—Not as much as my grandmother, I fear, Callum replies with a smile.
We reach our bedroom, and I rush into the bathroom, practically tearing off my damp clothes as I go.
—How much time do we have before we need to go back down? I call out while the shower water begins to heat.
—Fifteen minutes, twenty at most, Callum answers, stepping into the bathroom already shirtless, which momentarily sends me into a state of admiring distraction despite the urgency.
—That’s not enough time for both of us to shower, I note with regret.
—Separately, no, he agrees, approaching me with a determined stride.
—Callum McGregor, I begin, recognizing that look in his eyes. Don’t even think about it. If we take that shower together, we’ll never go back downstairs.
—Five minutes, he promises, sliding his hands onto my waist. Just to get clean. Scottish efficiency.
—You are a terrible liar, I shoot back with a laugh, but I let him pull me under the shower anyway.
Twenty-five minutes later—Scottish efficiency clearly has its limits—we hurry down the stairs. I’m wearing a burgundy dress I miraculously found at the back of my closet, and Callum has opted for dark trousers and a white shirt, more relaxed than his usual suit, but still effortlessly elegant.
—You look stunning, he murmurs, watching me as we approach the dining room.
—Don’t try to flatter me, I reply, making sure I’m wearing both earrings. I know I look like someone who got dressed in a rush.
—You did, and yet you’re perfect.
His compliment warms me from the inside, but my anxiety returns full force as we reach the dining room doors. From inside, the sounds of conversation and cutlery are clearly audible.
Callum takes my hand and presses a light kiss to it.
—Ready?
—As ready as one can be when about to have dinner with her husband’s ex and her mother-in-law after fooling around in a cabin, I reply, half cynical, half amused.
—And in the shower, he adds.
—How could I forget? I murmur.
He laughs softly and opens the door, keeping my hand firmly in his.
Silence falls over the room the moment we appear. About twenty people are seated at the table—Isobel at one end, Maggie at the other, Keira halfway down, and of course Heather, beautifully dressed in an emerald green gown that looks like it was made just for her. All eyes turn toward us, and I feel my cheeks flush.
—Ah, there are our missing ones! Maggie exclaims, breaking the silence with her usual enthusiasm. We were beginning to worry.
—Please excuse our lateness, Callum replies in his composed voice. We were caught in the storm during our walk.
—And where exactly did you take shelter? Heather asks with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
—In the old guard cabin on the north hill, Callum answers without missing a beat.
—Oh, that cabin, Keira comments with a devilish smile. The one where you used to hide as a teenager when you wanted to escape Mum? What a coincidence that you ended up there today.
Callum shoots her a look that promises terrible revenge, but she simply raises her glass in his direction, unfazed.
—Well, the important thing is that you’re safe and sound, Isobel interjects, though her expression suggests she isn’t fooled. Come sit down. We’re at the main course.
Two seats have been left empty in the middle of the table, and we slip into them as the servers bring our plates. I notice that my place is, of course, directly across from Heather. Because the universe clearly has a very particular sense of humor.
—Jane, my dear, she comments, examining me as if I were a specimen under a microscope. Your hair still seems damp. The storm must have been intense.
