It was the early hours of the morning when I finally finished reading. I wanted to take my time. Savour it. I needed a few breaks to clear my head, grab a coffee, maybe even stop hating myself before the next chapter. Christ, Brian was right. I was hard work. How this love story ever came to be was a bloody miracle.

The dedication simply said, ‘For Drew.’ I traced my finger along my name, falling into the romance of it all before slamming it shut and throwing it onto the coffee table. I imagined her there, legs spread, touching herself for me. Another image I couldn’t shake away. Didn’t want to. I sat back, wrapped my arms around my legs, stared at the book and picked it up again, holding it like it would crumble in my hands.

I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I finally turned to the first chapter, touching the paper against my fingers, reciting the words from Cal’s note, You say you don’t believe in romance. I don’t agree. The original book was based loosely on my back story, but this was based tightly on us. At first, it felt personal. The flitter of anger, the feeling of trust sinking to the floor again rumbled through me. Too close to the bone. Far too close. And it was, don’t get me wrong, but as I continued to read each chapter and was swallowed by the love story and taken on a journey, I felt a heady rush of emotions so powerful it was enough to knock me over. I had a deep urge to keep reading, and I did until the light faded around me and I was forced to put it down to turn on the lamp beside me. I knew Cal could tell a story. I read her other books over the space of a few days, but this seemed more heartfelt, like she had opened her soul and let it splash across the pages. She touched on every emotion, each one I recognised from the critical moments of our story. The early, getting-to-know-you banter. The flirting, the conversing. The spark of attraction. The purple shampoo, the sink on the floor. I was laughing one minute, crying the next. As the story built and the words of the first sex scene started to unfold, an entirely different feeling crept back in. Arousal. A longing. A need to feel her skin against my fingers, hear her whimpers against my ear, and I had the desire to grip my cock and stroke myself as she reenacted those glorious moments so clearly. She was like a word conductor, a master of phrasing, a genius at setting the tone, the pace, and then pulling it from under you just as quickly.

When I read the final words ‘To be continued…’ I felt uplifted. I didn’t feel the familiar pinches of humiliation of knowing people would be reading about the reclusive woodcutter, jilted at the altar and living a life of misery. I felt proud. Proud of Cal for telling such a beautiful story and proud that I’d worked through the rejection, no longer needing to protect myself from being hurt again—to come out unscathed on the other side.

I’d fallen in love again.

Before I fucked it up.

But still, the greatest feeling was knowing that after everything I had put her through, she still believed in me. The backwards and forwards. Leading her on and letting her down. The push and pull. The tension. So much tension. How could I do that to her? Why didn’t I see what was so glaringly obvious sooner? I started falling in love with her the moment I saw her on the airport runway wrapped in her Louis Vuitton blanket and smiling brightly as our eyes met.

Reading about what happened between us brought about a certain quality of clarity. I could have done with the book a few weeks earlier, used it as a relationship guide. Like the books you buy at the airport to help you find your way around a new country or The Dummy’s Guide to Figuring Out Your Relationship with Cal. It would have helped me avoid the part where I acted like a humongous prick and sidestep the glaringly colossal ache in my chest the moment she left.

Reading the scene where I let her go was brutal.

I had to stop.

Take a breath.

Hit myself on the head with it a few times.

I picked up the book again and flicked through the pages. One hundred and twenty-one. I’d memorised it. Knew exactly where to find it. Tortured myself rereading it.

‘Maybe one day you’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for or perhaps you’ll realise you lost something even bigger and better than that.’

She was right. I’d already found what I was looking for; I just wasn’t aware that I was looking. I’d used my past as an excuse. The idea of protecting myself was hiding the real issue. I was a single man living on an island. How the hell was I supposed to fall in love, let alone meet someone? It was easy to pin past heartbreak as the excuse for being lost, lonely and alone. I’d resigned myself to the fact that love and romance would never be something that would be part of my life. It was easier that way.

I sighed and lay back in the chair, draping my feet over the arm the way Cal used to when she was reading. Her hair would be fixed up in a messy bun secured with a pencil that she would always desperately need to jot down notes. Her hair would fall around her shoulders as she removed it, and she’d laugh as I shook my head. But really, all I was thinking about was how resplendent she looked. Beautiful and pure. Her whole body coming alive as she was swept away by a new story. She was so giving, often writing on her social media pages about new authors she’d found, how impressed she was with their words and boosting their following in the process. She was a light in my life. Illuminating the dark and dreary so that it no longer existed. God, I missed her. How could I have let her go?

Her acknowledgements didn’t mention me directly. I didn’t know why I was disappointed. I had no right to be part of them. She talked about the book not having a happily ever after, that she was aware she was breaking the rules of romance. She added that it felt right to end it that way because we hadn’t followed the romance code. We did fall in love, though possibly guided. Her romantic heart liked to think that way. I bit my lip and nodded my head because I agreed. That was the only explanation. Fate. Destiny. Written in the stars. Whatever it was. Something brought us together for a reason. Why I didn’t grasp that before was something I’ll never know and would always regret.

She ended her acknowledgements with some guidance for aspiring authors. Every romance is different. Tell your story your way. This is mine. Against the rules. A feared cliffhanger. But I’m a hopeless romantic at heart and I’m still hoping for a happily ever after.

Her words stirred something inside me. I grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket, found the number I needed and pressed call.

‘Drew, it’s four in the morning.’

‘I know. I took a chance that you’d be working on something,’ I replied.

‘I am. The final proof of To Be Continued,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you rang me.’

‘Gerry, I need your help.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’ve said that because I need a follow-up to this bloody amazing book.’