I slept like the new sleeping champion of Costentyn Island. I decided that when I left, I was taking the mattress with me. We’d strap it to the top of the plane if I had to.

I had set the alarm for 7:30 am. I wanted to get a good start on outlining and possibly write some words that involved more than just planning sexytime scenes. I jumped in the shower, dried off my hair and put on some make-up before changing into a pair of comfy black trousers and a slouchy sweater. Perfect writing uniform. The fire had stopped burning during the night and it was colder than an igloo on the north pole. I put more wood on the burner before I went to bed, unsure of what to do to keep the cottage warm for the morning. It hadn’t worked. I made a note to ask Drew how to stop chilblains from forming on my feet. It was a typical December day. Grey skies, a chilly wind. Freezing. I made myself a cup of tea and found myself humming, ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ as I fired up the laptop and opened the curtains.

Drew had told me the previous night that the view was amazing. I’d been looking forward to seeing it in the light this morning as I knew this was going to be my writing spot for the next month. I looked across the fields rolling along the skyline. The tops of the barns were poking through, and as my eyes dropped, I saw Drew, his flannel shirt unbuttoned to the navel…swinging an axe.

Ping! A decision was made.

My male lead came to me in the swing of an axe. He was going to be a shirtless woodcutter, strong and muscular. Robust and fit. Looking after the land. Alpha-male dominance. Romance trope heaven.

‘Holy mother of fudge,’ I said as I blew away the steam from my tea. It misted up my reading glasses and I smudged my finger over them like a windscreen wiper. He looked up like he’d heard me, wiped his arm across his head, slow-motion style and still glistening from the man sweat of good honest hard work. He waved before cutting a block of wood like it was as natural to him as giving out a smouldering look.

Opening the door was as easy as completing a Rubik’s Cube in thirty seconds while wearing a blindfold. I was pretty sure I’d dislocated my shoulder after a particularly heavy pull. I gave it one more attempt before it flew open, and as I missed my footing, I landed face first into Drew’s abs.

‘Oh, Fuck. I’m so sorry. The door. It got stuck and—’ I looked up to find him shocked but chuckling as he took my hands from where they’d landed on his shoulders and pushed me up. Before I had time to pull myself together, I was met with a huge brown Labrador, as big as a bear and just as heavy. A mixture of barks, jumps, and panting overtook me.

‘Archie. Down.’ The bear jumped down, removed its paws from my waist, and I was able to see how cute this huge dog was. I went over and stroked him, and Archie melted at the scratch underneath his chin, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head in happiness.

‘He’s gorgeous. Look at you! You’re huge. Are you a bear? Really? Parading yourself around as a dog, but you’re really a bear.’ Archie bounded about, knocking his nose into my face and licking me. I pushed his nose away and laughed as he came back just as quickly. I looked at Drew and he had a dreamy, faraway look that disappeared as soon as he saw me watching him. ‘What a great name for a dog,’ I said.

‘He likes you,’ he replied. ‘It normally takes him a while to warm up.’

‘I don’t believe that, Archie. You seem very friendly.’ He grinned as Archie licked me again.

‘I should have said I was giving you some help with the door. My fault entirely,’ he replied. ‘I’ll put that on my to-do list. Might need a squirt of…something.’

‘We all need a squirt once in a while.’ Where the bloody hell did that come from? I was fairly certain there was no redeeming it from the pit of ridiculous sexual innuendos. He laughed, low-pitched and amazing. A burst of, What the fuck did she just say? before I pulled us back from the land of highly inappropriate. ‘Did you sleep well?’ I asked, thinking back to last night’s game of no, you close the curtains, which ended in laughter, shy waves and another round before Drew turned out his light.

‘Kind of,’ he replied, not expanding on what he meant.

‘You must be freezing,’ I said, deflecting, but actually, December mornings on a coastal island were not the place to be waltzing around with an almost shirtless body even if it was fit for the Dreamboys Thrust stage show.

‘I’m fine once I get going. I stay in the outhouse where there’s a little heater. I hate having clothes bundled up when I’m chopping wood. This way is easier.’

‘Are you sure? You look cold to me.’ He now had layers of goosebumps on goosebumps, and if I dared myself to look at his nipples, I was pretty sure they would be harder than peanuts.

