“The universe—or Scottish road signage,” I mutter, already slowing to take the turn.
The lodge reveals itself as an imposing stone building nestled in a pine forest—a remnant of the ancient woods thatonce covered this land. Under different circumstances, I might appreciate its rugged architecture and rustic charm. Right now, I’m just grateful it exists.
The parking lot is full, proof we’re not the only ones seeking refuge. We dash through the downpour and burst into the warm lobby, where a massive fireplace crackles.
The receptionist, an older woman with a kind smile, greets us with the sympathy of someone who’s seen drenched travelers all day.
“Good evening and welcome to the Monarch of the Glen Lodge. I assume you’re looking for shelter from this dreadful storm?”
“Indeed,” I confirm, running a hand through my soaked hair. “Would you happen to have two rooms available for the night?”
Her expression turns apologetic.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we’re nearly fully booked. Everyone caught in the storm has ended up here. We only have one suite left.”
Keira and I exchange a look that clearly says the same thing:Not again.
“What kind of suite?” she asks carefully.
The receptionist hesitates. “It’s our… honeymoon suite.”
Of course it is. Why would this day go any other way?
“We’ll take it,” Keira says before I can respond.
“Are you newlyweds?” the receptionist asks, glancing between us.
“Not yet. We’re engaged,” I clarify.
Her face lights up. “Oh, congratulations! You’ll love the suite. Let me show you.”
As we follow her down a corridor lined with dark wood and Highland landscapes, I lean closer to Keira.
“We’re establishing a dangerous pattern, McGregor,” I murmur. “Second night in a row sharing a room.”
“Don’t get carried away, McKenzie. This is the most practical option—unless you’d rather sleep in your very luxurious but undoubtedly uncomfortable car.”
The honeymoon suite is exactly what you’d expect… and worse. A massive four-poster bed draped in red tartan and heart-shaped pillows dominates the room. Rose petals trail from the doorway to the bed, and I’d wager there’s a bottle of champagne chilling somewhere nearby. Through the partially open bathroom door, I catch sight of a bathtub large enough for two, surrounded by candles.
“Well, this is…” Keira starts.
“Subtle?” I offer, barely holding back a smile.
“I was going to say ‘Scottish charm meets Valentine’s Day.’”
The receptionist wishes us a pleasant stay with a knowing smile before leaving us alone with the awkwardness.
“I’ll take the couch,” I say immediately.
Keira rolls her eyes. “We’re not doing this again. That bed is bigger than my first apartment. We can share it without even noticing each other. Also—there is no couch.”
I glance around. She’s right. Just armchairs.
I drop our soaked bags near the fireplace to dry and move to the window. The storm has intensified, turning the landscape into a violent blur of bending trees and sweeping rain.
“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” I say. “How about dinner downstairs?”
The restaurant isa rustic space with heavy oak beams and a roaring fire, filled with travelers just like us. The atmosphere is unexpectedly warm—like the storm has forced strangers into a shared sense of camaraderie.
