5
maisie
I groanas I turn over on my side, my stomach churning and my head pounding.
“There’s some coffee, and I brought up the breakfast Effie made,” Birdie says softly.
“Thanks,” I croak, grabbing my glasses and going straight for the coffee.
When I glance over at her, she has a mischievous smirk on her face.
“What?”
She shrugs, sipping her own cup of tea. “Nothing…I’ve never known you to drink like that. I’ve also never seen you so shy around an Alpha before, either.”
“I wasn’t shy.”
“Your cheeks were so red.”
“That was the alcohol,” I say back and she hums.
“What made you want to drink like that anyway?” she questions.
I swallow a big gulp of coffee. I could tell her I lost my job, but admitting it to Birdie feels like an absolute failure. How many times have I been on her case about switching jobs too much?Enough times that I’m feeling guilty over it now. I’ll come clean to her eventually. I just need some time to process.
“Was just thinking about Mom,” I say, which is partially true at least.
Her face falls and she nods. “We need to pick a day to scatter her ashes.”
“Not yet.”
“I agree. We have plenty of time. Well, you nurse this hangover and get some work done. We’ll get dinner later?”
“I’d love that. Where are you headed off to?”
“Not sure. We’ll see where the day takes me,” she says happily, and I give her a smile.
What I wouldn’t give to be more like her right now. Instead, I toss the covers over my head and fall right back to sleep.
I eventually crawl out from under the sheets in the early afternoon, with a mission in mind. I need to pay my tab at Greer’s, get my credit card back, and apologize profusely for my behavior.
When I head toward the dining room, Effie is standing there, putting away clean china into the cabinet.
“Maisie, dear. Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah. Don’t think the food at Greer’s sat well. I’m feeling much better now though,” I say.
Her cheeks are rosy as a man steps around the corner. He looks vaguely familiar.
“You had an issue with the food at Greer’s?” he asks.
“Oh. Um, yes. Maybe a little too heavy,” I say, not wanting to say that I was too drunk and threw up in front of the owner of the establishment.
Effie clears her throat. “Maisie, have you met my grandson, Callum? He’s the chef at Greer’s,” she says with a grimace.
I’m pretty sure Scotland is trying to swallow me whole with the amount of embarrassment I’ve been through on this trip.
The large Alpha leans against the door frame, taking up the whole thing. His face is neutral, not out right mad or amused. Just completely unimpressed with me.
