Write Your Own Script Read online

  Maggie had always been a woman who was happy in her own skin, and being on her own. Not that she didn’t want to be in a relationship, or be loved, but she’d never out-and-out looked for it or felt she needed something like that to complete her life. She’d had a few relationships over the years, some that lasted years, some only a few months. She’d been in love, truly and completely in love, twice, and while she didn’t imagine, at her age, that there was much likelihood of achieving that again, she’d be happy to meet someone rather lovely and see what they could make of things.

  And that cut to the crux of the matter and her current mood. She was lonely, and she missed having that special someone in her life. It was ridiculous but when she allowed herself to think of being with someone again, a woman just like Tamsyn would be perfect. Smart, funny, and more than easy on the eye, but also with her own career and independence so they wouldn’t live in each other’s pockets. As much as Maggie was blocked at the moment, if she was going to be with someone again, she needed that person to give her the room to write. It was her full-time job, after all, not simply a hobby to while away her free hours. Her last girlfriend hadn’t understood what the writer’s life was like.

  And perhaps I didn’t understand either, and blithely assumed I could have it all.

  That wonderful few minutes with Tamsyn Harris had, much to Maggie’s surprise, opened up something else she’d been in denial of for quite some time. When she wrote lesbian romances, she poured every ounce of her inner desires and dreams into those characters, but she’d been doing it almost without realising. She felt empty after finishing each one, and she’d never understood why, until now.

  It was still only three in the afternoon, but she poured herself a glass of wine in defiance of the time. To hell with it, I’m on retreat. I can do whatever I like. She was walking back to the armchair with the glass in her hand when Gizmo let out a short bark and scrabbled towards the front door, his claws unable to gain any purchase on the polished wood floor in his haste. Moments later, the door knocker rapped three times. Gizmo barked twice more until Maggie said, “Quiet down, Gizmo,” as she strode across the room to see who was calling.

  Her heart leaped as she swung the door open and saw Tamsyn Harris on her covered doorstep, a wet umbrella folded by her side. Gizmo seemed equally as giddy, hopping and leaping around the actress’s feet. To her credit, she stood her ground, but a frown marred her otherwise perfect features and Maggie reacted quickly, reaching down to grab Gizmo by the collar and pull him away.

  “Calm down, you little bugger.” She looked him in the eye. “Go to your basket.”

  He whined, but did as he was told, looking back over his shoulder occasionally as he walked slowly to the kitchen.

  Tamsyn laughed. “Wow, that’s a sulk if ever I’ve seen one.”

  Maggie turned back to her, heart still beating wildly. “He’ll get over it.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  “So, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Tamsyn said, breaking the silence. “But I don’t seem to have any kindling and was wondering if you could spare some until I can get over to the main house tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course. Yes. Come in. I have plenty.” Maggie’s mouth was running away with itself, but she couldn’t seem to stop. If Tamsyn noticed, she was good at hiding it.

  Maggie stepped back to allow Tamsyn to enter the cottage, where she lingered on the doormat.

  “Please, come in.” She gestured to the living room.

  “I’m wet,” Tamsyn said. Even in the low light, Maggie could see the blush that spread across both of Tamsyn’s cheeks, and her brain struggled to comprehend why. “From the rain. I… My coat is going to drip all over your floor.”

  Maggie waved a hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll dry up in the warmth from the fire.”

  Tamsyn smiled, but it lacked its usual radiance. “Well, okay. I don’t want to keep you from whatever it is you’re doing.”

  The snort was out before she could stop it, and now her own cheeks warmed. “Um, yeah, I’m not really doing anything.” She swallowed, her nerves now threatening to derail her completely. It was one thing meeting the famous actress on a woodland path, quite another to have her standing in Maggie’s living room, her skin glowing from the remnants of her blush coupled with the warmth of the fire. Bloody hell, she’s as gorgeous in real life as she is on the screen. More, actually.