‘I’m cold now that I’ve stopped.’ He walked back to the little block of wood and picked up the axe. Just as he was about to swing it, I spotted a small basket sitting outside the cottage door.

‘Is that for me?’ I’d read about breakfast baskets in the brochure and did a happy dance. The axe missed the wood and sent Drew off balance, but all I could see was his smiling face and a head shake.

‘You’re putting me off,’ he said as he picked up a coat off the wall beside him. ‘I’m going to have to finish this bundled up now.’ I watched him extend his arms as he put it on, revelling in the flex of his muscles, staring at the definition of his shoulders. Forget vein porn. We’re talking Woodcutter’s shoulders.

Feel the burn in your lady bits. Ah.

‘Have you made me breakfast?’

‘I might have knocked something up for you. Used some leftovers.’ I peered into the basket to find a jar of jam, chocolate spread and a selection of croissants. The moan that escaped me caught his attention. ‘You approve?’ I hugged the jar of chocolate spread and nodded. ‘If only it were always that easy to please a woman.’ He finished buttoning up his shirt and zipped up his coat, fumbling and uneasy. ‘I meant guests. Pleasing guests.’

‘I know,’ I replied, pushing my hands in my pockets. ‘I don’t allow chocolate spread in my flat because I usually end up eating it off the spoon. It’s best to go full cold turkey.’

‘I can come over and confiscate it later if that would help.’ I giggled, failing to stop the girly noise he seemed to entice.

‘That would be great. It’ll do wonders for my thighs.’ He dropped his eyes to a thigh-high direction before picking up some pieces of wood and carrying them in his arms like a bundled baby.

‘Can I put these inside in case you run out later?’ I stepped away from the door and watched as he went inside, Archie in front of him. I followed them with the basket of temptation. ‘I’ll get it going for you,’ he said as he packed the logs away. Archie curled himself into a ball and settled down in front of the sofa.

‘It was cold when I woke up.’

‘Yeah. Hold on.’ He stood up and went through to the kitchen. I followed and found him behind a cupboard door. ‘This is the boiler. I’ll set it to come on at 6:00 am. During the day, use the wood burner. It will burn out overnight and you’ll be cold in the morning without this.’

‘My hero. Thanks.’ He blushed before shutting the door and watched me as I unpacked the breakfast basket. So sweet. I wondered if he was going to do this for me every morning, and as much as I loved that idea, I had to think of the muffin top that would surely grow. Maybe I should suggest a healthier breakfast basket. One filled with muesli and fruit smoothies. But as I pulled out a pain au chocolat, I forgot about the muffin top and bit into it.

‘What are your plans for today?’ he asked.

‘Hopefully, writing words,’ I replied raising an eyebrow.

‘You’re inspired already?’

‘Not exactly, no. But I have some ideas.’

‘Where does a writer start when the page is blank?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whined. ‘I might just give it up for today and do some reading.’

‘E-reader or paperback,’ he asked.

‘Both. You?’

‘The electronic reading device for me. The best invention of the 21^st century,’ he said.

‘Are you a reader?’

‘Absolutely. Been obsessed with stories since I was a kid.’

The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. This guy was my type and then some.

‘Me too,’ I sighed wistfully. ‘Nothing compares to getting lost in a book.’

‘My mum loved reading. She’d explain the classics to me before I was old enough to understand them. I still have her collection. They’re falling apart, creased at the edges, notes in the margins, yellowing, but I think that makes them all the more beautiful.’

My body was telling me I’d met my husband. Shivers and goosebumps danced down my spine.

‘Some people would say they haven’t been cared for,’ I replied. ‘I think the opposite, crinkled pages and underlined words show just how much they’ve been loved.’

‘Totally agree,’ he replied, watching me in silence. ‘I find they help me feel close to Mum. A way back to her for a short while. Her thoughts are there. Her love. Does that make sense?’

‘It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t. It’s your sense.’

‘I’ve never thought of it that way,’ he replied, getting lost in his thoughts for a second.

I searched the cupboards for two plates and found them in the one Drew was standing next to. He scooted across. ‘I thought you preferred your electronic reading device. Sounds like you have a great collection of paperbacks.’

