Page 5 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

Chapter Three

Juliet is a total bitch .

David stared morosely at the rain which had been hitting the windows pretty solidly for the past two days, and cursed his agent for what had to be the tenth time that day.

Why the fuck am I here? Goddamn crappy British weather. She could at least have sent me some place where the climate wasn’t so changeable. The words of a song came to mind. Four seasons in one day .

Yeah, that pretty much nailed it.

The laptop sat forlornly on the coffee table.

David had put it there in the hopes it might stir him to actually write something, but the voices in his head were silent.

It seemed none of his characters were talking to him, and they’d been that way for months.

David would never have admitted it to Juliet, but he was panicking.

He hadn’t gone this long without writing in quite a while.

His first book, Tell Me The Truth , had been released over ten years ago to public acclaim.

Up until that point he’d been a teacher of English in a mediocre high school in Manhattan.

It had been soul-destroying. Kids who didn’t want to learn, staff who didn’t want to be there…

After eleven years of teaching, David had been tearing his hair out.

When his job reached an all-time low, David knew he had to find a way to break the cycle.

His doctor had suggested he find an outlet, something creative to counterbalance the negativity and stress of his life in the classroom.

And then came the fateful morning when he’d awoken at stupid o’clock, because there was this guy in his head, telling him he was a detective called Ed Manning.

The book had simply flowed out of him. He hadn’t been able to stop it.

In a little over six weeks he’d written eighty thousand words, and it hadn’t stopped there.

Once he’d typed those wonderful words, The End, he’d racked his brains who to send it to.

’Cause there was no way he was gonna send it to a publisher without someone casting an eye over it.

He finally got up the nerve to approach a friend, Ann Fredericks, and begged her to read it and give him an honest opinion.

Emailing it to Ann had been torture.

The cursor had hovered over the Send button for so long, as indecision plagued him.

In the end, he’d thought fuck it . There followed a few days anxiously waiting to hear her reaction.

When she called him at two in the morning, having spent the whole day unable to put it down, his heart soared with sheer relief. She’d loved it.

David had known enough to expect lots of rejection slips, so he hadn’t been prepared for the email twelve weeks later from the first publishing company on his list, Phantom Press, telling him they would be delighted to publish his book.

And so James Blanchette, writer of detective novels, was born.

It had been a heady experience. The book had rocketed up the Bestseller’s list—and stayed there.

When the publishing company started making demands about public appearances, blog tours, promo, David knew he needed help.

Into his life walked Juliet Summerville, a literary agent and publicist who was worth every cent he paid her, even though he bitched at her enough times to make her consider leaving him on a regular basis.

Juliet had recently started out as an agent and for a while back there she only had one client—David.

She dealt with the countless emails from fans, prepared all his PR shit, and basically made sure he wasn’t touched by that side of things.

The books had given him a good life so far. Money in the bank, a great apartment in New York city, regular holidays all around the world… James Blanchette was a single straight guy with simple tastes. No tattoos. No piercings. No vices.

To his friends, David Hannon was a gay guy who liked a lot of sex, and who secretly wanted nothing more than to find one guy to settle down with.

Up until five months ago, he thought he’d done just that.

The sound of the rain was depressing the fuck out of him.

At least he didn’t have to go out to buy groceries.

When is this fucking rain gonna stop ? He pulled his phone from his pocket to check it for the fifth time that morning.

Vanessa hadn’t been kidding when she’d spoken about the poor signal down there.

He went up into the bedroom and peered through the rain-streaked windows at the cove.

God, there were actually people out walking in the rain, kitted out in raincoats.

These Brits are crazy . He glanced at Taylor’s house, but there was no sign of the guy.

Maybe that’s a good thing . Seeing him the other night had stirred up all kinds of thoughts.

The same thoughts he’d chased for the past two nights as he jerked off before sleep.

A glance across the cove showed there were customers in the café, despite the inclement weather.

Now there’s an idea. After two days holed up inside the house, David was going stir crazy.