  With the last strand of common sense she had left, Maggie stepped away from the entranceway and marched over to the kitchen, talking over her shoulder as she did so. “I’ll just grab a bag from the cupboard to put some kindling in for you.”

  “Thanks. That’s…great.”

  As she reached the kitchen, Gizmo looked up at her from his basket, his eyes wide. She ruffled his ears for a moment, then turned to the pantry where she knew she had stored some empty plastic bags from the groceries she’d brought with her. With one in hand, she returned to the living room. Tamsyn had moved to the fire and was holding out her hands towards its heat.

  “It’s getting cold outside,” she said, her voice soft, “now that the clouds are moving on.”

  “I bet. Here, let me just shove some of this in here.” Maggie knelt beside her and began pushing handfuls of the kindling into the bag. In her haste, her nerves jangling at the mere presence of the woman beside her, she was careless, and the sharp jab of something digging into her thumb made her yelp and yank her hand back from the kindling pail. The bag she’d been stuffing fell to the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Tamsyn knelt beside her.

  Maggie looked down at her hand. The splinter was, thankfully, large, and would therefore be easy to extract. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t really looking at what I was doing.” She blushed again. Great, now she’ll wonder just what you were looking at instead. “It’s a splinter but it’s easily—”

  “Let me see.”

  And suddenly Tamsyn was holding Maggie’s hand in both of hers, turning the palm up so she could see the damage. Her hand was cool, but beautifully soft, her fingers long and slender, and Maggie’s temperature rocketed. Tamsyn bloody Harris was holding her hand. I might actually faint.

  “Ah, yes. You’re right, that’s easily retrieved. Just give…me…a…second.” She used her perfectly manicured nails, deep burgundy in colour but not overly long, to pinch hold of the splinter and carefully extract it from Maggie’s skin. A bead of blood followed its departure, and before Maggie could do anything about it, Tamsyn let go with one hand, dipped into her coat pocket, and came up with a tissue, which she pressed gently against the bloodied spot. “There,” she said, her voice only just above a whisper, “that should do it.”

  Maggie looked up then, and it was her final undoing. Tamsyn’s face was mere inches away, her brown eyes a deeper colour than Maggie remembered from all the times she’d gazed at them in magazines and on the internet, her rich hair framing her features as the firelight played across them.

  Tamsyn stared back at her.

  The room was quiet except for the occasional pop and crackle from the fire. Maggie held her breath, not wanting the moment to end. She could look at that face for days and never be bored. This close up, she could see the small crow’s feet at the corners of Tamsyn’s eyes, the slight pull of the skin around Tamsyn’s lips, and somehow that pleased her. That underneath the gloss and glamour there was a real, live, fifty-two-year-old woman, only three years older and going through the same changes in skin and body as Maggie herself.

  “You,” Tamsyn whispered, “are a very beautiful woman, Maggie.”

  Maggie blinked as her heart pounded, but just as she started to form a response, Tamsyn’s eyes went wide, and she stood with such speed that Maggie almost fell back on her ass.

  “Sorry,” Tamsyn said, her voice tight. “I need to go.”

  “Tamsyn
, wait!” Maggie pushed herself upright as fast as she could, then had to pause a moment as she was swayed by a head rush.

  But Tamsyn didn’t wait—she was gone before Maggie could say another word, and by the time Maggie reached the door, Tamsyn was merely a shadow in the distant gloom.

  Chapter 5

  You idiot! What were you thinking?

  Tamsyn slammed the door behind her, clumsily wrestled herself out of her coat, and threw it towards the hook on the wall, oblivious as to whether it landed correctly or not. She kicked off her boots, pushed her feet into her slippers, and slapped her way across the wooden floor to the kitchen. Last night’s bottle of champagne was still half-full. She pulled it out of the fridge and poured a glass, chucking back two big gulps before topping up the glass once more.

