CHAPTER FIVE | EASY DOES IT
Copyright & Disclaimer
This story is inspired by true events. Certain names, characters, locations, details, and circumstances have been changed, fictionalized, or combined for creative purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons or events beyond those that inspired the story is coincidental.
© 2026 Shamar Phillips. All rights reserved.
Too Much Like Love
An island symphony played outside the windows of the workshop.
The air was crisp, and the trees sang in unison with the rain. Birds chirped all around, and the ocean drummed against the shore as the baseline.
I hummed a tune of my own as I stared at the Instagram photo that had already caught a lot of attention. I was supposed to be writing, and I was; I just… couldn’t get past how good we looked together.
Trinity was the first to comment, “Okay, sis! Cooking up something special, I see.”
Shamar commented back, carrying on like they already knew each other. I wanted to chime in, but I forced myself to put my phone away and focus on my novel; writing romance was something I had to commit to, rather than letting it flow from my fingertips.
Every fiber of my being wanted to tap into the euphoria I felt, being alone in a secluded cottage with a man I didn’t know well but felt as though I did. It was so easy—so uncomplicated. And he made it even merrier by being so thoughtful.
From where I sat in the workshop, I got a clear view of the deck. He was there, pacing the wooden pavement with his phone pressed against his ear. I wondered who he was talking to because he seemed flustered. I thought maybe it was the host refusing to remedy her mistake… or someone who was angry about his Instagram post.
Pretending to get some fresh air, I stepped outside to see if I could hear him over the rumble of the storm, but the workshop was too far away from the cottage to hear anything. I loved the distance it gave me, away from all the distractions, but in that moment I wished I was closer.
When the chill of the wind made itself comfortable underneath my robe, I gave up being nosy and went back inside where it was cozy and warm.
Next to my laptop was my half-drunk mimosa and a little leftover breakfast that I snacked on while I wrote. It got me through the rest of the morning before I wanted a refill and lunch, and as if he could read my mind, Shamar tapped at the door before entering with exactly what I needed.
“I thought you might want some lunch.”
He walked in with a tray of food and a pitcher of mimosa, dressed in jeans, a fresh pair of butter Timbs, and a jazzy bubble coat, like he was on his way out. Although I was hungry and feeling like Ella Mai, I was more interested in where he was going.
“I made you a turkey sandwich, got a couple slices of pizza, fruit, chips, and a refill. I gotta step out for a minute. You need anything while I’m gone?”
He was so nonchalant—like a father pampering his only daughter. I felt the tension, though. Something was bothering him, and my inner Trinity wanted to know what it was.
“No. I’m good." Confusion twisted my perfectly arched brows. “What’s wrong?”
I got up from the desk and made my way into the living area where he silently stood. Hovering over the tray, I smiled in admiration, but still waited for him to say why he was in a funky mood. But he didn’t say anything, so like he did when I took too long to answer a question, I asked again.
“Everything alright?” I gazed softly.
He nodded. “Mhm.”
“You sure? You didn’t look alright when you were on the phone.”
“You spying on me now?” he teased.
“I am not.” I laughed and pointed toward the window near the desk. “I saw you from here. You didn’t look happy.”
He walked over to the window like he needed his own proof. When he saw the clear view of the deck, he smirked and accepted his fate.
“I’m not a fan of phone calls,” he said. “Especially when I’m on vacation.”
I folded my arms across my chest, stunned by his smugness. “What if something happens, or it’s something important?”
“It rarely is,” he shrugged. “People just like to soak up my energy; like I don’t have a life of my own.”
I knew the feeling all too well. When I hit the bestsellers list for the first time, the attention never stopped. The phone calls, the interviews, family I hadn’t seen or heard from since my parents died calling, asking for favors. It was overwhelming. But for some reason, I felt like his situation was a lot different than mine.
“Where you going?”
I was surprised by my own question.
“You wanna come?”
His reply surprised me more.
I couldn’t help but smile at the banter. It was like he knew exactly what to say to get me going, and I had no choice but to follow.
I looked back at my laptop, sitting there waiting to be tampered with. I should have been using my time to get lost in the romantacy of my novel, but I was far too intrigued by the temptation standing in front of me.
