Page 4 of Love At First Fright
Writing used to be fun, but now it was inextricable from stress. This book needed to be written, but the previous book was in copyedits, whilst the subsequent book needed to be researched and planned out. She felt like a conveyor belt, always churning out words, never stopping to breathe. Rosemary would think about breathing when this book was done.
Her phone buzzed.
On the screen the caller ID photo popped up of her, Immy, and Dina—her two closest friends, who also both happened to live an ungodly distance away from her, all the way in England. Rosemary answered the group call.
“You’re both up late,” she said, by way of hello.
“It’s the twins, they’re struggling to sleep through the night, and it’s my turn to check on them.” Immy yawned. Immy had taken to motherhood like a duck to water, and Rosemary was glad she had someone like her husband, Eric, who very much viewed parenting as a fifty-fifty experience, and who also sent Immy off for a spa day every month.
“And it’s a full moon tonight, so I’m waiting until midnight and then I’m going to do some moonbathing on the balcony,” Dina said. In the background Rosemary could hear Dina’s fiancé Scott call out hopefully, “Will the moonbathing be naked?” followed by Dina’s chuckling laughter. God, she missed her friends, she hadn’t been back to see them since the twins were born nearly a year ago. She kept meaning to go back to England but between book tours and signings and working on her new draft, the best part of a year had flown past. She couldn’t wait to see them soon.
“Anyway, we wanted to check on you.” Dina added, “How did the event go?”
“It was good, the other guys were exactly as expect—”
“—like shrivelled-up balls of misogyny?” Immy muttered.
“Screw them, you’re more successful than both combined anyway. Where’s their movie?” Dina added.
“Thanks for the pep talk, guys, but I’m okay, really. I’ve finished saying my goodbyes to this old apartment, and I’m psyching myself up to meet he who shall remain nameless.”
“Ah, yes, the horrible and insanely hot actor. You know I think I’ve read a fanfic that starts like this,” Immy said.
“Well, this isn’t one of your fics, I’m not going to swoon the moment I see him,” Rosemary said, picking at a piece of lint and avoiding eye contact even through the screen.
“Uh-huh.”
“Sure.”
“You know, it sounds like you two are trying to matchmake me. May I remind you that I’m not interested in that kind of thing. Besides, I don’t think I’m Mr. Action Star’s type.”
Immy groaned. “But I’m so good at matchmaking! Look what happened last time.”
Dina cackled, her engagement ring sparkling as she ran a hand through her curls.
“I’ll tell you what,” Immy persisted, “watch this clip—I’m gonna share it in the chat—and if you honestly tell me you don’t think he’s hot, then I’ll shut my mouth and this is the last you’ll hear from me about it. Deal?”
“Deal,” Rosemary replied. How hard could this be?
Her phone beeped, and a moment later she had the video loaded on her screen, sharing it between the three of them. Even with their faces tiny in the corner of the screen, she still felt the joy you can only get from friends, seeping into her limbs, bubbling happily inside her.
“Ooh, I’ve seen this clip already,” Dina squeaked, and Scott popped his head into the call and waved hello. “Is this the video where he kisses the living daylights out of that dairymaid?” He chuckled.
“The very one.” Dina smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple before Scott ducked out of view again.
“You two make me all soppy.” Immy yawned.
Rosemary rolled her eyes and pressed Play.
This clip was from that one period drama he’d been in, made a few years ago by the looks of it. Rosemary had never watched it, too scared to hate how he portrayed the character. The clip had been shared online millions of times, titled “Ellis Finch Best Movie Kisses Part 1.”
“How many parts are there?” Rosemary asked, worried.
“At least ten.” Immy grinned.
The clip was cut in such a way that most of the dialogue was cut out.
It began with Ellis Finch, complete with button-down billowing shirt that hinted at the packed muscle and dark hair beneath, striding boldly across a sunlit meadow. Wrapping a firm, tanned arm around the heroine’s waist, he drags her close. Rosemary thought he would kiss her immediately, but that would clearly be too rudimentary for Ellis Finch, or rather, his character. Instead, he tucks a loose curl behind her ear, his thumb caressing her eyebrow, her cheek, her lips, before his hand strokes down to her neck and finally—finally—he kisses her. Kisses her like he is a man starved of all touch; like this is the final kiss before an execution (she hadn’t seen the film, so perhaps that was the case); like he’d never known love until he held her.