‘Why do I have to choose?’ he asked. ‘I like the smell of a book, the feel of it in my hands. But E-readers are good for nighttime reading…holidays, commutes. It’s practical, but paper is classic. I like a chunky book.’

‘Chunky is good,’ I replied smiling.

‘What about you?’ he asked.

‘At home, I have more shelf space than I do living space. If I love a book, I get a copy signed by the author.’

‘So you keep them pristine? No crinkles, no cracked spine?’

‘I have a shelf for pristine and a shelf for well-worn. Usually of the same books.’

‘You are a bookworm. That’s hardcore.’

‘I also have a shelf full of my own books, six or seven copies of each in case I want to send out a gift or run a giveaway on my social media accounts.’

‘I’m imagining your walls at home lined with books,’ he said. ‘You, curled up on a cushion with a mug of tea in your hands.’ He wasn’t far wrong. Although usually I had a laptop at the side of me in case inspiration struck. ‘When did you start writing?’

‘As soon as I could hold a pen,’ I replied. ‘I wrote stories about Dextor the bloodhound detective when I was at school. Embarrassing but true.’

‘When did you branch out into romance?’

‘When I was a teenager.’ I smiled as memories hit. ‘I used to read a magazine that featured romance stories on the more risqué side.’ He laughed. ‘My friends and I would count down the days until the new issue would be available to buy, and we’d read it on the field at the back of school.’

‘Starting young,’ he replied, his eyes crinkling. ‘What did your parents say?’

‘They didn’t know! I used to hide them under the mattress.’

‘Brilliant,’ he replied. ‘I was hiding Playboy and you were hiding literature.’

‘Can I steal that line?’ I replied, laughing.

‘Thank me in the acknowledgements.’

‘Will do.’

He was leaning over the kitchen island, completely at ease. His eyes caught the spotlights above, the tiredness leaving him for a while as the lights made them sparkle. I couldn’t help but wonder about Drew, his back story, how he found himself on an island despite training to be a pilot and securing a prestigious job with American Airlines. Why was he here alone? What was his relationship history and why was I so intrigued? I caught him watching me, his lip gripped between his teeth, a nervous smile brushing his mouth as he looked away.

‘I’d better make a move. Roofs won’t fix themselves you know. As much as I’ve tried to convince them.’ He stood up and ran his hand through his hair causing it to flop down over his forehead like it had already given up for the day. I was starting to realise his style was sexy scruff and it suited him well. He zipped up his jacket, the tug confirming he was leaving, but I wanted him to stay, listen to him talk about his mother’s books and how much he enjoyed reading. A common interest that was fascinating and intriguing.

‘Can I tempt you?’ I asked, holding up a pastry.

‘I’m almost certain you can,’ he replied, his eyes dancing before glancing away. Remembering himself. I wondered if there was more packed within that sentence because I didn’t feel like we were talking about breakfast anymore. His gaze lazily ran across my face, down my body and back to the pastry in my hand. His large sigh filled the space and I didn’t have a clue where we were heading next.

‘Chocolate croissant or…naked croissant?’ I said in a breathy gasp. I watched him swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple the sexiest movement I’d ever seen. I wanted to write it down. Preserve the feeling. Write it in my novel. Make swallowing sexy. I sniggered at the innuendo as he scrunched his forehead in confusion. ‘I don’t know why I said that,’ I rushed out holding the pastry up again. ‘I meant plain or chocolate.’

He scratched his chin and held his hand there in thought. What is he thinking?

‘Actually, Cal. I’ve got a lot I need to do today. Starting with packing away the wood.’ He pointed behind his head quickly. ‘It soon gets damp and we don’t want that, so…I’d better get back to it and everything else on my list.’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

‘Yeah, sorry. Come on, Archie. You up for some roof fixing?’ Drew laughed nervously as Archie crossed through his legs, backing out of the kitchen with a look of regret I couldn’t place. His stubble was heavier then yesterday and it took everything in me not to ask if I could run my fingers over it. Instead, I followed behind him, saying polite things like, Of course. Another time maybe? Thanks for doing this. When all I wanted to say was, Please stay. Let’s talk; I’d like to get to know you better.