Megan Miles
One moment, I could barely breathe through the perilous battle between the devilfish and Captain Nemo, and the next, I was draped over the rear fender of a horseless carriage. Everything in between was a muddled blur as I tried to surface from the Nautilus to grasp what had transpired.
Strong hands pulled me upright, and I yanked at my skirts to dislodge them from my discarded bicycle.
“Are you blind?” A thunderous voice blasted my ear.
“Are you a brute?” I shot back as I peeled myself from his hold.
The man paced back to the vehicle to run his hand over the bent fender.
His flashing green eyes brought to mind the swirling sea foam in my disrupted novel. “Did you run into me because you were reading?”
The condescendence with which he said “reading” snuffed any shame I was beginning to feel over my actions.
“I wouldn’t have run into you if your carriage thing hadn’t come to such an abrupt halt.” I gave an indignant sniff.
“Carriage thing?” He sputtered. “This automobile is a Model T, fresh off the line, and now it’s marred thanks to your—your penny dreadful.”
I squared my shoulders and picked up my book from the dirt. “This is not a penny dreadful. It’s a highly-acclaimed novel by the renowned Jules Verne.”
He quirked one sandy eyebrow.
I inhaled a slow breath to ease my pulsing temper. “I apologize for the damage. How much will cover the repairs?”
“How should I know? The whole lot cost me over eight hundred dollars.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Almost three years’ wages at my weekly rate as a typist.
“Who in their right mind takes such an extravagance on the common road anyhow?” I muttered under my breath.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Who in their right mind reads a novel while operating a bicycle?”
I raised my chin. “Have you ever read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Mr…?”
“Clive Drummond, and thank heavens, no.”
“Then you could never understand the grip that devilfish attacking a submarine would have on a person.”
“Why on God’s green earth would anyone consider such fantasies worth any time at all?” His seafoam eyes rolled heavenward.
“Perhaps because God Himself endowed us with imagination for our tenure on this green earth.” I crossed my arms to match his. “Are you willing to accept my offer of payment, or do you insist on continuing your insults of my literature instead? You can telegram me the amount after you repair it, if that’s easier.”
Why I felt the need to make anything easier for this infuriating man was beyond me, but perhaps my mother’s training on manners was finally returning as the shock of the accident wore off.
He let out a long breath. “Fine.”
I dug a notebook and pencil from my satchel to write out my address and name. He gave the paper a cursory glance before putting it in his pocket.
“Good day, Mr. Drummond,” I stated as I righted my bicycle.
“Good day, Ms. Lewis,” came his icy reply.
***
With my brash words from a week ago haunting my memory, I straightened my shoulders to enter the accounting office. The apology I knew I’d have to give weighed on my stomach.
I cleared my throat, drawing the attention of the homely secretary at the front desk. “Good afternoon. I came to see Mr. Drummond?”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“N-not exactly. I’m Esther Lewis. I’m sure he’ll remember me—”
Before I could finish my sentence, the secretary’s eyes lit. “Ah, yes. The novel girl.”
I cringed. A reputation. Lovely.
The secretary stood, a smile curling her lips. “This way.”
I swallowed my misgivings as I followed her down the hall. She didn’t knock before swinging open a door to the right. Mr. Drummond startled at his desk, dropping a book into his lap.
“Mrs.—” His gaze fell to me. “Ah.”
Stepping into his office, I pulled an envelope from my satchel. “I have the amount you specified in your telegram.”
His blond eyebrows flickered upward in surprise, but he smoothed the expression with a nod. “Thank you.”
Did he truly think I wouldn’t keep my word?
As he stood to accept the envelope, he set his book on the desk. My attention snagged on the green cover with gold lettering.
It was my turn to lift my brows. “What happened to fantasies being a waste of time on God’s green earth?”
He tweaked the knot of his tie, clearing his throat. “I apologize for those ignorant comments. I’m appalled at my less-than-gentlemanly behavior, circumstances aside.”
“I’m the one who should apologize, for plowing into you as well as for my behavior.” I bit my lip. “You should know that I haven’t read atop my bicycle since.”
An unexpected smile quirked at his stiff lips, and his eyes met mine. Without the anger, they looked more like lush moss than foaming sea. “Did you finish it?”
I blinked. “Oh. The book. Yes.”
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what is revealed about Captain Nemo’s past?”
I opened my mouth before pausing. “I think you should read for yourself.”
He tipped his head to the side. “And if I have more questions after I finish? Seeing this is my first time delving into fiction, I’ll have plenty of questions for someone.”
“Half the fun of a good book is sharing it with someone else,” I agreed.
“Then I can call on you once I finish? Strictly to talk about the book, of course.”
“And in return, I get a ride in your automobile? I’ve never ridden in a horseless carriage, and since I now own one fender…”
“Own one fender?”
My gaze dipped to the envelope as I shrugged one shoulder. The smile that split his face gave him a boyish charm, and my treasonous heart galloped in response.
“It’s a deal then,” he replied.
When she isn’t writing or working, she has a tendency to volley between every hobby under the sun, including reading, sewing, growing succulents, or playing with her dog. She is the author of Before Ever After and Snow and the Seven Brothers’ Circus.
Connect with Megan on Instagram or her website, sign up for her newsletter, and visit her blog: Of Fact, Fiction, & Faith.
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