Made it to Scotland! Can’t wait to see my nephew tomorrow
Luna
He’s excited, too! Don’t kiss anyone yet. Save it for the cottage
The cottage? Why would she say that? She’s not playing matchmaker, I hope. There’s exactly one single guy planning to be there this Christmas, and that’s only because it’s his house we’re crashing at.
Callie
I’m not making out with Hamish’s cousin.
Luna
Who said anything about Hamish’s cousin?
Callie
He’s the only single guy in the cottage. The rest of you are married.
You and Rhys.
Hamish and Ruby.
Mom and Dad.
Hamish’s grandparents.
Me and Hamish’s cousin? Not happening.
I’m all for short little holiday flings, but not when you have to wake up and see them at the breakfast table while sittingacross from your parents. Especially not while you’re in the middle of your doctorate to become a psychologist. You enter that realm, and people expect different things from you. Besides, I’d rather not mix pleasure with family, thank you very much.
Luna
Aren’t you the one who wondered if Brits kiss differently because of their accents?
My cheeks grow hot. Good thing she’s not here to see that the last few years haven’t made me more mature. I mean, it’s not an unreasonable thing to wonder, right?
The guy with the steaming, buttery pie next to me sets down his fork and answers his phone. “Hiya.”
Time pulls as I consider how to respond to my sister. The truth makes me sound fifteen. But a lie? We don’t lie to each other.
“Aye,” the guy says. “Planning on it. Came early to meet with the agent. Load of mince, that. I walked out. Don’t know what I was thinking, anyway.”
His voice is deep and thick, but I’m not having any trouble understanding a word he’s saying, even though none of them are directed my way. He continues speaking, and when he lowers his voice, a shiver marches down my spine.
The accents here are something else, but this man’s voice is in a league of its own. What is it about Scots? The spirits of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace filtering down through their kin, giving them a breadth of manliness unseen in all other parts of the world? My neighbor’s tongue curls around words like it caresses each one. All velvet, but with the rough edge of a Viking. I’m getting warm just listening to him talk on the phone.
Does he look like a Viking dressed in velvet, too? Because then I’m toast.
The waiter slides a warm plate of food in front of me with aglass of water before disappearing again. I stare at the steaming, flaky crust on the pie, talking myself into glancing at the guy sitting beside me. One quick glance won’t matter.
I pick up the fork sitting on the counter and hold it up, shifting my neck slowly. When my gaze lands on William Wallace, it sticks. He’s the very definition of a Highland hottie. The man has messy brown hair that seamlessly shifts into a groomed beard. Where the concierge looked like he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few months, this guy clearly takes care of himself. The end of his nose tilts up the slightest bit, and when his blue eyes shift toward me, I’m struck by how pale they are.
Now he’s staring. When did he get off the phone?
I’m caught, because he isn’t looking away.
And neither am I.