He went downstairs, grabbed his jacket and sandals, and left the Lighthouse.

He shivered as the cool rain met his skin.

He hurried along the path to the café, shoulders hunched as the drops of rain dripped under the collar of his jacket.

Once under the covering that ran alongside the grey building, he shook the rain from his hair and then looked around.

A serving hatch with a tiny counter was on his right, where a tall man was taking payment.

There was a line of tables which each seated four people along the edge of the café, looking out over the sea and the rocks beneath.

The end of the café opened out into a wider section arranged with tables and chairs, but this was deserted due to the weather.

Facing the payment counter was an area with high stools, with enough space for about four people.

There were only five or six people in the café.

“Afternoon.” The man behind the counter gave David a warm smile. “Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

David thanked him. He walked along past the tables until he reached the end.

Around the corner was a covered area with bench seating along two walls.

There was no one there so he took a seat.

From his vantage point he was able to look out at the waves rolling in, crashing over the rocks.

Spray flew up and soaked the tables nearest to the railing.

The sound was incredible. It had only been two days but already David loved that sound.

He’d fallen asleep for the last two nights with the window open, the hypnotic noise filling the turret room.

The tall guy came out and deposited a laminated grey card in front of him.

David glanced at it, and grinned when he saw the different varieties of coffee served there. “An Americano, please.” His gaze went lower. “Oh wow. You have cake.”

“We certainly do.” The server counted off on his fingers. “Carrot cake, bread pudding, chocolate brownie, rock cakes, lemon drizzle cake, and millionaire shortbread.” His eyes sparkled. “I can recommend the carrot cake.”

David grinned once more. “You’ve sold me. A piece of carrot cake, too.”

“Excellent.” The server picked up the card and disappeared from view.

David went back to his sea-gazing.

It really is kinda hypnotic. He wondered if seals or dolphins had ever been seen in the vicinity. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice the approach of his server, bearing a tray with his large mug of coffee, a little jug of hot milk and a plate with his cake.

“That was fast,” David exclaimed.

The server grinned. “We aim to please.” He cocked his head. “You’re Vanessa’s American, right? Staying at the Lighthouse?”

Jeez, Taylor hadn’t been kidding about it being a small island. “Yeah, guilty as charged.”

The server gave him another warm smile. “Then we might get to see quite a bit of you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Richard.” David shook it. “Andy runs this place. You’ll probably meet him sooner or later. You can’t miss him—he’ll be the one with the cowboy hat.”

David liked Richard’s expressive brown eyes. The man appeared confident, and David found himself warming to the friendly Brit. “Pleased to meet you, Richard. And I dare say I’ll be seeing you again.” He returned Richard’s smile.

Richard gave him a brief nod and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. David took a cautious sip from his cup.

Oh, thank God—they know how to make decent coffee .

It seemed the horror stories he’d heard about the UK weren’t true after all. He forked off a piece of carrot cake and tasted it, then fought back the urge to let out a moan as the subtle flavours burst upon his tongue.

Man, that’s good .

David could see himself becoming a frequent visitor to the Beach Shack.

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. Surprised, he withdrew it and smiled as he saw the caller ID—Michael.

“Michael, how are you? To what do I owe this pleasure? And can I also say how amazed I am to get this call? Signal down here is crap.”

“Oh, thank God.” He heard the relief in Michael’s voice. “Okay, bitch, why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve been calling the apartment for two days solid. And this is the first time I’ve been able to get through on your cell.”

David chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding about the signal. There’s virtually none where I am for the cell. And it would be rather difficult to answer the phone in the apartment, seeing as I’m on a different continent.”

There was silence at the other end for a moment. “Right, spill it. Where in the hell are you, exactly?”

“The ass-end of nowhere,” David grumbled.

“Huh?”

David quickly explained where Juliet had sent him, and why. “Apparently you can Google this place. Look for the Lighthouse, Steephill Cove, on the Isle of Wight. There’s a virtual tour, so my hostess tells me. You can see exactly where I’m staying.”