“Ok,” I said. “Let me get dressed. I haven’t seen any of the island, so it would be nice to see what I can while the storm is even.”
“Alright,” he said, smiling somberly. “Go get dressed. I’ll warm the car up.”
I left the workshop in a hurry to get cute and explore the island. I had no idea what his plans were or how long he wanted to be out, but I wanted to snap a few photos, see the shops, and possibly collect some memorabilia or painted rocks before the storm picked up again. Whatever we were going to do, I didn’t mind at all, as long as he was my tour guide.
When I got to my room, I remembered my only option for a warm outfit was my Nike sweatpants and sweatshirt that I liked to sleep in. Since I had the weather mixed up before leaving the States, I didn’t pack any winter clothes.
I figured since we were going out I might be able to find some somewhere, so Shamar’s little outing actually came in handy.
“I’m ready.”
He was standing near the passenger door when I finally came out. He had a blunt to his lips and his focus so deep in his phone that he didn’t even hear me coming. When he looked up and saw me rushing to get into the car, away from the cold, he didn’t look surprised at all. He seemed more amused, if anything.
“Cold?” he chuckled as he opened the door for me.
“Very.”
The car was warm, and smelled like his cologne—the entire cottage smelled like his cologne. I was happy I didn’t have a man, because if I did, he might’ve wanted to know why my clothes smelled like another man.
After putting his blunt out and placing it safely in the mailbox, he walked around the car to the driver’s side and got in.
“I brought you a coat,” he gestured toward the backseat. “I remember that flimsy ass sweater you had on and thought you might need something warmer.”
I looked into the backseat and saw a heavy wool coat that looked just as comfortable as its owner. I wanted to jump for joy because it was as cold as the North Pole outside, but I remembered to keep myself from falling.
“Aww, thank you,” I cooed. “How’d you get so thoughtful?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I didn’t think it was something hard to do.”
My mind tracked back to the many unthoughtful men I had encountered as we left the gravel driveway. Contrary to what he believed, in my experience, thoughtfulness wasn’t so common in his breed. Men were either one in a million, straight-up maniacs, or walking the fine line that lay between them.
“Are you gonna tell me what was bothering you earlier?” I asked.
He glanced my way, but his gaze didn’t stay long. The poker face of the sharpest player was no match for his.
“Alright. Fine. I’ll just sit here and mind my business.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he chuckled.
“Exactly,” I replied. “I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it. That’s perfectly fine.”
I tried not to sound bothered myself, but I was. He had practically dragged the death of my parents out of me over breakfast, but he wouldn’t even tell me about his phone call. His silence reminded me of the way Brian neglected to tell me the most important lies of our relationship.
“Family shit,” he sighed. “It’s always something. Just a bunch of bullshit I’m tired of dealing with.”
I looked at him, wondering how a man who seemed to have it all together had issues. His shoulders were stiff, his face was tight, and his gaze told the story of a thousand internal wars. I was curious to know how he held it together while dealing with the pressure of being famous, but his cool demeanor told me all I needed to know.
“Is that why you smoke so much?” I asked.
“What?” he looked amused. “You think I smoke a lot?”
“I don’t know,” I laughed. “You had to smoke before coming on the drive. You smoke before bed. You smoked before breakfast. You probably smoked after your phone call. To me, that’s a lot. But I don’t smoke, so I don’t know.”
My observation seemed to make him question himself, but I didn’t push the issue. I didn’t care that he smoked—we all have our vices. As long as smoking didn’t make him do anything crazy while we shared the cottage, I wasn’t bothered by it at all.
Since our cottage was in South Bruny, it took about twenty minutes to get to the stores near Cloudy Bay.
I enjoyed the ride—listening to music, talking about my latest project and what I had planned for my comeback.
When we got to the village shopping precinct, he snapped another picture of us for the Gram, then I went on to check out a few clothing stores for something warmer to wear during my stay.
"I gotta go in the bank. I don't know how long I'll be, so take your time. I'll find you when I'm done."
"Ok," I nodded as I wrapped myself in his wool coat. "I might be a while too. The stores here are a lot different from back home."
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