“Hullo! Delilah, is that you?” Agnes’s blue eyes moved over me.
James paused and shot me a panicked look. “Och,” he groaned again, and ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell meh you are the right lass.”
I laughed at the look of worry on James’s face. “Yes, I’m the right...lass,” I said, rolling the word around in my mouth like a new wine.Lass. I’d only heard it in period dramas on public broadcasting and l found I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Come here.” Agnes gestured to the spot in front of her and pulled on a pair of spectacles hanging from a cord around her neck. “Lemme get a look at you, then.”
I walked forward until only a foot or so separated us. It was then that I felt a wave of nervousness sweep over me under the weight of Agnes’s assessing gaze. Some of the excitement at a new place, at leaving my dependable, predictable life behind in Texas wore off under the clear blue eyes now regarding me, but the sunny smile Agnes shot me soothed my nerves.
“Yer bonnie!” Agnes clapped her hands and came forward, looping her arm through mine and dragging me forward with an unexpected strength. “A right bonnie lass all the way from America. I canna wait to show ye to Callum.” She turned and waved over her shoulder at James. “Send Callum ‘round, eh?”
“Aye.” James dipped his head and then took off down the street before I could tell him goodbye. I turned to look at Agnes who had begun marching forward, humming as she went.
“Wait, who?” I stumbled after her and into the bakeshop. “Who’s Callum?” My eyes drank in the warm and cozy interior, replete with burnished wood floors, a crackling fireplace near the entrance, and shelves and counters stocked with mouthwatering treats just waiting for purchase.
“Callum,” Agnes said again, as if that should make sense to me.
“Is he the owner here?” I asked, turning in a full circle, still taking in the inside of the bakeshop. I couldn’t wait to get to work, which I assumed would happen the sooner I met the boss. I stifled a yawn and shook my head at myself. Maybe I could get in a nap before Agnes brought me to Callum…
“Och, no,” Agnes laughed with a wave of her hands. “I own the shop. Callum runs the Sithean Press just down the way.” She gestured out the door with a jerk of her chin.
“Oh, okay…” I frowned, trying to understand why she would think my meeting Callum was important.
“He’s a right handsome lad, that Callum MacDougall,” Agnes went on with a laugh, and my brow furrowed at her words. I might not be fluent in Scottish yet, but I understood that. He was handsome. And Agnes wanted me to meet him.
Huh.
At my confused look she hitched a hip against the counter and gave me a wry smile. “Dinna fash. I mean no harm, lass. There are not many young folk about with all the book festivals over for the year. Ye’ll be glad to meet him now.”
“Oh.” I nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, and then gave Agnes a wry smile. “Do you make a habit of buying American women first-class tickets to your town to meet this Callum?”
Agnes blushed and ducked her head. “Yer the first, to be sure.”
My mouth dropped open at that. I hadn’t expected Agnes to answer me seriously...but at least she was honest. I hoped, anyway.
“I thought this was for an apprenticeship. Not a dating show.” I crossed my arms.
“And it is, it is,” Agnes assured me, tucking her hands into the sweater coat she wore. “I just like to be efficient at my talents, is all.”
“Which are?”
“Matchmaking and baking.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What?! Matchmaking?” I spluttered, fingers tightening in the straps of my bag. New was one thing, but this wasn’t just new, this was nuts. I had showed up wanting to learn the trade of baking and get an inside look at owning a bakery, not to be matched with a MacWhatsit.
“Aye, matchmaking,” Agnes sighed and held up a hand. “Now get that look of yer face. I’m going tae teach ya so many tips and tricks of baking that ye’ll not ken what tae do with it all.”
“I didn’t come here to date anyone,” I insisted, already calculating the quickest way back to Edinburgh. I backpedalled toward the door as fast as I could while keeping an eye on Agnes.
What the hell had I been thinking? I left my home in the early hours of the morning to run away to Scotland, and no one knew where I was. I was going to end up on a milk carton in Texas while my family spoke of me in hushed tones, and all the while I would be married off to some hermit Scotsman whose name I couldn’t even pronounce while I was forced to bake for the rest of my days.
How has this happened? Oh, right, I had been seduced by a first-class ticket.
“I think I should go.” I pointed over my shoulder at the door and kept walking backward, keeping my eyes firmly trained on Agnes.
“Och, lass, now just listen. I ken that ye think it odd but the fey folk told me to bring ye here and—”
“The fey?” I stared at Agnes like she had just sprouted an extra limb. “Like the little sparkly guys?” I didn’t know why I kept talking to her rather than bolting from the bakeshop as fast as my jet-lagged legs could carry me. What had I been thinking?
