Sugar on the Edge(82)

With my manuscript finally turned into my editor and a few weeks’ time before I needed to start on my next one, I decided to go ahead and knock out a quick trip back to the homeland. My main goal was to see my parents and go through all the stuff my dad had packed up from the Turnbridge house. I planned to donate most of it, but I knew there would be a few things I wanted to keep. That goofy, blue octopus of Charlie’s and, of course, all the photos I had ever taken of him. If I’m going to make my home back in Duck, North Carolina, said home should be filled with pictures of my son. I realize that thinking about photos of Charlie doesn’t pain me as much as it used to.

Savannah isn’t here with me only because my timid, little wallflower apparently has never traveled out of the States before and never had a passport. So I left her with a sweet kiss and an order to get to work on her passport, because she sure as fuck was going to come with me on the next visit. With a direct flight from Raleigh to London, I figured we could make several trips a year to see my family and visit Charlie’s grave.

My flight leaves tomorrow at eleven in the morning and there’s nothing left to do but get a good night’s sleep. I declined my parents request to stay at their house in Turnbridge, preferring to get a hotel closer to the airport to save me some time in the morning.

I pull all the pillows from the bed and arrange them on one side propped against the headboard. Grabbing my laptop, I sit down with my back against the pillows and fire it up so I can start outlining my next novel.

All I can seem to think about is getting back to Savannah.

Savannah, Savannah, Savannah. So very sweet, Savannah.

God, I can’t believe how bad I fucking miss her. I feel almost weak and powerless to admit it, yet there’s no denying that my life is beginning again because of her. It worries me to no end how much I seem to need her… how desperate I am to be in her presence.

I grab my phone and turn it on. Tapping on the favorites button, I hit Savannah’s name. She’s the only number listed in my favorites.

After three rings, her voice mail picks up and even though I’m not going to leave her a message, I listen to it all the same just so I can hear her voice. It makes a pang of hurt stab in my chest with longing.

Hanging up, I open up a new document on my laptop and flex my fingers. I’m ready to write. Except… my mind drifts.

I wonder what Savannah is doing right now. It’s close to noon in the States but time has no bearing. Her schedule doesn’t necessarily follow the tick of the clock. She may be out shooting some photos or picking up my mail. Hell, maybe that fucking vacuum cleaner is running and that’s why she’s not answering the phone. There’s a good chance she may be over at The Haven right now, elbow deep in puppies and kittens.

I smile, because although I miss her terribly, I also love her devotion to the things that are important to her. She even has me going to The Haven with her to volunteer, and it’s not necessarily because of the altruistic blood running through my veins. It probably has everything to do with the fact that I want to be near her as much as possible.

I’m whipped. Fucking whipped, I tell you.

But how could I not be? I remember telling Savannah that I was fortunate to have just a ray of her light touch me, and truer words were never spoken now that her light isn’t here with me in dreary England. The shadows seem darker and my blood icier when she’s not around. I long for just a sliver of her brightness right now.

Great… now I’m fucking waxing poetic. I better purge this shit out of my system. I have a fucking erotic thriller I need to write, and there’s no room for romantic sentiments. I need to buckle down and write some scenes that involve some hardcore, dirty, fucking. Animalistic fucking.

Groaning, I realize that makes me think of Savannah too, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face when I realize that there isn’t much that keeps her far from my thoughts.





I open the door to my house, about to jump out of my skin over the prospect of seeing Sweet in the next few seconds. I had texted her as soon as my plane landed, On NC soil. Be home in three hours. Be naked.

She texted back. K. See you soon.

I had expected a flirtier response but then I didn’t give it much thought because the mere thought of her waiting for me naked had me pushing the Maserati a little too fast during the three-hour drive from Raleigh to the Outer Banks. By the time I got home, I was convinced she’d meet me at the door without a stitch of clothing on.

The house is quiet when I walk in, but I know she’s here because her car is out front. The fact she isn’t jumping naked in my arms right now is bothersome.