Page 14 of Love At First Fright
“You think I don’t mean it?” She was so impertinent. He was just trying to apologise, god damn it.
Rosemary turned on him. Ellis tried very hard not to notice the way a few locks of hair had slipped from her bun and were slicked to the side of her neck, or how the tattoos of delicate flowers and vines that began on her wrist in fact climbed up her arms and twisted in delicate patterns onto her collarbone before dipping below the material of her—rather amply filled—bathing suit.
“I think that we’re in the middle of an empty pool and that there’s no way you didn’t see me on my bright red float.”
“What’s going to make you believe me? Want me down on my knees? I can try but I’ll probably drown.” Ellis’s attempt at wry humour clearly hadn’t worked, as Rosemary’s cheeks were even more flushed with anger now.
“I’m going, the pool is yours, Ellis.” She swam to the stairs, slapping her book down on the side.
“Come on, Rosemary. I’m sorry. Let me help you get back on the float so you can relax a bit more and read your”—he glanced at the title—“killer mermaids book?”
“No, I don’t want your help.” She was half out of the water, and Ellis was close enough to see the steam from the warm water rolling off her and the whorls of inky art that decorated her thighs and calves. He swallowed.
Ellis pulled himself out of the water after her.
“What are you doing?” Rosemary asked.
“Just handing you a towel, the least I can do.” He smirked. Ellis decided then and there that if persuading Rosemary to think he was right for the role, or even like him in general, wasoff the cards, then he could rile her up as much as possible. Was it a particularly professional thing to do? Not at all. But her cheeks were flushed pink and a perverse part of him liked arguing with her.
Reluctantly, Rosemary took the towel from him and stalked off.
Jesus Christ, had this woman been placed on earth specifically to bother him? Ellis shook water from his hair and dried off. There wasn’t much time before dinner, and he had a bookshop to visit.
6
“Fucking men,” Rosemary huffed, fallingback onto her bed, freshly showered after her fall in the pool. Everything had been going so well; she’d had hours before dinner, had just relaxed onto the pool float and opened her book where the sea-cave explorers came upon a nest of killer mermaids, when Ellis fucking Finch had thrown her overboard into the water. She hadn’t even had time to read a single page and now her book was ruined. She’d tried to blow-dry it, but the damage was done. All she’d wanted was a little quiet time before the big dinner tonight and Ellis had to interrupt with his stupid gorgeous face and disgustingly sexy body.
No man should look like that, it wasn’t fair. Packed muscle, sculpted shoulders, probably built through years of training, and a few scars (she wondered what from) across his upper chest. Said chest was of course perfectly peppered with dark hair that trailed scandalously down to the deep V just above his shorts. His dark hair was short, and when he raked a hand through it, her gaze caught on the flex of his biceps.
Ellis’s resting expression was studious, serious, until hebroke out in a small smile, his eyes crinkling with roguish charm. Even when she felt he was laughing at her, Rosemary found herself fighting the urge to smile back—it was infectious.
Ellis looked exactly like a Hollywood leading man should, except—and this was the truly infuriating part for Rosemary—he also looked like a man she might have met in a small town who owned a farm or a garden shop. Ellis Finch could probably wear the hell out of a plaid shirt.
But a 10/10 body did not make up for an annoying-as-hell, asshole personality. She wasn’t sure what made her so gripey about Ellis, but whatever it was, he aggravated her, and knowing that she was going to be stuck with him on this shoot and in her movie only made it worse.
Rosemary dried herself off and pulled on a sleek green dress. It brought out the warmth of her hair and made the ink of her tattoos pop. She rubbed a little more shea butter on her arms, one that Nour, Dina’s mother, had concocted for her. She wasn’t even sure if it was magic, although Nour was a witch, too, but it certainly made her feel like a million bucks. And made her smell like cocoa and neroli. She applied some fresh makeup, going with a warm smoky look to complement her brown eyes, and a red-wine lip.
Rosemary eyed herself in the mirror. She didn’t need Ellis, or anyone, to make her feel small tonight. They were only here because of her. She’d let them knowexactlywho Rosemary Shaw was.
A text buzzed on her phone.
How’s the view, sweetpea,the text read, from her dad. It was a tradition of theirs since she’d moved out to go to college. She snapped a photo of the Thames, with all the evening strollers and old-fashioned streetlamps setting the river aglow.
Not too shabby,she replied, sending the photo. Her dadreplied with two photos: one was a screenshot of the bird sound recording app he’d downloaded, showing a few birds he’d recorded recently and feeding into his daughter’s obsession with ornithology; the second was of the barn, where there was a litter of three black-and-white kittens and a smaller ginger kitten all curled up together on a heating pad.
You win!she replied.Where did you find them? Cuties!
Another photo came through with the kittens drinking from small baby bottles.Found them in the barn, no mama. Going to keep them, good for getting rid of mice.
Rosemary felt a sudden pang of homesickness for her dad and her childhood home. Her parents had moved out to the farm soon after her nana died, to open their flower farm and pumpkin patch. Even when her mama had gotten sick, they refused to move back towards civilisation, they both loved the open space too much. Her mama was buried out there now, beneath her favourite cherry tree, so she could lie beneath them in the sunlight. She was glad her dad had the kittens to keep him occupied until she came to visit. Not that he needed more to do, what with running the farm and participating in the village book club.
Sometimes Rosemary thought about moving home to be closer to her dad, and she had asked him once if he would like that. After a long pause, Russell Shaw had told his daughter that she should only come home if it was for her and not for him.
Are you going to name them?she texted.
Only if I think of something good, otherwise you can name them when you come visit. Still coming after the shoot is done, for Christmas?She could almost hear the worry in his voice-over text.
I’m still coming, Dad. Wouldn’t miss it.
