— Hamish is an excellent judge of character, I agree. Which makes me wonder why he seems to have adopted you after your chaotic introduction.
— Because I bribed him with an apple when no one was looking, she admits with a wink. I’m not above corruption when it comes to winning over local wildlife.
— Smart and pragmatic. You could be a real McGregor, I joke.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize their implication. Jane does too, because an awkward silence settles between us.
— Breakfast! I say a little too loudly to break the tension. You must be hungry after that hike.
— Starving, she agrees, clearly relieved by the change of subject.
I spread a blanket on the grass, sheltered by the rocks, and start unpacking our morning feast. Along with the scones, cheese, and fruit I mentioned, Jamison added a thermos of coffee, sandwiches, and even a small bottle of champagne with two flutes.
— Champagne for breakfast? Jane says, surprised. Is that a Scottish tradition or proof your butler endorses morning drinking?
— Personal tradition, I reply, popping the cork. When I come here, I like to celebrate the moment.
That’s a lie. I rarely drink—certainly not on hikes.
— And you usually celebrate alone?
— Not really, I admit. It’s better shared.
I fill both glasses and hand her one.
— What are we toasting to? she asks, raising it.
I think for a moment.
— To the unexpected.
— To the unexpected, she echoes, clinking her glass against mine. Coming from you, that’s practically revolutionary.
— I’m not always as predictable as you think.
She studies me as if trying to read my thoughts, then tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into a playful smile.
— Oh yeah? Then surprise me, Callum McGregor.
CHAPTER 13
JANE
— Callum McGregor, if I’d known you were hiding an Instagram-worthy picnic beneath that stern businessman exterior, I might’ve actually read the marriage contract more carefully.
We’re sitting on the blanket, surrounded by crumbs of scones and the remains of our countryside breakfast, and I feel strangely at ease despite how bizarre this whole situation is. Maybe it’s the crisp Highland air, or the champagne at ten in the morning (a habit I could absolutely get behind), or maybe it’s simply the breathtaking scenery that makes all my Hollywood problems seem ridiculously small.
— The contract didn’t mention anything about my picnic skills, Callum replies with that half-smile I’m starting to recognize. I like to keep a few tricks up my sleeve.
— Tricks like knowing the most spectacular spots in Scotland or having your butler carry champagne to impress naïve American women?
— Both, he admits, taking a sip. But you have to admit—it works.
— Completely. I’m officially impressed. And slightly tipsy from drinking champagne on an empty stomach.
Callum methodically packs away the remnants of the picnic into his bag with a precision that makes me smile. Even out here, surrounded by wild beauty, he can’t help being organized.
— We should head back, he says, checking his watch. The final dance rehearsal is at three, and you have your last dress fitting at two.
