Chapter 15

NEIL

Neil fiddled awkwardly with his laptop as Skinner swept her arm at her room. It was a mess. The small pile of pillows and socks she'd used for artillery when he'd barged into her room the night before still littered the floor. She hadn't stopped to make her bed; the blankets twisted in a tangled disarray. And was that underwear by the ensuite?

"You're already quite familiar with my room," she joked. She followed his apt attention to the underwear. She rushed over and threw them into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with an awkward laugh.

Coughing to hide a smile, Neil turned to her, holding up a hand in surrender. "About last night—" he started, remembering the way she'd gently removed his hands from the door and the way she'd stared back at him curiously from her laptop, then hungrily started reading the words he'd written all those years ago.

"I'm sorry," she said, spinning toward him. "I'm sorry for blowing up at you. I want you to do better is all."

Neil blanched. "Did you just apologize?"

"I read your manuscript."

Oh no, he couldn't look at her. His eyes went to his feet. She thought it was terrible; it was the worst thing she'd ever read. His gaze flicked back up at her, and she swallowed as she fiddled with the fraying hem of her sweater.

"I stayed up reading it."

He deflated and looked away as his hands slipped into his pockets. "Oh."

"No!" She crossed to him, taking his hand in hers. His pulse sped as her fingers swept over the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, brushing the edge of his tattoo. "Thank you, for being willing to extend an olive branch. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did." She tilted her head, glancing up at him from beneath her bangs, and Neil tried to ignore the way his heart was thrumming at her touch. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to be honest. Especially when I've never given you a reason to."

"And I'm sorry, for not standing up for the things I wanted."

Skinner laughed as she patted his hand, dropping it and stepping back. Neil felt her absence at once, and he flexed his fingers, wanting to reach out for her.

"That's a big apology, but having read it, I see what you've given up. So… do me one favor?"

Those were not words he ever expected to come out of her mouth. Neil frowned as she walked toward a tapestry hanging on the wall.

"What?" he asked.

"Do better? Stop catering to your publisher and write the books you want to write? Write your books."

Swallowing, he nodded. "I can try." And he would. Neil would do his best to earn his place.

She smiled. He watched as she pocketed her phone and slipped her laptop under her arm before crossing the room and holding aside the tapestry to reveal a secret door.

"That's all I ask."

He cleared his throat. "While we're on the topic, can you do something for me?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Believe that you're enough. You don't need to be enrolled, you don't need to look Native to be Native. You're Native, and so long as you know, that's enough. There will always be someone who says otherwise, but they're buying into a system created by colonizers. You're enough, Penelope Skinner."

Skinner tilted her head, eyes shining. "Thank you. I didn't realize until now, but I've been waiting for someone to tell me that for a while." She cleared her throat and turned back to the tapestry.

"Happy to be of service." He rocked back on his heels, desperately wanting to keep her talking. "Do you have any recommendations on how I should move forward from this?"

He had a few ideas.

Like kissing her and… kissing her.

Kissing her would solve so many problems.

"From this?"

"How I can do better? As an author."

Scrunching up her nose, Skinner shrugged. "It's a heavy topic. Are you sure you want to have this conversation while we're trapped together for an hour?"

Trapped. Damn it all, had he completely misread the situation? He wasn't exactly hiding his intentions, and he'd thought she understood what was growing between them. Fuck. After everything, after all the amends, did she still hate him?

"You're probably right."

"Here, hold this for me." She handed him her laptop, and he tucked it next to his, adjusting his grip. "Laszlo said it should be up this stairwell."

"Do all rooms have secret doors?" he asked, drawing closer.

She smiled as she slid away the lock and pushed open the door to reveal a winding stairwell. Cool air hit them, and Neil coughed, the damp, dusty air filling his lungs. This castle needed a deep cleaning.

And maybe a good smudge with white sage.

"I'm not sure," she marveled, ducking her head into the dark and brandishing her phone, "but there's only one way to find out."

Teeth gritted, Neil followed Skinner and her dim light up and to the right. A chill met them, and the hairs on his neck stood on end, that terrifying feeling of being watched making goose bumps rise along his skin.

He jumped in surprise at the featherlight touch of something on his shoulder, a skim of ghostly fingers that reminded him too much of the touch he'd felt in the study, but there was nothing and no one there. Shivering, Neil pushed on, forcing his eyes forward.

