He walks around to open the door for his mother. Mary steps out with the elegance of royalty.
“Hello, everyone!” Alistair calls, smiling as he approaches.
He leans in and kisses my cheek—a simple gesture that absolutely should not affect me this much. But it does. Sparks race through me, his scent—woodsy with a hint of citrus—wrapping around me just long enough to make me want more.
“Hi, Alistair,” I manage, hoping my voice sounds normal.
“Alistair, Mary, welcome!” Maggie exclaims, sweeping out of the house, followed by Isobel and Uncle Duncan. “Perfect—everyone’s here!”
Isobel greets Mary warmly, and I still haven’t gotten used to this alliance between our mothers. Years of polite distance, and now they act like lifelong friends.
“So, Maggie,” Alistair says casually, “what trials have you prepared for us today?”
“Oh, nothing too terrible,” she waves off. “Just a few little exercises to prepare our future Highland Games participants!”
I groan internally.
The Highland Games. The ancient Scottish competition full of strength and skill—and, apparently, relationship symbolism. Maggie insisted we compete as a couple this year. “To strengthen your union,” she said.
If only she knew.
“Don’t look so horrified,” Callum teases. “You loved these games as a kid.”
“I was eight,” I shoot back. “And didn’t understand what could go wrong with trying to carry someone twice my size.”
Spoiler: everything.
“You won’t have to carry me,” Alistair murmurs, leaning closer. “Maybe just catch me if I fall.”
That smile.
I am in trouble.
A few minutes later,we’re all gathered on the lawn where Duncan has set up equipment—logs, stones, ropes.
“Behold—the Mac Corquodale log,” he announces solemnly. “In our family for generations. My great-grandfather carved it from a lightning-struck oak.”
Of course it has a story. In Scotland, even torture devices come with heritage.
“Caber tossing is an art,” Duncan continues. “Not just strength—technique, coordination… and for couples, perfect harmony.”
“Couples?” Alistair echoes.
“In the engaged category,” Maggie explains, smiling far too sweetly, “you must demonstrate your ability to work together. One guides, the other executes. A beautiful metaphor for marriage.”
I shoot Alistair a panicked look. He looks equally thrilled. Which is to say—not at all.
“Alistair, you’ll teach Keira the McKenzie technique.”
Of course he will.
I notice Hamish lurking near the castle—with Rosita beside him, as always. The two of them look oddly… sweet together.
“Hamish needs to go back to his pen,” I say quickly. “He’ll cause trouble.”
“Later,” Alistair says. “This comes first.”
He shrugs off his sweater and steps toward the log, lifting it with ease that is frankly offensive. The muscles in his arms flex under his T-shirt, and I have to look away before I get caught staring.