  She hadn’t been thinking, that was the trouble. She had been mesmerised. Maggie had looked incredible by the light of the fire, and the feel of her hand, the warmth of her skin against the cool of Tamsyn’s own, had addled her brain and allowed her mouth to open without censorship. The words had been the truth, but they were a truth that should never have seen the light of day. Her only hope now was that Maggie, who had seemed so respectful of her need for secrecy and distance, would maintain that and not run straight to the tabloids.

  Oh, God, what if she did go to the press? Tamsyn’s stomach dropped. Maybe some damage control was needed here. Should she call Carmen? Or maybe Tony, from her PR firm, would be better? But then, of course, in order to explain why damage control was needed, she’d have to face their scrutiny and leading questions. Bizarrely, both of them had quietly tried to encourage her out of the closet in the last couple of years, but she’d dug her heels in. They didn’t really get it, didn’t understand what life was like on set, even though they insisted times had changed and theorised she’d be no worse off with the opportunities that came her way.

  Shit, what a mess.

  Completely lost, and bewildered, and still so angry at herself, she chugged back two more mouthfuls of champagne. She was swilling it like beer. Willing herself to calm down, but actually having no idea how to do that, she paced across the living room.

  The knock on her door, though not loud, shocked her. She stood, rooted to the spot, willing the visitor—who, she knew, could only be Maggie—to depart.

  “Tamsyn. Ms Harris. I know you’re in there. You…you forgot the kindling.” Maggie’s voice held a tremble.

  Tamsyn’s head dropped until her chin nearly hit her chest. It would be easiest to ignore her, to wait for her to go away, but Tamsyn couldn’t be that woman. This was all her own doing, and just as with the situation with Don Speed, she had to face up to it.

  She placed her half-empty glass on the coffee table, sucked in a deep breath, and walked over to the door. As she opened it, Maggie’s wide-eyed face came into view. There were raindrops clinging to her honey-blonde hair, and on her nose and cheeks, which were rosy red.

  “Hi,” Tamsyn said, which was all she could manage. Maggie was looking at her with something akin to fear, and it broke her heart.

  Maggie held up the bag of kindling. “I…I didn’t want you to get cold,” she said, her gaze averted.

  Tamsyn took the bag from her. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Maggie turned and hopped off the front step onto the driveway.

  “Wait!” Tamsyn called, shocking herself. “Please… I… I’m sorry. For what I said. It was…inappropriate.”

  Maggie had frozen on the spot but not turned around. She did look back over her shoulder, however, at the word “inappropriate”.

  “Did…did you mean it, though?” Her voice was nearly snatched away by the wind, but Tamsyn heard the words clearly enough.

  Lying would be easiest. Safest.

  “Yes.”

  Maggie smiled a slow, small smile, and Tamsyn felt the corners of her own mouth lift in response.

  “Then it wasn’t inappropriate.”

  Tamsyn laughed, and the release of tension that came with it flooded her with warmth. “Good line,” she said, doffing an imaginary hat.

  Maggie shrugged. “I’m a writer, I’m supposed to have good lines.”

  Her eyes widened again, and Tamsyn would have bet a lot of money that Maggie had not meant to reveal that little snippet of information.

  “Want a drink?” Tamsyn asked, gesturing back into the cottage. The invite came easily and she didn’t regret it. “I have a bottle open. You can stay and warm up a bit before your journey home.”

  Maggie smirked. “Well, it is such a long way, after all.” She paused, looked at the ground, then back up. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude. I know you need your privacy.”

  “I’m sure. I want to…thank you. For…everything.”

  Maggie turned to face her, finally, and took a step nearer. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Ms Harris.”

  Tamsyn shuddered. That level of formality sounded all wrong coming from this woman. “Please, call me Tamsyn. Here, especially, I’m just Tamsyn, okay?”

  Maggie’s smile was a beacon of light in the darkness around them. “Okay. Tamsyn. I’d love a drink.”