The passageway was so narrow that he had to duck, but she was the perfect height. Neil watched, amused, as she guided them up the winding stone stairwell, her head not quite reaching the ceiling. He pressed a hand to the cold stone for balance as he squinted up at her, taking in the wisps of hair freed from her braid, the way her sweater slipped down her narrow shoulders.

Beyond the damp smell of the passageway, there it was again, that light, sweet scent of coconut shampoo drifting around her. Neil shivered, his nails scraping against the stone. Fuck, what was it about that smell that made his mouth go dry and his hand itch to reach for her?

"I think this is it?" she said, turning to him.

Surprised, he stumbled back a step, his foot slipping over stone, and she reached out and caught him, her fingers warm against his wrist as he righted himself on the narrow stairs.

"Thanks," he breathed as she let go and led them forward.

The door was much the same as the one in her room. It opened into the stairwell, and the plain wood was nicked and scratched as if something—or someone—had wanted in.

Or out.

The bolts squealed as she pulled it open and climbed into the room, and Neil scrambled after her, the light from her phone fading around him. She made a small, disgruntled sound as she moved aside as she took her laptop from his hand, and he ducked through the entry.

They were in one of the castle's narrow turrets, the walls tall and the ceiling flat. This part of the castle seemed untouched by time, frozen in a strange state of disuse. Moss was growing in between the stone, and Neil ran his hand over it, sinking his fingers into the soft vegetation. That explained the smell. It reminded him of the castle ruins, that dampened earth scent that lingered everywhere he went.

Neil spun around, considering the rest of the space. The circular room had been recently swept, blankets and pillows laid out in the center on the floor, surrounded by candles and a box of matches.

He frowned, eyes flicking over the space. It looked more like a romantic—albeit haunted —picnic than a writing exercise, but when Neil turned to say as much to Skinner, he stopped, lips parting as he took her in.

The room was lined in small, narrow windows, the light from the snow seeping into the space, giving it an almost ethereal glow. Skinner leaned against the wall, laptop dangling from her fingers as she stared out at the surrounding landscape, the corner of her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles.

With a soft exhale, she leaned back on her heels. "This weather is snow laughing matter."

Neil groaned. "That's a terrible joke."

Skinner pointed to him. "But you called it a joke."

"A mistake."

She snorted, crossing her arms as she peered out the window. She was lit up, a silver glow over her pale skin. And when she turned to him, mouth open to say something else, she stopped and frowned. Her gray eyes were striking in the light.

"What?" she asked, straightening.

Neil shook his head and looked away toward the center of the room. "It's nothing."

They settled on the mound of blankets and pillows. Neil was careful not to touch her, leaving just enough room between them. Grumbling, Skinner readjusted herself, her knee brushing his as she sat cross-legged.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said, even as his eyes locked on the place where they touched.

Clearing his throat, he opened his laptop to a new blank document. Damn it, how many blank documents had he started and stopped over the last four months? Neil poised his hands over the keyboard, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Maybe we could start by talking?" Skinner asked, her eyes flicking to his screen.

He turned to her in surprise. She wanted to talk to him ? He'd take whatever he could get.

"I mean, if you think it'll work?"

She shrugged as she logged in to her laptop and scanned the turret, craning her neck back. Neil was immediately drawn to her throat, to the spot on her shoulder where it met her collarbone.

He wanted to press the little divot in her collar.

To kiss it.

To trail a finger between her freckles and connect the dots.

What's wrong with you? he thought, turning away from her.

"We could start by describing the room?"

Neil frowned. "Oh, okay."

Skinner laughed. "What did you think we would talk about?"

"Nothing."

Fuck, he was being a jerk. What the hell was wrong with him? Working his jaw, he followed her lead, taking in the cracked stone, the pale light seeping in through the windows. Closing his eyes, he inhaled that damp scent.

"This place is a dump," she said.

Neil sputtered and pressed a fist to his mouth. "That's a very eloquent description."

"It's really not." Skinner leaned back into the pillows, surveying the ceiling. A long crack split its length, reaching from one end of the room to the other. She sighed. "I can't stop thinking about last night."

Neil blinked in surprise. "Me neither."

"Every time I close my eyes—"

"All I can think about," he started, heart leaping into his throat.

"Are those eyes," she said as he blurted, "Is you."

