Page 92 of Snowbound

He shakes his head. “It needs doing now. Seamus says he owes you for stepping in last minute. Anything else you need… it’s yours.”

“Fine,” I grunt. “I’ll let you know. I’m in need of a favor.”

He nods. “Consider it done.”

I have to go back to Ireland.

And Emma… Christ. I can’t leave her. Not now. Not when I know what he’s capable of. But how the fuck do I convince her to come with me?

I glance back at the screen. She’s gone.

Where the fuck is she now?

I only wired the main room. Didn’t touch the bedroom or bathroom. I wanted to give her some kind of privacy.

I can’t just barge in after promising to give her space.

Then—there, she reappears, coming around the corner. She moves to the kitchen and makes herself a cup of tea. Dammit, I have to get a grip already.

Good girl.

A proper cup of tea can fix most things. Almost.

But time’s up. I need to take her with me.

But the question is, how the fuck do I convince her?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Emma

I stare at my screen.Same chair. Same blank page. Same fucking position I was in before Owen came.

My fingers hover.Useless. I’ve forgotten how to type. Forgotten how to dream.

For a while, I knew exactly what I wanted to write, and the words came fast and furious. I smiled to myself as the story began to unfold, but now…

I don’t know how to finish this book, but maybe that’s because I don’t know how the story ends. That’s the part that kills me.

Not the silence. Not the pressure.

It’s the not knowing.

How am I supposed to write about real, binding, unbreakable love when I can’t see the ending?

I slam the laptop shut and pace the cabin like an animal caught in a trap.

One more day. That’s all I have. Just one more day, and my rental here is done. No more hiding behind the snow. No more pretending the storm is what kept me inside.

It’s just me now. Me and this damn book, and my heart that’s breaking all over again.

I need to finish it, that much is clear.

Ihaveto.

My phone buzzes, and hope lifts in my chest. I check the screen, but it’s not the man I wish would reach out to me.

Text after text after fucking text comes in.