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Shit.
Fine. It would be easier if I just admitted it to myself that I was writing my exact situation—a struggling writer who stays on a duke’s estate. Except in this version of the story, the writer and the duke would have hot sex all over the place and eventually fall helplessly in love and ride off into the sunset.
I wasn’t entirely sure how that would all go down, but it was more inspiration than I had last week. It was something, and a little bit of something was better than a whole lot of nothing.
With those words on the page, I wanted to explore. I knew the village of Windermere was only a five-minute drive away, and the darkening sky was threatening enough rain that I definitely wasn’t going to walk there.
An umbrella and a coat would have to do.
I backed up my document and closed down my laptop, then got everything together so I could leave. Winston knew the second I tied the laces on my trainers. He appeared out of nowhere and mewled at me, beelining for my feet.
“You’re not coming with me,” I told him, skirting around him.
He responded with a loud shout that put across his feelings on the matter perfectly.
“I said no. You got me in trouble yesterday.” I put my phone in my bag and looked down at him. “You’re on my shit list.”
He followed me to the front door, shouting at me, and I stopped before opening it.
“I said no,” I repeated. “You’re just going to have to deal with it, Winston.” I opened the door and stepped outside to yet more high-pitched shouting from him.
Oh, my God. This cat was insufferable.
“Stop shouting at me!” I said, shoving the door closed. He was still yelling, and he was so loud that I could hear as if there weren’t a barrier of stone and wood between us. “Winston, cut it out!”
He did.
Great.
He was going to poop in my suitcase, wasn’t he?
“Don’t you dare poop in my suitcase!” I shouted through the door.
“Who are you talking to?”
Jolting, I turned around to face Max. “My cat.”
He leaned to the side. “He’s not out again, is he?”
I grimaced. “No. He’s just protesting my leaving.”
“And instead of… leaving… you chose to argue with him?”
Well, it was quite ridiculous when he put it like that.
“You’re not a cat man, are you?” I questioned, folding my arms across my chest. “Ask me how I know that.”
Max swept his blue gaze to meet mine. “The first part sounded like it was a question, so I’ll go there first. No, I’m not a cat man. How do you know that?”
“Because anyone who questions arguing with a cat clearly has no idea what it’s like to live with a cat. I spend half my life arguing with that little sod.”
“He’s a cat. He doesn’t argue back.”
“He’s a cat. He most certainlydoesargue back.”
“He meows at you.”
Right on cue, Winston let out a high-pitched noise that was somewhere between a yell and a howl from inside the house.
