Page 31 of A Secret Escape

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything at all.

She was about to back away and retrace her steps when the door opened. Brendan Scott stood there, a look of frustration on his face. His wide shoulders filled the doorway, and all the words she’d been rehearsing flew from her head.

“Yes?”

She resisted the urge to take a step back.

He looked tired, she thought. Stressed, with shadows under his eyes. His hair looked as if he’d dragged his fingers through it a thousand times in the last hour.

She felt a stab of sympathy because although she hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror since she’d hauled herself out of bed that morning, she was pretty sure she didn’t look much better than he did.

“I’m sorry to disturb you—” Her voice came out as a croak. “It’s not important. I’m—”

“You’re Milly. I remember you from last time.” He paused, and his expression shifted into a look of apology. “And you’re here to take me to task for being rude to Lorna.”

“Oh . . . you know her name?”

“She wore a badge. It saidLorna.” There was a hint of laughter in his eyes. “I assume that’s her name, although as a crime novelist it did cross my mind that the woman at the door could have in fact murdered Lorna and was impersonating her in order to gain entrance to my cabin.It would be a good twist, don’t you think?”

Milly, who generally preferred her fiction a little less dark, recoiled. “That’s the way your mind works?”

“On a good day. Sometimes it’s just blank, as it has been for the past few days and nights, which is why I took it out on poor Lorna.” He opened the door wider. “Come in. If you’re going to yell at me, I’d rather you did it in private.” He stood to one side, and she hesitated and then walked into his cabin.

“For the record, I don’t yell. I’m very conflict-averse.” She paused in the doorway, taken aback by what she saw. Every available surface, including the floor, was covered in sheets of paper, and each sheet was covered in scrawling handwriting. There were papers on the sofa and on the chairs and sticky notes on the walls.

Beech was one of their most in-demand cabins, partly because of its secluded position but also because of the wide deck that reached over the water. She could see that Brendan had set up his desk on the side of the deck that was shaded by trees. A laptop sat open, and next to it was a notepad and several pens. She counted at least six mugs on the table.

“It’s a mess, I know.” He crouched down and moved a few sheets of paper on the floor so that she had somewhere to put her feet. “I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’ve reached a crucial part of my book, and I needed to visualize each chapter and see the flow of the story. There’s no lasting damage to the cabin, I can assure you.”

“I didn’t think there was.” She glanced around her in fascination, slightly awed. “This is how you write a book? How do you keep it all straight in your head?” It looked like a nightmare to her, but she didn’t consider herself to be a particularly creative person. Except in the kitchen.

“This is how I keep it all straight. This and muttering to myself. And this isn’t how I write every book. They’re all different. Some days it doesn’t go as well as other days, and then I’m not at my most sweet-natured.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I seem to have run out of mugs.”

She eyed the mugs lined up on the table. “That happens if you don’t load the dishwasher.”

“I guess. Now, tell me how I can make it up to Lorna. Flowers? Chocolates? A signed book by her favorite author—I might be able to pull some strings with my contacts?”

“There’s no need for that, but thank you for offering. Lorna is fine, but I’ll clean your cabin from now on, so maybe we can agree on a schedule that works for you?”

“I scared her away. Damn. So why did you draw the short straw?”

“I’m brave as a lion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No.” She smiled. “I’m a total coward, but I’m the boss. The buck stops with me.”

He studied her face. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to do it at the end of my stay?”

“Two months?” She laughed and glanced around her. “You’d be buried under your own detritus, Mr. Scott.”

“Call me Brendan. And yes, you’re probably right. Okay, then. Clean sheets and towels would be great, but until I get past this stage—” he gestured to the papers “—I’d appreciate it if we could hold off on cleaning floors and surfaces.”

“I promise not to move a single piece of paper.” She looked at the deck. “Can I load those mugs into the dishwasher, or are you doing a firsthand exploration on the growth of toxins in cold, long-abandoned tea?”

“It’s coffee. I’m a coffee guy.” He looked embarrassed. “And I don’t expect you to wash up after me.”

She decided he was really very attractive when he wasn’t glowering, and it surprised her that she’d even noticed because she’d thought she was still too bruised by Richard to care about things like that.

---