Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
I took a deep breath and sighed, resting my head on the window frame. I wished there was a way I could write all this into a romance novel, but I did somewhat fear sounding like a script for a David Attenborough documentary.
Although, words were words, and when they were hard to come by, it didn’t much matter what they were.
I finished the last of my tea and pushed up off the window seat, shrugging off the blanket as I did. Sitting here and watching the wildlife wasn’t getting my book written. It was procrastination for the sake of procrastination.
Something I was excellent at, if I did say so myself.
I set my mug in the sink and went upstairs to shower. With my basic hygiene needs taken care of, I headed back downstairs to scoop a serving of cat kibble into Winston’s bowl in the kitchen before he started screaming about a lack of food.
That happened even if there was food in the bowl.
He really was a complete drama queen.
It was probably why he was my cat. I could be one myself sometimes.
But not today.
No. Today, I was choosing optimism. I was choosing to be the bright, bubbly person I usually was when I wasn’t being tortured by my own creativity.
I was going to write the crap out of this book, and I was going to write it bloody well.
I sat down, opened my laptop, and fired up my document.
And was interrupted by four savagely loud knocks at the front door.
It was really hard to be optimistic in these conditions.
I pushed away from the desk and walked down the hall to the door, then pulled it open to see Max standing on the other side.
With my bloody cat in his arms.
I was going to murder him.
The cat, just to be clear.
Not Max.
The Duke?
His Grace?
How was I supposed to refer to him?
Bugger it, that didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was holding my stupid frigging cat.
I should have known he’d made an escape when he didn’t run to his food bowl. All I had to do was sniff in the direction of a food bag and he was there like a bad rash.
I pressed my lips together, staring at Winston. “I… am so sorry.”
Max grunted. “He is definitely your cat, then?”
“Unfortunately,” I replied, relieving the man of the wayward feline. “I swear, I have no idea how he got out.”
“You promised you wouldn’t let him out. Aside from the wild birds, we have our own personal ones.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at me. “Like the ducks on the lake. They all belong to us, and so do their ducklings.”
That explained why I’d never seen a wild duck like the pure black one this morning.
“I really am sorry. I have absolutely no idea how he got out—I make sure to latch all the windows securely if I open them, and he was definitely here when I woke up because he was the arsehole who woke me up by trodding on my head.”
Max sniffed, glancing at Winston with what could only be described as unbridled annoyance. “The living room window is wide open.”
“No, it’s latched.”
“I can assure you that it most certainly is not.”
I tightened my grip on the wriggling cat and stepped aside to peek at the window seat in the living room.
It was wide open.
Shit.
Had my arsehole of a cat figured out how to unlatch the hooks?
“It was latched,” I corrected myself, returning to the hallway. “He has apparently figured out how to undo the hooks.”
“He’s a cat.”
“Yes, and these windows are about nine hundred years old. They’re hardly the most secure things in the world, are they? Have you seen a double-glazed window? Those latches are literally child-safe things. Yours aren’t even cat safe.”
Granted, my cat was an escape artist, but that wasn’t the point. When had he learnt to unhook the bastard windows?
Max’s eyes darkened with annoyance that was directed at me. “Perhaps you should ensure that you close the windows before the reincarnated spirit of Harry Houdini over here makes his grand escape. Better yet, leave them shut.”
“Excuse me for taking a shower.”
“You’re excused.”
I hefted Winston up into a tighter cradle hold and shot a dark look towards the man standing before me. “Oh, thank you. I’m so bloody honoured that you’re kind enough to excuse me for taking care of the basic human right of cleanliness.”
Something flashed across his gaze, and I’d swear that his lips tugged to one side, albeit sardonically. “You have a dreadful attitude; do you know that?”
“On the contrary, I’m an exceptionally agreeable person.”
“Not in my experience.”
“Not to be rude, but your experience with me is fleeting, vague, and largely led by your own rude disposition, so perhaps you shouldn’t comment on your perceived ideology of my personality until you’ve gotten your own flawed traits in check.”