Page 15 of One Bed

Bea mopped up the coffee, and remembered her resolve to be nicer to Gib and looked for something to say. ‘Sleep well?’ she asked.

He scratched his chest, his finger sliding into the thin layer of hair covering his pecs. ‘Much better than I expected to,’ he said, squinting as he looked out to sea. ‘What’s the time?’

‘A little after nine.’

‘That’s the latest I’ve slept in years.’ Gib walked to the edge of the deck and gripped the railing, lifting his face to the morning sun, and closing his eyes. Muscled, good-looking, masculine … the Greek gods would approve. Anybody with a pulse and a fondness for hot, half-naked men, would.

Really, Bea? Enough now.

‘Can I get you some coffee?’

He slowly turned and arched one thick eyebrow. ‘Why aren’t you shouting at me for startling you and causing you to spill your coffee over your notebook? And why are you offering to make me coffee? Who are you and what did you do with shrew you?’

Shrew? That was a bit harsh. ‘You haven’t been all goodness and light, either,’ she pointed out.

‘I rented the cottage, you’re the usurper.’

Bea tightened her grip on the dish towel, refusing to take the bait. He was looking for a fight, but she wasn’t going to give him one. ‘Do you want coffee or not?’

‘Yeah, black and strong. Thanks.’

Of course, he took his coffee without anything that made it taste good. He probably ripped the heads off bats and drank the blood of virgins…

Bea stomped back into the cottage and walked over to the coffee machine, another of Golly’s recent purchases to bring the cottage into the twenty-first century. Since coffee was as important as oxygen, Bea very much approved.

While the machine made its coffee-making sounds – was there anything better than the sound and smell of grinding beans? – she scowled at the divan. Why was it still in the cottage? Why was Golly holding on to it? She made a mental note to ask her godma.

Talking about notes … was there anything in her notebook that directly linked her to Parker Kane? Unless Gib picked up one of her books –and why should he, he didn’t fall into her ten-to-fourteen demographic –he wouldn’t recognise the characters or link them to her series.

She was pretty sure he wouldn’t make the connection. Parker Kane-wise, she was in the clear. Sleeping wise, sharing this cottage wise?

She was still in the weeds.

ChapterFour

The thing about having bad handwriting himself was that Gib could easily read the chicken scrawl of others…

He was also a speed reader, so he’d managed to read a couple of lines of Bea’s notes before she snatched the book away. What did she do that required her to send out a newsletter? And what did the initials GMC mean?

Gib picked up his phone and plugged the acronym into his search engine, not surprised when it came up with about a billion responses, most of them referencing the car brand. Someone who couldn’t change a tyre wouldn’t make notes about a car brand. He sent a quick message to Navy. Hopefully he’d still be awake.

If you saw GMC and a newsletter in someone’s notebook, what would you think? Don’t think cars.

Navy’s reply was instantaneous.

Goal, motivation, conflict. Writer or wannabe writer. Why?

Gib didn’t reply because Bea was back and shoving a cup of coffee into his hand. It was hot and smelled delicious. He took a sip and felt his brain cells perk up. ‘Thanks. Good coffee.’

‘Life is too short for bad coffee,’ Bea told him. She joined him and leaned against the railing. ‘I’m going to either buy a blow-up mattress or sleep on the divan tonight.’

Disappointment ran through him, as sharp as a knife blade. What the hell was that about? It was what he wanted, right?

‘Why?’ he asked her. ‘I slept really well last night.’

‘Well, I didn’t, and I need to,’ Bea snapped. There were dark smudges under her amazing eyes, and she looked a little pale. Funny that he’d had the best sleep in a long time, yet she hadn’t.

Had she been scared of him? Worried that he’d make an unwelcome move, cop a feel?

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