Page 19 of Tender Heart
It was . . . nice.
Comfortable with an undercurrent of something intense that I haven’t yet been able to place.
Then it was like it never happened.
He never came back for breakfast that morning, and I cleaned up and ate alone. And just like that, that spark of life, of connection that would make my stay here more bearable, has gone up in a puff of smoke, along with my words. Callum hovers around, tending to the garden in the greenhouse and maintaining the light above my small room. He’s good atkeeping busy. Then, he went to the mainland without me last week. Again.
And we’re back to square one.
So, now, I find myself alone once again with writer’s block that’s kicking my butt.
The plot is all over the place, the characters too shallow, and the world-building as thin as Saran Wrap. And the chemistry between the hero and heroine?Nonexistent. I haven’t managed to write anything romantic since the accident. It’s like every bit of lust and love that I ever possessed stopped breathing the minute Joshua did.
Maybe some research could help?
Groaning, I push off the desk, adjusting my glasses before deciding I need some fresh air. Maybe that will kickstart this stupid, stuck head of mine. Revive this aching heart. The weather has started to warm up and I change out of my PJs and into a yellow sundress, plucking out a cardigan just in case. A long, slow walk on the beach on the eastern side of the island should help.
Here’s hoping.
I’m out the door before my never-touching-grass brain can catch up. The gravel of the small path around the lighthouse crunches underfoot, and I take in the magnificent grass-topped rock I’m lucky enough to live on, even for a while. Making my way toward the sheds and the eastern beach, I wonder what it would be like to live here as long as Callum has. And at which point the loneliness would find me.
The grass ends, giving way to a dark rocky border before the beach spills out around me. The waves on this side are wilder than the mainland side. The tide is out. I kick off my slip-ons and pad toward the roiling ruckus. The sand is still cold, like this is only a brief pocket of warmth, not the turn of the seasons I hoped it would be.
The ground is awash with shimmering sand, clusters of shells, small ocean debris, and the odd scurrying tiny crab. The ocean breeze steals my hair, tangling it behind my shoulders at my back. I close my eyes and hold my arms out, letting the rushing water, briny scents, and wet, wet sand that sinks between my toes swallow me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The world quiets for a beat, letting my racing, harried mind slow the tiniest bit. The morning sun kisses my skin, my arms and legs and shoulders tingling with the welcome rays. My lungs stretch with each breath. All thoughts of fantasy worlds, mythical creatures, worlds too big to be contained in one mind melt away. For this very moment, I’m right where I’m meant to be, even if only for a while.
A gull cries overhead, and I snap my eyes open. The waves are biting at my feet. The tide is shifting. I turn back and wander along the beach. The waves eventually chase me up the sand and to the rocky edge. It’s been forever since I spent hours outside with nothing in particular to do but wander.
So I do.
Stopping at the shed, I skirt around the outside until I find a window. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I peer inside.
There’s boxes, old pieces of furniture. Some covered in sheets, others with only a thick layer of dust for cover. Rusted items hang on the wall. Something big sits at the end of the shed, covered, with smaller boxes resting on top. Some of the furniture looks antique. A box sits on a bench by the opposite wall, next to another labeledclothes.
It’s like someone moved out and left their things behind. Maybe the lighthouse keeper before Callum?
“Find what you’re looking for?” a harsh voice snaps from behind me.
I stumble away from the shed to find a stone-faced Callum, his arms crossed over his chest. Eyes burning into me, like if he only stares hard enough I might burst into flames.
“I was exploring,” I say, too quietly.
“Taking a man’s home wasn’t enough? You gotta snoop over every inch of the island as well?”
My mouth gapes.
“No, I wasn’t snoo?—”
“Yeah, you were. Don’t you have a novel to work on?”
My brows drop, but I take a step sideways, toward the lighthouse. His eyes track the length of me, taking me in.
“Go on, then.” He nods to the house.
