Page 66 of Fighting Words

I throw my head back and laugh. Nate looks over, smiling.

We spend the rest of the drive to Kendal discussing the plot. It’s hard to believe, but it’s actually starting to take shape.

When Nate drops me on the curb outside the coffee shop with a promise that he’ll return to retrieve me in two hours, I salute him then spin around on my heels, but I don’t go inside right away.

I’m in a new town, and it’shugecompared to Sedbergh. The cafe Nate dropped me at is on a main road lined with shops and restaurants nestled inside old stone buildings, so I take full advantage. When I see an artisan shop, I can’t help but dip inside. There’s a short man behind the counter wearing a stained scarlet apron and round glasses. He nods in greeting and tells me to ask him if I have any questions. The narrow space is lined with paper goods, mainly thick journals bound in varying shades of saturated red and teal and brown leather. I can’t help but scoop two up: one for me and one for a gift. I’m not sure who I’ll give it to just yet. No one in my life journals like I do. Emma would think it was pretty, but she’d end up sticking it in a drawer somewhere and forgetting about it. My mom could maybe make use of it, jotting down recipes and things, but she keeps a no-nonsense binder in her pantry. Each recipe is printed and laminated, hole-punched and categorized: entrees, appetizers, breads, desserts, etc. The thing would probably just collect dust on her shelf.

Oh well.

I strike up a conversation with the owner and tell him I’m only in town for a day.

“Are there any other shops I should see before I leave?”

With a mischievous smile, he points me in the direction of the chocolatier next door. Little does he know how appropriate this recommendation is. I could buy out the entire place, but because Nate and I should really learn to restrain ourselvessomewhatand because the bars cost more than I make in an hour, I only buy two: one with toffee and sea salt and the other with orange shavings and almonds.

I could spend the rest of the day exploring Kendal, but my wallet is screaming at me to get it together, I need to call Andrew, and I actually need to put in at least an hour of work. I have no idea what’s waiting for me in my inbox, so I head to the coffee shop.

“What can I get you, love?” asks the petite barista behind the counter. Her Scottish accent is heavy, which isn’t all that surprising considering how close we are to the border of Scotland.

“Just a cappuccino, please.”

“Full fat milk alright?”

“Perfect.” I grin.

She and I chat while she makes my drink.

“See you went down to Fred’s shop? Pick up a journal?”

“Two,” I say, lifting them up out of the bag enough that she can get a peek at them.

“Love the blue one! I have too many to count myself. It’s dangerous working down the street,” she says before turning toward the espresso machine.

I leave a small tip, and then once I have my drink, I set up at a table near the counter only because it’s fun to hear people as they order and chat. I like the hum of conversation around me, so different from the quiet of the cottage.

Could I live like Nate does? Day in and day out? Yes. Could a nerdy bookworm enjoy a storybook cottage? Ab-so-lutely I could, but it’s a silly thing to think about. Soon enough I’ll be headed back to the hustle and bustle of the city. I’m sure it’ll feel jarring at first. The taxis the lights the people the rush the sirens the horns the pressure to dress cool and be cool and have money and be successful.

Here, in northern England, I’ve only cared about my paycheck insofar as it provides me the means to indulge in chocolate and journals. I guess if I were to stay longer, I would want to get a nice winter coat. Beyond that, none of it seems to matter. Alice ekes out a living running her small book shop and Mike and Oliver work on their family’s farm. Even Nate’s wealth is hidden away to the point that I doubt very many people realize just how much he’s sitting on. I know from working on the publisher side of things that his royalty checks are eye-popping. I asked him the other day if he sold his apartment in New York when he moved to England, and he shyly mentioned that he likes to keep it for when he travels. An apartment in Manhattan and a country cottage in England? I can’t imagine!

By the time I’m done people-watching and drinking my cappuccino, I get to work. I’m lucky there are only a few emails I need to glance through: company-wide newsletters, updated book release schedules, things that get forwarded en masse. Joy hasn’t emailed me directly for another update since we spoke on Tuesday. She’s giving me a long leash and I appreciate it, but maybe if she were breathing down my neck a little more, I would have had an easier time focusing on what really matters with Nate. Work, work, work! That’s what I should be caring about, not the rest. Not his dimpled smile and his callused hands and his perfect blue eyes.

I puff out an unsteady breath and scramble for my phone so I can call Andrew. I have excellent cell reception and I plan to use it.

It’s late morning here, so there’s a chance Andrew will be up and getting ready for work back in the States. If not, at least he’ll see my missed call at some point and know I tried to reach him; he’ll appreciate it.

Surprisingly though, he answers straightaway.

“Summer!” His voice is excited and nearly breathless.

Did he just finish a workout? It’s not really like him.

I smile. “Hey.Didn’t expect you’d be up. It’s only a little past 6:00 there, right?”

“Nope. It’s actually just past 11:00.”

I frown and pull my phone away from my ear to check the time.

It’s 11:17 a.m.here.

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