Skinner leaned up on her elbows, frowning. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Ugh, blue," Neil corrected.

Did I just say that out loud?

"Blue?"

He motioned weakly to the windows. This was the cheese line all over again.

"Blue light. It's kind of creepy."

Skinner's frown deepened, impossibly, but she said nothing. She sat up, returning her attention to the laptop. "Maybe we should write?"

"That's a good idea," he agreed quietly.

But he took a moment longer to watch her, to take her in as she worked. He liked watching her write. She was so serious, so determined.

Swallowing, he concentrated on his computer and tried desperately not to focus on her closeness. Instead, Neil thought of the night before, to the thing he'd seen disappearing into one of the rooms, and that wretched scent of rot and death that lingered in the hall. He thought of the featherlight touch in the stairwell, the whisper in the study. Of the portrait of a woman who likely haunted this castle. His fingers hesitated over the keys for only a second longer before he began to type.

He heard a creak on the stairs.

Neil licked his lips, eyes going to the splinters in the wood, the scratches on the door.

"That's shit," he muttered, returning his attention to the screen before holding down the backspace button. He tried again.

She heard a creak on the stairs.

"Still terrible."

"It can't be that bad," Skinner said, swiveling toward him.

Neil held his hands over his screen. "Please don't look."

"Then maybe stop talking out loud." Shaking her head, she bent over her laptop, brow pinched as she typed.

He ran a hand over his face, then held down the backspace key. Neil could usually see the story, click into the voice, and find the characters like plucking action figures from a shelf. But there was nothing. He'd lost something since Book Con, and he was struggling to get it back.

There was a creak on the stairs, he began. Running his tongue over his teeth, Neil continued. It was a soft sound, something you wouldn't hear unless you were listening for it .

He smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn't lost.

But Viola heard it. After all, she'd been listening to the night.

They jumped in surprise as the door to the turret slammed shut. Her fingers reached automatically for his, squeezing tight. Neil turned to Skinner with wide eyes. She glanced from their joined hands to him before pulling hers away with a blush.

"Did you do that?" he asked.

She scoffed and scrambled to stand, starting toward the door. "Do you think I'm clairvoyant or something? Of fucking course I didn't." Skinner yanked on the handle, teeth gritted as she leaned back with all her weight. "It won't open!"

"Is there another ghost that Fanny failed to mention? Because I don't recall anything about these turrets on the tour."

"I hope not," she said.

Neil stood and crossed to the door. He reached around her and wrapped his sweaty palms around the doorknob, yanking. The wood groaned as he planted his feet and pulled with everything he had, but it simply would not budge.

Was it the thing Skinner claimed she'd seen in the cellar, the protector? Was it whatever had lurked in the hall last night, the woman in black?

Or what had brushed against him in the stairwell?

Neil shivered as he tightened his hands on the doorknob, thinking.

"What do we do?" she asked, turning to him.

Skinner looked up at him like he knew the answers, but there weren't a lot of options, stranded in this turret. Neil peered around the room, anxiety spiking. The windows were too small, and the only way out of this place was barred by something he was too scared to even say aloud.

"Maybe if we put all of our weight into it, it'll budge? I know I'm kind of short—"

"Kind of?"

She glared. "Do you have any ideas, Storm? Because I don't recall you mentioning any sort of solution."

Neil surveyed the stone floors, searching for some hidden trapdoor. This castle had so many hiding places, so many strange little nooks, but it was clear this turret was empty, and there was no sense in grasping for an alternative.

"We could…" He trailed off as his eyes met hers.

They could, what? Whatever he was about to say died on his lips. Hands planted on either side of her, Neil surrounded Skinner. The scent of her shampoo found him, flooding his senses as his eyes caught on the shine of her lips before sliding away.

The locked door, the night before, the last four months—the words for everything left him as he stared down at her. He thought of their moment at the ruins, the way his hand had fit into the notch at her waist so perfectly.

This scene was almost identical to the one in the study, but Neil knew now. He knew that last night, something had changed between them, and he couldn't hide it anymore.

He took her in, the slope of her shoulders, the way her sweater simply wouldn't stay up, the spattering of freckles over her pale skin.

The way her lips parted as she met his heated gaze.

He could have been thinking about any number of things, like whatever lay beyond the door, but the only thing on Neil Storm's mind was kissing Penelope Skinner.