He nodded once, seeming to realize he was holding her up. "Rest, lass." And then he was gone.
She locked the door, stripped off, and stepped into the shower, rinsing out her jeans, underwear, and the towel she'd ruined. When she opened the paper bag, her brows rose at the sight—extra-absorbent pads, plus two other varieties. Thoughtful in the most embarrassing way.
There were also a phone charger and a couple of strips of Panadol and Nurofen.
Plugging in her phone, she tried David again, but he didn't pick up. She hadn't picked up any of Ronin's calls, either. She scrolled through his last texts, though most of them were little more than 'please come back'.
She missed his warmth, the way he used to hold her after a fight, as if he could press the argument out of existence. How, when she was bone-tired, he would tug her feet into his lap and rub them until she dozed off against his shoulder. It all seemed like such a long time ago now, another life that didn't quite feel like it belonged to her anymore.
A sigh escaped her chest. She was too tired to think. She swallowed the painkillers with a glass of water from the tap, slid beneath the covers, and fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Chapter 14
Sage woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains. She stretched, yawning as joints popped and the burn in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since she'd stepped off the train.
A quick shower later, she was ready in a pair of dark leggings, a rustic knit sweater, and extra pads in her bag. She grimaced as she swallowed more painkillers and muttered under her breath about how she would probably develop an ulcer if she didn't put food in her stomach soon. She packed her tote—kindle, purse, mobile, charger, and a few dozen other things that had disappeared in there over the months including David’s lost earpods—and glanced at the clock. Nine a.m.
Downstairs, the blonde receptionist greeted her with the same dazzling smile and pointed her towards the dining room. "Breakfas' is still bein' served. Help yerself"
The dining room turned out to be a converted ballroom; a chandelier, dulled by time but still magnificent, hung from its high ceiling. A brass plaque on the mantel announced its formerglory. At the far end, a bar gleamed faintly in the morning light, waiting for evening customers.
No sign of Ms. Goth—Blair. Sage collected a plate, eyeing the spread of eggs, beans, bacon, sausage. Toast felt the safest. She stacked two slices and reached for butter—
"No haggis?" a voice rumbled from behind her.
She looked up and up. Euan stood there, looming, easily six-foot-three, if not taller.
She forced a smile. "Maybe later," she said, then gagged a little to herself at the thought. "On second thought, probably never."
One dark brow rose, but he said nothing, simply reached past her and loaded eggs, sausage, and a generous helping of haggis onto his plate.
Then, as though it were decided mutually, he carried both their trays to a table by the window and gave her a look over his shoulder. "Well? Ye're sittin' here."
It didn't sound like a request.
Sage muttered under her breath, "Sinceyou said please," but followed, perching opposite him. She focused on her toast while he dug in with obvious relish, every mouthful of haggis savoured like it was a delicacy. She tried not to watch him, but she couldn't help noticing the satisfied way his jaw worked, the faint sound of appreciation he made when he chewed.
She looked back down at her eggs, suddenly queasy. Fruit. She should have stuck to fruit.
Unable to stop herself, she blurted, "You do realise that's...sheep offal, right?"
Euan didn't even pause, just forked another mouthful and raised a brow. "Aye. And?"
"And you're eating it like it's crème brûlée." She gagged a little, chasing her eggs around her plate with her fork. "Honestly, I don't know how anyone gets that down voluntarily."
He gave a low chuckle, the sound rough but amused. "That's because ye've never had it done right. Folk think haggis is just guts, but it's oats, spice, pepper...proper food. Keeps ye alive in the cold; that's what Gran always said."
"Mm-hmm." She wrinkled her nose. "I'll take toast and maybe a banana, thanks. At least those don't look like they belong in an autopsy report."
His mouth curved, not quite a smile but close. "Ye'd last maybe five minutes north of Perth, lass. Five."
She leaned back, raising her brows. "Then it's a good thing I wasn't planning to move to Perth, isn't it?"
For a moment, their eyes caught across the table, his blue glinting with challenge, her soft greys with stubborn defiance, and she felt an unfamiliar zing of attraction. Then he went back to his haggis, clearly enjoying himself all the more for her discomfort.
Sage focused grimly on her toast, determined not to gag as she chewed.
Breakfast ended much the same way it began, like a fencing match. Euan had a talent to turn any conversation into a fencing match. Every word between them seemed edged because neither quite wanted to concede ground. It was a novel experience for Sage who always ended up conceding to Ronin and later to David.
