Page 10 of Unexpected Company
My hands hover over the typewriter keys, the blank page mocking me.
I know it’s old school to use a typewriter instead of a laptop (I have one of those with me too) but I have always found the click clack of the keys inspiring. And since my debut did so well after being typed on this very machine, I’ve not written a first draft on anything else since.
Right now, though, its mere presence is pissing me off. Taunting me with its silence.
“Come on, Jack. Tell me your story,” I plead with my fictional character. “Give me something, buddy.”
I bang my head on the desk when the only reply that greets me is more silence. Maybe I’ll knock a storyline out if I hit it hard enough against the mahogany surface.
Defeated after an hour of producing nothing, I get up from the small desk and head to the kitchen.
It’s dusk out, the rectangular window above the kitchen sink looking out over the lake. Thanks to the cloud cover, the lakeand surrounding treeline look ominous, like something out of a horror film.
“Maybe DI Jack will meet his end at the hands of a killer deep in the woods,” I say out loud, despite my solitude. I hadn’t intended to kill off the well loved character, but if he’s going to continue to be a pain in my derriere, it may well come to that.
Shaking my head against the turn my thoughts have taken, I switch on the oven and throw in a cottage pie I made earlier in the day, not waiting for the oven to preheat. Then, setting the old school egg shaped timer, I head down the hall and into the bathroom where I strip out of my clothing and climb into the exceptionally tiny shower.
At six foot with broad shoulders and a little extra cushioning around my middle, it’s safe to say this shower was not built for me.
I’m lathering shampoo in my hair when there’s a bang at the front of the house. Turning off the water, soap still covering me, I pause to listen. Nothing.
It must have been a fox or a badger. The brochure in the welcome manual said to be careful of the critters who have a habit of digging through any trash left outside.
I flick the shower back on, finish washing and, once done, climb out and wrap the bath sheet around my waist.
Stepping into the short hallway that runs between the bathroom and the single bedroom, my footsteps falter when I’m certain I hear a voice coming from the kitchen.
Odd. I didn’t leave music playing and I couldn’t find a radio station earlier when I tried.
“How thoughtful,” the voice says, and I close the space between me and the kitchen in a few hurried strides, rounding the partition wall to find a guy leaning over the counter eating my cottage pie straight from the dish!
He’s young, probably early twenties, wearing a hoodie at least three sizes too big for him and bright purple leggings. His blue hair flops in front of his face as he brings a forkful of my dinner to his mouth.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you eating my food?” I bellow.
The guy shrieks, holding the fork out as if it’s a knife he’s using to ward off an intruder. There’s a hint of fear in his eyes, but it only lasts a heartbeat before those same warm brown eyes, lined with black liner, are trailing my body, landing on the place where the towel is sitting low on my hips.
Then he smiles.
“You scared me for a moment! This is typical Liam. He sent you, didn’t he? He joked I’d find a sexy lumberjack up here.” He flicks his head and his fringe falls to the side.
My brows furrow.
“I’m sorry, what? Who is Liam?”
The guy stabs the fork back into the dish, pushes away from the counter and takes three steps towards me.
“My friend. The one who paid you to be mycompanion. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” There’s something about the way he says ‘companion’ that has my brows pulling together even harder. I open my mouth to repeat my earlier question about who the hell he is when he holds up a hand to stop me.
“I’m not entirely sure how this all works if I’m honest,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “You are very good looking.” He bites his bottom lip, giving me an assessing gaze. “I could climb you like a tree. Liam knows my type, that’s for sure.”
What the actual fuck is going on right now? Who is this guy?
“It’s warm in here. Thanks for putting the heating on.” He removes his hoodie, throwing it on the floor of all places when there was a perfectly good stool next to him to hang it on. Removing the item leaves him in a black crop top which showsoff a smooth sliver of porcelain skin that I can’t pry my eyes off of.
My cheeks heat at the fleeting – unwelcome – thought about what it would feel like to dip my tongue into his navel and…Now I’m distracted. He’s like a little demon creature, causing chaos in my mind while I’m trying to circle back to what he’s doing standing in my space.
“I’m not…” I clear my throat, averting my eyes when he rubs his hand over the naked sliver of skin. “I don’t know any Liam and I have no idea who you are or why you’re in my cottage.”
