“Concerned about what?”
“About the fact that you look like someone’s pissed in your porridge,” Munroe said, taking the stool next to Lachlan. “And have done for approximately... how long would you say, Lach?”
“Ten years? Give or take.”
“Longer, aye? Maybe ten now? Sounds about right.”
I set the glass down harder than necessary. “Did you two rehearse this?”
“Didn’t need to.” Lachlan grinned. “We’ve been watching you moon over Agnes Wright since before Sophie showed up and turned all our lives upside down. Figured it was time for an intervention.”
“I’m not mooning.”
“You’re absolutely mooning,” Munroe said. “It’s embarrassing, frankly. You’re a grown man. A business owner. You could take on half the lads in the Highland Games. And yet you turn into a lovesick teenager every time that woman walks into a room.”
“I do not?—”
“You rearranged the whisky shelf three times last week because she mentioned she liked the Talisker better than the Lagavulin.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
He had me there.
“Look,” Lachlan said, his voice gentling slightly, “we’re not here to take the piss. Well, not entirely. We’re here because you’re our mate and watching you torture yourself over this is getting painful.”
“There’s nothing to torture myself over. Agnes made her choice years ago. She doesn’t want me. End of story.”
“Bollocks,” Munroesaid flatly.
“Excuse me?”
“I said bollocks.” He leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “I’ve seen the way that woman looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.”
“That’s not?—”
“It’s exactly that,” Lachlan said. “Sophie’s noticed it too. All the women have. They’ve been trying to figure out why Agnes keeps pushing you away when she’s clearly mad about you.”
My heart did a funny wee dance in my chest. “She’s not mad about me.”
“Graham.” Lachlan fixed me with that look—the one that said he could see straight through my bullshite. “I’ve known you since we were lads throwing rocks at each other behind the schoolhouse. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone else. Not once. And I’ve never seen Agnes look at anyone the way she looks at you. So either you’re both bloody eejits, or there’s something else going on.”
I grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar, needing something to do with my hands.
“She ended things,” I said, the words scraping out. “Years ago. Told me it was too much, too fast. That she valued my friendship more than a relationship.”
“And you believed her?”
“What was I supposed to do, call her a liar?”
“Yes,” Munroe said, at the same moment Lachlan said, “Absolutely.”
I threw the rag down. “You two are unbelievable.”
“We’re right is what we are.” Munroe reached across the bar and helped himself to a glass, then poured himself apint without asking. “Look, before Lia, I was a disaster. Convinced myself I didn’t deserve happiness and that I wasn’t really cut out for a relationship. You know what it took to get my head out of my arse?”
“It took someone telling me the truth—that I was using my past as an excuse to avoid taking a risk.” He took a sip of beer and pointed the glass at me. “Sound familiar?”
“That’s not what this is.”