  She came back up the step, staring at Tamsyn for a moment before stepping into the house. That look stirred a heat that Tamsyn tried desperately to tamp down. What was it about this woman, about her presence, her refreshing calmness that affected Tamsyn so?

  Come on, get a hold of yourself. For starters, she’s probably straight, so just rein yourself in.

  “Here, let me start the fire,” Maggie said, reaching for the bag of kindling.

  “Thank you. I’ll get you a glass of champagne in return.”

  Maggie chuckled. “Wow, that hardly seems a fair trade, but sure, I’ll take one.”

  Tamsyn laughed as she headed towards the kitchen. “You’re going to think it’s terribly pretentious of me, a true sign of the diva I must be, if I tell you it’s all I drink.”

  “All day?” Maggie asked, her tone full of mirth.

  “Ha ha.” God, when was the last time she’d had this kind of light-hearted conversation with a woman? With anyone? “What I meant was,” she continued, pulling the bottle out of the fridge again, “it’s the only alcohol I drink. Far less calories than things like wine or spirits.”

  Tamsyn poured Maggie a glass, then turned to watch her set the fire. She moved with assurance, her hair falling around her face in a sensuous curtain. Tamsyn wanted to run her fingers through that hair, tug on handfuls of it as she pulled Maggie round to face her.

  Oh, my God, stop!

  Maybe she should switch to reading that erotica collection she’d brought with her tonight.

  Maggie turned then, and smiled, and Tamsyn nearly dropped the glass she was holding.

  Beautiful.

  It was the only word that kept coming to mind.

  “Oh, is that for me?” Maggie gestured to the glass, saving Tamsyn from herself.

  “Yes, of course. Here.” Tamsyn thrust the drink forward and Maggie walked over to take it.

  Tamsyn retrieved her own glass from the coffee table, then turned to touch it to Maggie’s.

  “Thank you for the kindling,” she said. “And thank you for being okay about earlier.”

  “You’re welcome.” Maggie sipped at her drink, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. That’s nice.”

  Tamsyn laughed. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? One of the perks of being me.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of perks, aren’t there?”

  Tamsyn’s smile dropped; she couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, sorry,” Maggie said in a rush, “you don’t have to talk about that part of your life if you don’t want to. I know you’re here to escape all that.”

  Tamsyn stared at her. “You…you do?”

  Maggie blushed and moved away
towards the fire. “Well, I mean, I just assumed… You’re on your own, no entourage, and this place is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Sorry, maybe that was rather presumptuous of me.”

  Tamsyn stepped quickly to her side. “No, it wasn’t. It was spot on.” She was grateful when Maggie finally met her eyes. “Very astute.” She grinned and Maggie smiled. “I had a bit of trouble on a film set, and we all decided I needed a break. That’s pretty hush-hush, by the way, so I’m trusting you’ll keep it to yourself.”

  “I will.” Maggie’s tone was so earnest that Tamsyn wanted to weep.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Maggie took another sip of her drink, then snorted. “I have to tell you, though, this is pretty surreal for me, right now.”

  “What?”

  “I’m standing next to Tamsyn Harris in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, sipping her champagne. As someone who has watched your career for many years, and loved pretty much everything you’ve done, I kind of feel like I’m dreaming right now.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that’s probably the last thing you needed to hear, me going all fangirl on you.”

  Maggie’s words seemed sincere, and honest, and—unlike many, many other situations where she’d met fans—didn’t set her on edge.

  “You know, it really didn’t sound like that anyway. I’m flattered by what you said, but not in the usual superficial way I feel whenever I meet a fan. Somehow, you’re different to that. It’s nice.”

  “You’re very different to how I thought you’d be if I ever met you.”

  “I’ll take that as a good thing.”

  “Do. Maybe it’s because we met here,” Maggie mused. “Somewhere so unexpected.”

  “Away from any glitz and glamour, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Out of your usual zone, I’m sure, and I’m a city girl, mostly, so it’s out of mine too.”