance-novel hot.’

‘Good to know. Thanks.’

Our light laughter quickly died down as the reality of the situation started to sink in.

‘I think I understand now,’ I said, finally making sense of everything, ‘why you’re so cautious.’

‘There was a reason I brought you here, Cal.’

‘I get it,’ I replied.

‘You do?’

‘You’ve been monumentally hurt. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, how you felt. It’s understandable that you have this…fear in you.’

‘I really like you, Cal, but at the same time, I don’t want to lead you on,’ he said, a tinge of apprehension in his voice. ‘If I’ve given you the wrong impression that I’m open for something to happen between us, I shouldn’t have.’ He couldn’t look at me, had his eyes trained on the floor.

I ignored the parts of his speech that were said to prepare me for a fall and went in with both feet, full Cal style. ‘You can’t be like this forever, you’re denying yourself—’

‘I’m not denying. I’m protecting. There’s a difference,’ he said shaking his head.

‘You’re not protecting. You’re hiding. You’ve lived here alone since Meghan left.’

‘I have Archie. I’m fine,’ he said quietly.

‘Archie’s beautiful, but he isn’t human.’

‘Cal—’ It was a warning. Don’t say any more.

But I was a writer, and the words now came easily, they flowed, spilled out and caused major kerfuffles, and I didn’t care anymore.

‘You’re hiding!’ I shouted. ‘Tucked in the embrace of Karensa, an idyllic wedding venue, a romantic fairy tale that doesn’t exist anymore. There are minimal guests, no interaction with people, with women. Your pick of the crop out here are toothless farmer’s daughters or…Brian!’

‘Until you,’ he said, glaring with a heat so intense I almost lost a layer of clothing. ‘You’re fucking confusing me!’ He looked relieved after his outburst, like he was desperate for me to know how conflicted he was.

‘Me?’

He stepped forward and faltered as he reached me. ‘Yes. You. The loveliest woman I’ve ever met. The kindest, most infuriating woman who drives me fucking crazy because I can’t do anything about this jumble of thoughts and feelings you’ve stirred up.’ He paced and circled until I was dizzy. ‘I never thought I’d be in a position to fall again. To have another woman, to fantasise about building a life here, one I’d enjoy and worship. But you, Cal. You’ve opened up those vulnerabilities and I go from feeling exhilarated to completely fucking petrified in the space of seconds.’

‘Don’t be scared. Romance is my expertise,’ I laughed through the cusp of a sob, trying to lift the tension but failing spectacularly.

‘But this isn’t a romance novel that you can orchestrate. You can’t write a scene or create words to make this a perfect story with a happily ever after.’ He put his hands on his head and closed his eyes. ‘I wish I could shake off this feeling—throw it away, put it in a box forever—but I can’t. I know there’s anger inside of me because of what happened, but there’s also sadness, that I’ve been left with the need to build walls and close myself in.’

‘Don’t build walls,’ I replied. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘Please don’t be hopeful,’ he said, dropping his eyes to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m being truthful.’

‘You’re not,’ I replied. ‘I know you feel more.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘At least you know now.’

‘What do I know?’ I asked, afraid of the answer.

‘Why I don’t believe in romance.’

His words hit me like a knife to flesh. Romance was my thing; an epic love story made my world go around. When I wasn’t writing one, I would be reading one. Sometimes, when I wasn’t actively writing, I was reading five or six books a week. Those six words should never be composed together to form a sentence. It was sacrilege. Blasphemy to my genre. But above all, it was heartbreakingly sad.

He sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, his wedding suit jacket still draped across the back. He looked so broken, so tortured that I couldn’t help but rush to kneel at his side, push my own disappointment aside and wrap my arms around his body. I felt his deep sigh against me, his hand resting on the back of my neck and there we stayed as I stroked his head, pulling his hair through my fingers, whispering how sorry I was, trying to comfort him, tell him that everything was going to be fine, because I wasn’t sure that anyone else had.